Clarks Bar A fan FIc!

This is a collection of stories from diffrent writters on the vine, Based in Clarks bar, If you wish to comment or Join, Please see the Clarks Bar OOC.

Thanks Arrow.

It was a quiet Sunday afternoon at the bar; he’d sent Liz home early as the customer’s didn’t seem to be in that much of a hurry. They were all just sat there enjoying a quiet drink, well all in the sense of all five of them. It had been quiet for the last couple of days, just the usual customers having their beer’s before moving on somewhere else.

“Hey Ian,” Methos said as he saw another one of his regulars enter. “Usual?”

“Sure, Cheers.” Ian smiled as he saw Methos already had the whisky tumbler in his hand and the bottle of bourbon on the bar. “How’s it been lately?”

“Nah, usual, you know how it is, SSDD.” Methos grinned as he slid the drink over to Ian.

“SSDD,” Ian returned the grin as he sipped his drink. “Cheers, just thought I’d do a quick stop off on my way to work, see how everything is going.”

“Well, seems to have smoothed off a bit now. We get the odd interesting customer now and again…” as if to punctuate his sentence for him, a bright white flash illuminated the bar for a second before disappearing and leaving a naked man in its wake. “Like that.” Methos grinned, nodding over to the body before rushing over to him. “Man, you ok? Hell of an entrance there.”

“I’m good, oh god, my head. Where am I? Where’s Wally?” The guy asked, trying to stand up.

“Where’s Wally? Isn’t that a name of a book?” Ian grinned. “Anyway, sorry to hit and run mate but I’ve got to get to work. Let me know how it pans out ok?” he waited for Methos’ nod before disappearing out of the bar.

“Well, I’ll answer those questions in order. But first let’s get you something to cover up with.” Methos said, helping him up onto a bar stool before moving round the back of the bar and throwing a blanket over. “There, that should keep the chill off. Now, for your first question, you’re in Clark’s. A bar, my bar, as for Wally, sorry can’t help you there.”

“Thanks.” He said, running his hand through his hair. He was in good shape Methos noticed, muscled but not too bulky, like an athlete. Short cropped blonde hair and bright blue eyes. There was a scar running down the left of his chest, from this angle it kind of looked like a lightning bolt.

“You sure you’re ok?” Methos asked, motioning to the scorched floor where he came in. “Seems like you got here in a hurry for someone who doesn’t even know where here is.”

“I’m fine,” he said, pressing his hand to his head. “Just trying to sort things out, my head, it feels like I got run over by a mac truck or something. You got any aspirin or something?”

“Sure. Give me a second.” Methos said as he fetched the bottle of aspirin he kept under the bar for those special customers. He’d got the idea from some air force general who came in one day; he said he always kept a bottle in his desk drawer for when he was reading mission reports. With the team under his command he needed it, as well as the antacid he kept by it. Placing the bottle on the bar he went over and made a coffee. After all, the guy had just appeared in the bar in a bright flash of light, not the usual way to enter the bar but…

“Thanks,” he said, pouring out two pills from the bottle before resealing it and passing it back. “Barry, Barry Allan.”

“Well, welcome to Clark’s Barry. I’m Methos, resident barkeep and problem page.” He smirked as he recited the description Liz had given him, more and more it seemed to fit.

“Where am I? The last thing I remember I was… ugh, it hurts to remember. We were in space, I think. Something about a crisis, damnit!” he slammed his hand down on the bar. “I can’t remember.”

“Chill, just relax. I’m sure it will come back to you in time, here.” Methos smiled softly as he passed over the mug of coffee.

“Right, thanks. Just need to get my bearings, everything’s so jumbled. Iris!” he slammed his hand down on the bar again, jumping up in his stool as he said the name. “Iris, I’ve got to get home to her.” He sat back down; as he did he knocked over the cup of coffee, sending it crashing to the floor.

Well it would have been crashing to the floor, but in the blink of an eye everything was right again. The mug was back on the bar, no sign of it ever have even left the surface. Not a drop of coffee out of place.

“Well, that’s new. Could have sworn you knocked that over, must be more tired than I thought.” Methos said, wiping his hand down his face.

“It’s ok. I did knock it over; I guess you haven’t heard of me then? Barry Allan, The Flash?” he smiled at the look of shock that hit Methos’s face.

“The Flash? But that… that’s Wally West, has been for years now, is that the Wally you were looking for?” Methos smiled as Barry nodded.

“Who was the Flash before Wally?” Barry asked, looking around the bar.

“There wasn’t one. Wally is the only flash as far as I know, I don’t think there have been any other speedsters with the name of ‘The Flash’, think I’d remember someone by that name.” Methos said, pouring another coffee for himself.

“So, I didn’t exist here then?” Barry asked, his shoulders slumped, he knew what was coming, his mind had already put the pieces together.

“Sorry, Wally’s the only Flash I know and he’s a member of the JLA.” Methos grimaced as he saw the look on Barry’s face.

“What about Kara? Is she alive?” he asked, hope in his eyes.

“Kara?” Methos repeated.

“Kara Zor-El. Supergirl? Superman’s cousin? The last thing I remember is Superman walking towards me, holding her body. Oh god, she didn’t survive. She was bleeding everywhere, he costume torn to shreds from the battle. I remember!” he suddenly said, pounding his fist on the bar. “The crisis, it was the Anti-Monitor. He was rewriting the universe, trying to destroy it and remake it in his own image, he had to stop him. Kara… she died trying to stop his but she couldn’t destroy his cannon, it could only be destroyed by its power source. A tachyon, I had to outrace it. Go faster than it, faster than the speed of light, the speed of though… the next thing I remember… it was white, everything was white. Then I was here. Is any of this making sense? The crisis?” he clumped even further into his chair, listening to the music playing in the background.

“Face the facts and don't ask why.

It's something to believe in.

In the dark,

Day and night.

Fight for wrong to prove what's right.

Remember the heroes”

“Look, I’m sorry. That never happened here, or if I did, there’s no mention of it anywhere. We have Superman though, Batman,” he grinned pointing to the batarang on the wall. “Wonder Woman, Green lantern. Hell, a few of them have popped in here from time to time. Maybe one of them could help you? They might be able to help you find a way home, or at least find somewhere to call your own in this world.” Methos smiled as he fetched a pair of jogging pants and a t-shirt from the laundry basket in the back of the bar. “I know it’s not much but here, this way you’re not running around Cleveland naked.” He smiled as there was a quick blur and Barry was sat there peacefully in the t-shirt and pants.

“Thank you.” Barry said, simply nodding his head.

“Anytime, anything for a hero,” Methos grinned as he watched the red blur speed out of the door. “Well, so much for a quiet day.” As he cleared up the music played on. The story he had just been told replaying over and over in his mind, He looked around for a second, noting the customer’s hadn’t even moved from their chairs. Just another day for them, the world keeps on turning, the good keep on fighting and they just sit there nursing their beers.

“To take a life without a say

Demanded without reason.

To turn our backs and walk away

A faceless act of treason.

A father's son must carry on

The wound is only deepened.

Remember the heroes

Who fight for the right to choose.”

Methos smiled at the lyrics of the song, raising his coffee cup to the air. “For the heroes, where would we be without them.” he muttered softly before draining his coffee and tapping another smoke from his packet before lighting it and carrying on with his day.

Barry always needed a place to call home... maybe he'll pop back to Clark's in the future :D

M

A Tribute to Linda

==================

Methos shook his head as he read the letter again... he'd found it pinned to the bar when he'd came in this morning, he knew it wasn't there last night, so where had it come from.

It took him a while, but he had finally pieced it all together in his mind, almost. All that was left was to figure out who had left such a precious letter behind. It must have been worth quite a lot to the person who had been given it.

Turning the paper over in his hand he checked, no address, no title, nothing.

He moved over to the bar and poured himself a shot of bourbon, allowing himself one ice cube for comfort. Now he knew, he knew the identity of one of the most famous super heroines on earth, and he would take that secret to the grave. Whoever left him that letter knew he would.

Pulling up a bar stool he gently laid the letter on the bar and began reading again, careful not to spill any of his drink on it.

I thought I’d write this out...

Makes it more personal somehow. I just felt I owed it to you, to explain... to make you understand what happened to her... and me... and maybe, in doing so, I can make myself understand too.

It’s the story of two people you see, Linda and Kara.

Although both of them would have answered to the name Supergirl.

Xenon wanted both his prizes, but one of them was in another time... another reality.

Where exactly? Linda never really knew. She was a superhero, not transdimensional physics major. All she knew was that she was living on borrowed time...

At that moment she did know... as she had from the first, really. It was only then that she accepted it, and it crushed her heart and mangled her spirit.

And she thought, “So, that’s my choice? The death of everything or the death or my... my conscience?”

“The god the Spectre serves... that I once served... would do that to me? Leave me empty? Drained? Why? To what purpose, except to inflict misery?”

“Like I’m the fly and he’s plucking my wings.”

Looking up at the Spectre she felt a wrath, a wrath born of hell itself, but she didn’t let it loose. Instead all she said was...

“No matter what... my little girl survives. Otherwise, all reality can go to hell.”

She thought about her child, he daughter. Ari, her and superman’s daughter and the Spectre nodded. His voce echoing through the empty chamber.

“Done.”

Hugging her daughter one last time she told her to be brave, to go upstairs and wait for her. She promised she’d come back to her.

She was amazed at how easily the lie came to her.

As she bared down on Xenon, the atmosphere burning around her... for some reason, at that moment, Linda thought about how... an eternity ago, it seemed... she’d been discussing with Kara what makes one a “Hero.”

She had a feeling it might be important, but wasn’t sure why.

And at that moment, as she held Xenon by the throat. Squeezing the very life out if him... she understood. She could sense it. Xenon was afraid. And what differentiated heroes from villains... is that heroes are afraid, too... but they’re not afraid to be afraid.

And with that knowledge came power.

Linda tapped into the darkness and fury that no human should be able to harness and control, and she realised it was because she was like no human.

And in the howling death of Xenon... something finally, unutterably died within Linda as well.

And then... they were back. Linda and Kara, just like that. Back to where it had all started... and where it had to end.

Turning to Kara, Linda let a single tear roll down her cheek and she squeezed her hand into a fist.

Three knuckles in Linda’s hand broke upon impact with Kara’s jaw. Other than that, Linda felt nothing at all. Where there should have been inner turmoil... there was emptiness. She knew... deep inside her she knew that sending Kara back was like signing the death warrant herself.

They both knew how it would end... the Spectre had shown them... a grieving Superman, carrying a beaten and bloody Kara out of the battlefield... a great crisis... one that could only be avoided by Kara’s life.

As she carried Kara to the ship, she realised the teen Kryptonion wasn’t quite unconscious. She had enough awareness to whisper...

“Can’t I... stay...?”

It’s said that god answers all prayers. But unfortunately, all too many times the answer is “no.”

Linda watched at the rocket took off, the green swirl embracing the pod as it began its trip back through time.

She watched the pod disappear and then broke down in tears, collapsing to the floor. Her body shaking with fury, sorrow and anguish.

Looking up, she was gone. And Linda was alone. More alone that she’d ever been in her life.

She knelt there for a time, waiting for the Spectre to return.

He didn’t.

She waited for her child to be brought to her.

She wasn’t.

That night she slept a fitful sleep... dreaming... she saw her daughter flying the byways of space in some nameless time or reality, eternally filled with the joy of youth.

The people of Leesburg saw Kara as well... in her proper place, with Vague, dreamlike recollections of their time together, shaping her seemingly random choices. A gift from the Spectre no doubt.

And when she awoke, she knew they were the truth, designed to bring her solace. They did on some measure. But in greater measure... they didn’t.

She’d experienced too much, lost too much.

She’d lied to people who she’d come to love more than anything, and they were gone... and she was still there. It filled her with hate, but nowhere to put it.

She couldn’t hate the identity of Supergirl, because it meant too much to her. So instead she hated Linda Danvers for failing to live up to the high standards that the “S” had set.

And so she left, to look for a place where a lack of conscience and a cold ember instead of a soul could be pluses rather than minuses.

Please, I beg you, do not look for her, because she has no wish to be found, but don’t mourn her fate, please. Because for a time... she touched something truly great.

Linda Danvers, Supergirl

Methos looked up, it was way past opening time but somehow he didn't feel like it today. Today, Clark's would remain closed. After reading such a personal letter, the questions came back in force. Who would leave him such a letter? Who would put that much trust in him?

He couldn't figure it out. Wiping a stray tear away from his eye he turned to the window, noticing a silhouette against the outside of the bar.

'Better tell them I’m not opening today.' Methos thought as he walked over to the front door and opened it.

"Sorry, closed today personal reas..." Methos didn't have time to finish the sentence.

In front of him stood Superman himself, he'd seen fake Supermen before, one of the 'impersonators' had actually come to Clark’s before, that was just after Superman's death.

This wasn't an impostor, you could tell from the presence radiating off him.

"I see you got the letter." Superman said, nodding softly to the letter that was still held loosely in Methos' hand.

"Uh... yeah." Methos mumbled... eloquent as always.

"Mind if we talk? Someone told me this was the place to come if you need to tell a tale, or to get something off your chest." Superman smiled as the wind blew his cape around his body.

"Uh... Sure, come in." Methos smiled back as he held out the door for Superman to walk through.

"I received that letter yesterday," Superman started as he sat down in one of the comfy leather chairs at the front end of the bar area, he let his cape fall to the ground as he lay back in the chair. He pinched the bridge of his nose softly before rubbing the corner of his eyes. "She told me about this place, about what you people do here. She said the letter would be safe in your hands."

Methos thought back... he was sure Supergirl had never been in the bar before, positive even.

"She said I should come and talk to you, that you would know why she left." Superman continued, his glare focused on Methos.

"Would you like a drink?" Methos asked softly before getting up and pouring himself a fresh bourbon. "I think this is going to be a long talk."

Superman smiled, he might get his answers. He might even find out where Linda went, maybe he would see her again. She said she was going somewhere where she could be soulless and empty, looking into Methos' eyes... his eyes certainly fit the bill.

She's still about in the DCU somewhere...

hmmm, maybe a fanfic for another day...

M

It was getting close to last call on a Tuesday night. Not the type of night that was busy, but there were enough of the regulars still there to keep Liz from closing up early and going home. She had only worked there for a little over a month now, but she had seen more than her fair share of strange things. When Methos hired her, he told her not to be surprised at some of the things she would see here, but nothing could have prepared her for any of it.

As Liz wiped down the wood, a striking blond who had come to the door caught her eye. She was tall and dressed in what looked like a black one-piece swimsuit with a yellow lightning bolt stretched across the front.

"Oh good, another one of those heroes who dresses like a floozie to get attention." thought Liz, as she rolled her eyes. The blonde's eyes were covered by her mask, but Liz could see how tired they looked as she walked up to the bar.

"Get you anything to drink?" asked Liz, as she sat down.

"Just a coffee, please. Actually, to hell with it. It's been a long, ridiculous day. I'll have a dirty martini" she said as she sat down. "The name's Carol. You?"

"Liz." she replied, as she poured the drink from the shaker to the glass. "I haven't see you in here before. Do you come in here much?"

"No, not really. See, I was an alcoholic." explained Carol. Liz's eyes widened in horror. Did she just help someone fall off the waggon? "Don't worry, Liz." chuckeld Carol, as she saw the expression on the young bartender's face change. "It's been a while since that happened. Besides, after what happened today, I think I've earned this one."

"Rough day at the office?" Liz mused.

"Like you wouldn't believe." Carol took a deep breath and started her story. "It's my first day as the leader of my team, which consists of me, my boss, a greek god who still knows nothing about living in our time, my friend, a guy I dated for a while, this crazy Russian spy, and a mentally unstable superman. Not even 2 minutes after I have my team picked out, this B-rate criminal sends his monsters to destroy New York, accusing us of destroying his underground home. On top of that, the weather starts going crazy everywhere, and my boss turns into a naked woman in the middle of the battle!"

"Ugh, gross." Chimed in Liz. "That seems a bit inappropriate."

"Tell me about it. Anyways, it turns out that the Tony's actually been taken over by a @#$%@# robot my friend's husband - Sorry, ex-husband, built a long time ago. I swear, I've lost count of how many times we've defeated it, but it still keeps comming back! So it turns out she's responsible for the weather, and that massive blackout."

"Oh! I remember that. That lasted a while. I hear some places are still working on getting power back." Interrupted Liz, as she polished and put away glasses. Her respect for Carol was growing, as the story went on.

Carol continued, "Right, so it turns out, my boss is dead, most of the world has no power - do you know how many people died in hospitals because of that!? Anyways, So dead boss, no power, and then she goes off and kills the wife of the most emotionally unstable guy on my team."

This caused Liz to drop the glass she was wiping down. The causality of how Carol had said that was a shock to her. Did death really happen that often to these people that they were so de-sensitized to it? "Oh my god. I'm so sorry. What did he do?"

"He lost it." Carol explained. "Like, he completely lost it. He has schizophrenia or something. You know, the split personality disorder. His wife being murdered made him snap, and he almost beat her to a pulp. I'm actually surprised he didn't throw her into the sun (He does that with almost everything it seems.)"

Liz stood behind the bar in awe. This was the first time anyone in the bar had really told her a great story like this. It was well past closing time now, and most of the others had left, save the few party animals who seemed to be in there daily, like the one she just knew as Z, and another dressed in all black. This didn't matter to Liz, she wanted to hear how the story ended.

"So now, Ultron's firing nuclear missiles trying to kill everyone, so I fly after one and divert it, but it blows up with me on it... Oh my. It's late. I need to get going. It wouldn't look good if I sleep in tomorrow because I was at a bar all night. I mean, I just got the job, right?" Carol smiled and layed down money for her drink, leaving a generous tip on top of it for Liz.

"Wait, how did your day end?" asked Liz, before Carol walked out the door.

"Well, I'm alive, and your still here, right? I'd say I did my job right. Which makes me happy. So I guess it was a good day after all. My boss is OK too, in case you cared about that." A quiet "Boo" could be heard from across the room, followed by a loud slap, and some complaining. "Thanks again for the drink, Liz." said Carol as she flew off.

Liz sighed. Carol was right, it was time to go home. "All right. Everyone out." she called and motioned toward the door.

"Can I at least get another beer in a cup with a lid. And a straw?" asked one of the regulars, as he was whisked out the door.

"No, not this time." groaned Liz as she closed and locked the door.

"So tomorrow?" came the muffled voice from the other side of the door. Liz however couldn't hear him, as she was already back behind the bar, quickly finishing up her close, so that she too could go home.

"That was fun." she thought to herself with a smile. "Maybe I should talk to M about closing more often."

“OK Methos, you’re outta here. Shift’s over,” said Lorne as he walked behind the bar. “Nighttime’s my time!”

“Glad you came, that guy in the corner is freaking me out,” whispered Methos as he gestured to the table in the corner, where a man in an Armani suit was nursing some Jack Daniels. “That guy better be rich…owes $50 in whiskey…” he muttered as he walked out the door.

Lorne flipped a switch, and track lights instantly sprang to life, accented by a lively dance tune. A karaoke machine rose from the floor, with a massive screen behind it. The suited man yelled with a wavering voice, “Another whiskey… make it snappy… and a double…”

Lorne walked over to the man without his drink, and took a seat. “Now buddy, what’s your trouble? I know you’ve had enough, so talk to me.”

The man looked up and saw a green face with red horns looking back at him. “What the --?”

“Yeah, I get that a lot. My name’s Krevlornswath of the Deathwok Clan, but call me Lorne. Now, what’s your trouble?” asked Lorne with a jovial inflection.

“Tony Stark. The Iron Man,” said Tony, “if ya watch the news. As for troubles… that’s a much longer story.”

Lorne moved closer and said, “I know troubles. Worse than a vampire, demonic law firm, and a purple haired chick?”

Tony looked up at Lorne, tears welling in his eyes. “I’m the leader of the world’s foremost intelligence agency. But do you want to know how I got there? I got my best friend killed.” Stark broke down, weeping in massive sobs. Lorne grabbed him by the shoulders and picked him up. He led Tony to a karaoke machine, and handed him the microphone.

“Tony, sing. I just need you to sing,” he said as he flicked a switch. The billionaire began:

“Ooo. you make me live,

Whatever this world can give to me,

It's you, you're all I see,

Ooo, you make me live,

You're the best friend

that I ever had,

And I want you to know

That my feelings are true

I really love you

You're my best friend…”

At this point, Tony couldn’t go on and broke down again. It was enough for Lorne to get his aura. It was one of suffering, a soft and loving interior contrasted with his usually rough demeanor.

“Tony, you get a lot more crap than you deserve, you know that? I mean, you’ve been through enough… and now, you’re off the wagon. Listen, we need to talk.”

And so they talked, for hours on end, about everything. Politics, friends, love lives, and even God- Lorne had a lot to say about God, being a demon. When they were done, Methos walked in the front door.

“Holy *%^$! You guys gave me a scare!” exclaimed Methos as he closed the door. “You stayed here all night? You know you’re not getting any overtime, right?”

L

orne chuckled, and so did Tony. They stood up, and walked out of the bar, Lorne tossing the keys to Methos.

“So, guess I’ll see you again, Krezlorban was it?” Tony asked as he hailed a cab.

“Close enough, Tin Man,” said Lorne with a laugh. “And don't forget, I wanna hear you sing more next time!”

Tony entered the cab, and Lorne walked down the street towards the bus. He was smiling for the first time since the massive fight with Wolfram and Hart. It was the first reason he had to stay hopeful: the world was more than vampires, demons, and dragons. It was the ability for a billionaire and a demon to relate, understand, and talk over a couple of drinks.

Chrome

Methos stood cleaning one of the glasses with a tea towel, It had been a slow day the luch crowd had just left and alone figure hled up the end of the bar, "Penny for your thoughts Noran", Methos asked not really caring for an answer.

As Noran turned the light refelcted of his body.

"Hey Methos, I just feel alone, I mean I have all this power, You know the power cosmic"

He stoped and took another sip of his fuzzy napel.

"Yeah and not once have I scored, I mean look at me, Who wants to date a gaint silver guy".

Methos really did not know how to answer so he did what any good bar tender would he lied

"Of course there is Norrin, Stop beating yourself up maybe a blind date or something".

"Well thats great, A blind date, Does she mind that I have to go EVERY WHERE WITH A FREAKING SILVER BOARD"

The surfer stand pointing to the cloak room, Wher a silver board floats.

"Oh and not just that, See Galatus Oh he was funny"

The surfer points at his crouch.

"Look do you see anything, Im freaking Action man or ken, Im destined to be alone, No one thinks I smile cause im to serious But If I could just get laid."

Placing down the glass Methos walks closer

"What about that women that stopped you from destroying the world."

The surfer sat back down, looking sader then before.

"You mean Alisha, Yeah she was tight, ended up with The thing, I mean come on the THING, Im better looking and stronger."

"Maybe thats the answer I just need to fin another blind one, Thanks Methos".

"um not a problem".

The night was quite, so was the bar. Most of the customers were either too drunk to talk or they just had a rough day. The new part-time bartender, Joe was counting the bottles of tequila left, he was the guy that was in charge while methos was gone. Everything was quite, until an orange eyed man, clad in modern armor barged through the door, his right arm had a large fang sticking out with blood pouring out of the wound.

"Where's the washroom?" the man was loosing his patience as he kept trying to rip out the fang.

"At the far end of the room, and dont make too much of a mess!" Joe had never seen something like that in his life, the man had to be tough to endure that amount of pain without screaming.

The man walked at a rushed into the washroom, within a few seconds a loud scream was heard from the washroom and everyone who wasnt already watching the washroom door, was now looking.

Later the man emerged from the washroom with the whole crowd staring at him, his wound was bandaged up but blood could still be seen as it stained the cloth. Elusive looked back at everyone and went to a table were two other men who had the same orange eyes and armor as him were waiting.

Joe decided to get up and see if the man was alright. "Hey buddy, you ok? You want anything to drink?"

"oh this scratch, i'm good. But actually these two will have some beers and i will have a virgin pina colada" The two orange eyed men started to chuckle but were silenced at man glare.

Joe started to chuckle when he got back to the bar counter, he thought that Elusive would have a powerful whiskey or something close to it. He never thought he would see another guy order a virgin pina colada ever since he worked in a mexican bar serving a good old fashioned american guy in a flashy jacket called "Stuntman Mike".

Joe got the drinks together and brought them back to the table. He was nodded away by happy virgin pina colada customer and the three men started talking about hunting.

The rest of the customers finally stopped staring and got back to their drinking, all except for a single man at the end of te bar counter.

"Hey Bartender" one of the orange eyed men called him.

Joe hurried himself to the table, he was very curious about the man.

"There you are take a seat, i'd like to introduce myself and my two knucklehead friends"

Joe did as he was aked and introduced himself "I'm Joe, i work part time here only when the boss and the other bartenders are gone"

The man with wound shaked Joe's hand and responded, "Well i'm ElusiveStorm, or Logan, which ever you like to call me and these two drunk fools are Shawn Luz and Mel Gibson, not the actor/director"

Joe nodded and was happy to meet these guys who he finaly realized what they were. "You guys are those Arcryns, and ive seen you on TV before ElusiveStorm, your a hero now eh?"

Elusive smiled and nodded, he then took a drink of his virgin pina colada and then ate the cherry which was on the top. "Yea i am now, well if your wondering wat the whole dramatic entrance with the fang in the arm thing was, well simply i got attacked by a few bears in the city which broke loose from the zoo. Yea funny thing that Winnie the Pooh would go after me than a store that sells honey the was right beside him."

Everyone around the table laughed and Joe along with the Arcryns would share a couple of more laughs and drinks until the bar would have to close.

Methos was just about to open the bar; he’d had a weird morning so far. The new bartender he’d hired, Lorne, was proving quite the helper. He was popular with the regulars and could pull a good pint, perfect for the job in his eye.

“Methos, where ya want the rest of this delivery?” Lorne asked as he picked up the box of liquor and placed it on the bar carefully.

“Just round back, there’s a store room at the top of the stairs, key’s hung up by the glass washer.” Methos smiled as he watched Lorne move off into the back, having an extra pair of hands around was certainly proving useful. He listened for the door opening before walking round the bar to turn on the main lights.

He moved round, opening the door. It was snowing again outside, quite heavily this time. Quiet day today, he mused to himself as he looked at the ground, it was thick with snow, maybe two of three foot in places.

Flicking the neon signs on to show the bar was open; he walked round the bar and poured himself a coffee, smiling to himself as the aroma hit his nose.

“Right Methos, deliveries put away, beer lines cleaned, fresh kegs on all. Anything else that needs doing before we have some customers?” Lorne said as she walked on to the bar.

“Nope, that’s everything. Don’t think we’ll be getting much business today, snows quite thick out there. I’ll just sit back and watch today if you don’t mind, let you have your first taste of being behind there on your own.” Methos smiled and pulled up a stool.

“Are you sure? I mean, just me, all day?” Lorne was practically beaming, he could tell he was nervous but he had a good heart and had the job down so far. It was time to see how he did on his own; he’d be here, keeping an eye on things all day so if he needed the help he could jump in.

“I’m sure, now you checked the tills to make sure you had a good float for today, right?” he smiled as Lorne nodded. “Then you’re set.”

“Ok, think I’ll join you in that coffee. Can’t believe it’s snowing again, doesn’t the weather ever take a break round here?” Lorne practically whined as he started pouring herself a drink from the coffee maker.

“Think how I feel, one minute it’s nice Californian goodness, the next it’s subzero temperatures and snow as far as the eye can see.” Methos exaggerated a shudder, grinning as he saw Lorne shake his head in amusement. He was quite content watching him wander around the bar, he’d already taken down all the spirits, cleaned the bottles and optics when he caught something out of the corner of his eye.

Looking over he saw a bright flash, followed by a blue light around a chair in the corner. The suddenly a man was there. Well that’s new, he smiled to himself.

“You alright?” Methos said, turning to face the man.

“Yeah, sure, why wouldn’t I be?” the guy said, a little too smoothly, as if he was used to the line.

“Well for one you just appeared in an aura of blue light, secondly you seem a bit disoriented. You sure you’re ok?” Methos, walked over, placing his mug off coffee on the bar he sat down with the stranger. “Methos.” He said by way of introduction, holding out his hand.

“Nice to meet you, I’m…” the customer trailed off as he shook his hand.

“Like I said, little disoriented. Sure you’re ok? Want a coffee or anything?” Methos looked at the guy, he was maybe the same age as Giles, and the grey flecks in the hair gave it away. His eyes also looked… hollow, the same as Methos’ eyes had. Like too much knowledge gained, like he’d seen things he shouldn’t have.

“Wait a second; you said you saw me arrive? In an aura of blue light?” Now the guy was excited, and a little bit agitated.

“Yeah, one second there was an empty bar stool, the next a bright blue flash and you were there. Hey if it’s teleporting or something like that it’s cool. Welcome to Clark’s anyway.” Methos grinned as the customer did a great impression of a fish before digging his hands into his pockets and pulling out his wallet.

“Uh, what’s the date?” he carefully asked, as if he didn’t want to know the answer.

“Twelfth.” Methos just said with a shrug of his shoulders, he’d forgotten the date once or twice. Nothing major about that.

“The month? The year?” The customer said as he tore open the Velcro on his wallet and looked inside.

“December, Monday the third of December, two thousand and seven. Like I said, are you sure you ok?” Methos asked, now forgetting the date was one thing, forgetting the month and year was completely a different thing.

The customer just looked into his wallet with a haunted look on his eyes. “Two thousand and seven?” he repeated as his wallet fell to the table. “This is going to sound strange but do you have a mirror around here?”

“Sure, Lorne? You got a mirror behind there?” Methos called out over the bar, smiling when he came over and dropped a small cosmetic mirror on the table. He knew Liz left one behind there for ‘makeup emergencies’.

“Thanks.” Methos said, picking the mirror up and holding it for the guy.

“Well, no major injuries or anything. I’d say you are ok? You sure I can’t get you a drink? Beer? Shot?” Methos said, handing over the mirror so he could inspect himself further. He was acting as if he hadn’t seen his own reflection before.

“Uh, thanks. Sam, Sam Becket.” He said, nodding his head towards the bar.

“Cool, beer?” Methos grinned, standing up.

“Sure, what you got on tap?” Sam smiled, walking over to the bar with him. Damn, another bar. And why was he in the future? He ‘leapt’ in 1999; he couldn’t go further than that, could he?

“Pretty much everything you want, lager? Beer?” Methos grinned as he stood by the bar, watching Lorne come over and smiled at Sam as he handed back the mirror.

“Fosters, please.” Sam said, pulling out hit wallet again.

“I’ll get it.” Methos smiled, nodding his head to Lorne as she poured the pint.

“This you’re place then?” Sam said, taking a mouthful of his beer and looking round.

“Yep, Clark’s bar, been open since February.” Methos smiled, taking a mouthful of his coffee.

“And you’re just a bartender?” Sam said, wearily.

“Well, I don’t know about ‘just’ a bartender.” Methos grinned, taking it back when he saw the shock in Sam’s eyes. “I used to be a researcher. Got into the trade and it kind of stuck.”

Sam visibly relaxed as he sank into a barstool and drank deeply of his pint. “So, where am I?”

“Clark’s bar, Cleveland.” Methos said, smiling. Sam was looking a lot more at ease with his surroundings now.

“Wow.” Sam just let out a breath of air; standing up again he wandered up to the bar and took a look at the back wall. “Collectables?”

“I suppose you could call them that. Friends and family on the top, conversation pieces left by customers underneath, I have some weird customers come through from time to time. They tell me an interesting story and leave something of theirs behind. I suppose it’s their own stab at immortality.” He grinned as he thought back to the piece that had started it all. A sword from Methos.

“So you collect stories?” Sam asked, taking a closer look at some of the pieces. Some of them were quite eclectic, a sword, a pair of handcuffs, a bag of what looked like glitter, a photo of some woman with a phone number scrawled on the bottom.

“Yeah, best part of being a barman, listening to the stories of strangers. It gives them chance to unload their problems on someone, I listen, don’t judge, and they walk away knowing that they’ve told someone their problems.” Methos smiled as he walked round the bar and poured himself another coffee.

“Sounds interesting, I take it you’ve heard some good stories in your time then?” Sam said drinking some more of his beer. This place was feeling more and more like Al’s place, except this place had a more human feel to it. He didn’t know how much time had passed since he was there, after that he was with Beth for a while. He told her that Al was alive, fixing the right for Al and then… nothing. He couldn’t remember a damn thing after being with Beth.

“Heard some great ones, the bar’s open to anyone. I don’t mind if you’re human, alien or anything, if you want a drink and can pay for it, you’re welcome here.” Methos grinned, sitting back on his stool next to Sam.

“Let me ask you something, do you believe in time travel?” Sam asked, watching Methos’s face carefully for any reaction.

“That’s a new one. Can’t say I’ve ever experienced it or seen it, that’s not to say it doesn’t exist though. I try and keep an open mind about things like that.” Methos smiled, there was a story here, and he could feel it.

“Well, I may have a story for you then. It all started back in New Mexico, back in ninety nine. You see I was a scientist back then, I wanted to build a time machine. Go back and observe the past, see if I could change anything, put right what once went wrong.” Sam smiled thinking of the project. Al, Tina, Gooshie, Ziggy, were they still alive? Were they still working on a way to get him home? Did they even exist anymore? He had changed the past in a drastic way, without Al at the project he never would have got it off the ground. Without Al, there was no observer, no one who knew where he was and what he had to do to leap.

“Go on.” Methos motioned with his hand.

“Well, we built the machine, but something went wrong. The government threatened to pull our funding before we were ready so I… I stepped into it and fired up the accelerator.” Sam looked sheepish for a second, looking around the bar as if he was looking for someone. “When it was done, I was somewhere else, some when else. Bouncing around it time, putting things right that once went wrong. I was doing it for a long time, year’s maybe. I don’t know.” Sam said, drinking some more of his beer. He was tired, not physically but mentally and spiritually.

“So what happened? I’m guessing it didn’t have a happy ending.” Methos said, looking into Sam’s eyes.

“No, there was this one time, one time where I could have done something good for a friend, but I didn’t. I was playing by the rules, one time when I let my conscience get the better of me.”

“Sometimes you can’t always do what you’re friends want you to, even if it’s the right thing to do. They have to make their own choices. You can’t live their life for them, changing everything that went wrong in their lives.” Methos smiled as he saw the look in Sam’s eyes.

“But I could have done it, and I did. Before I was here I was back there, back with Beth. I told her everything, about Al and the war, about how he would come home someday. Maybe they are together somewhere, happy, but if they are I don’t know if I will ever get home.” Sam looked into his beer, his eyes watering as he thought of everything he had given up. His friends, his family, everything, all in the name of what was right. A lone tear fell down his face into the beer.

“So, you’re friend, Al. does he know what you did for him?” Methos asked, not wanting to interrupt but sensing the man still needed to talk.

“I don’t know. The memories are hazy at best, some things I can remember as clear as day… others… they’re fading fast.” Sam wiped his eyes with his hands, rubbing them for a second.

“Well, do you have a wife? Children? Anyone out there?” Methos said, walking over behind the bar.

“A wife, Donna, Donna Eleese.” Sam smiled as Methos pulled out a laptop, booting it up.

“Children? Anyone else?” Methos said, logging onto the internet.

“Sammie Jo, Samantha Josephine Fuller, my daughter.” Sam said, another tear rolling down his cheek.

“Ok then. Let’s look them up.” Methos grinned as he started researching the names.

“Donna Eleese, Doctor Eleese, working in Stallion's Gate?” Methos read out from the screen, smiling when he saw the exited reaction on Sam’s face.

“Thant’s her. How is she?” Sam said, moving over so he could see the screen on the laptop better.

“She’s fine. Married to you according to this. She’s working at a project in Stallions gate, New Mexico. Military funded, I can’t really get anything more than that. If you want to find out more I could call a friend, she might be able to find out more.” Methos said, smiling as he saw more tears run down Sam’s face. Not tears of sadness this time, tears of joy. His family was still out there, still working on getting him back home. As long as they were out there, there was hope.

“Al!” Sam yelled, swiveling round to face the empty bar.

“Uh, Sam? You ok buddy?” Methos said, moving his head from side to side, trying to see if there was someone there he could see from his angle.

“Al, thank goodness you’re here. What happened? I was with Beth one minute and the next... I can’t remember, you... are you and Beth still married?” Sam asked.

“Sam, there’s no one there.” Methos said, printing the page off with Donnas contact details on.

“There is, Al, we’re in Clark’s, Methos’ place. It’s a bar in Cleveland, Al, how have I leapt here? This is out of my own lifetime.” Sam continued to talk to fresh air.

“Sam, are you sure you’re ok?” Methos said, looking round to make sure he was correct and the bar was empty.

“Methos, Al is a neurological hologram, created by exiting the neurons and mesons in my brain so we can communicate over time and space.” Sam explained before turning back to the ‘air’ and talking animatedly.

“Well, that was a waste of a perfectly good explanation.” Methos grinned, picking up his mobile from the back bar he quickly phoned Liz and asked her to come round.

“Al, why am I here? What do you mean Ziggy doesn’t know? Let me talk to her.” Sam shouted reaching out his hand and trying to grab thin air. “Contact...” Sam thought for a second. “Methos, can I borrow you’re laptop for a minute?”

“Sure.” Methos said, sliding the laptop over the bar to him.

“Al, ask Ziggy for her fixed IP address, just do it!” Sam yelled the last before running some sort of command on the laptop and typing in a string of numbers.

“Ok, I’m just going to get another drink.” Methos muttered as Sam worked furiously on the laptop. Keeping an eye on Sam as he typed and talked to thin air, he went over to the coffee machine and made a fresh mug of coffee, looking over he could see Lorne was confused as well.

“I’ve got it!” Sam shouted excitedly.

“Hello Doctor Beckett.” A mechanical, but female voice came from the laptop.

“Ziggy!” Sam shouted.

“Yes Doctor Beckett, are you aware that you are currently in the yeah two thousand and seven?” the voice asked.

“I am, Ziggy, Al is here with me as well. I’m in a bar in...”

“You are in Clark’s, Cleveland. The year in two thousand and seven and you are currently occupying your own body. I am a parallel hybrid computer Doctor Beckett as you fully well know; I have all the records from that leap including the conversation’s you are having with Al and the Time you will leap out of here.” The voice said, it had an edge on it. Not human but not machine, almost too sure of itself.

“When will I leap Ziggy?” Sam said, looking at the computer screen it was filled with pulsing lights and things Methos couldn’t even guess at.

“In approximately three minutes and seven seconds. It was nice to speak to you again Doctor Beckett.”

“Why do I leap Ziggy? What was I put here to put right?” Sam asked, standing up and pulling the piece of paper with Donna details on it over, writing something on the page quickly.

“We don’t know. Admiral Callavicci posed the theory that you were here to get in contact with your family to let them know you are still alive. There is no hard evidence to that fact however and we still don’t understand the nature of this leap.” The voice resonated through the bar.

“Thank you Ziggy,” Sam said, closing down the access port. “Do you have an email address I can use Methos?”

“Sure, just click here.” Methos motioned to an icon on the desktop. “I had my friend set it up for me, this way I can do everything I need to do just by clicking on a few icons.”

“Thank you.” Sam said, opening up the email software, his eyes showing how grateful he was, even if words couldn’t express it.

“Sure.” Methos smiled. Watching as Sam quickly typed out an email to Donna, sending it then typing out another one to the Government, for the attention of the UMBRA director. He was just finishing off the email when suddenly he was engulfed in the same blue and white light and vanished.

“Whoa!” Methos just exclaimed, pulling the laptop over to see what had been written.

“Methos, are you alright? It sounded urgent on the phone.” Liz said as she walked in from the snow.

“Yeah, just a weird customer. Here, take a look at this, tell me what you think.” Methos said as she walked over, taking a look at the laptop.

“Doctor Samuel Beckett, Department of Defense Umbra Clearance Code is 004-002-02-016. For the attention of Doctor Donna Eleese. Project Quantum Leap. Department of Defense Director, Benjamin Adams. Doctor Samantha Fuller. Project Quantum Leap.” Liz read out loud, her eyes growing wide as she read off the names and clearance code. “Methos, what is this?” she asked as she scrolled down and read the email that hadn’t been sent.

“I don’t know Liz. Something from a customer, he asked if he could send it and then vanished before he could. He was taking about something called Ziggy in New Mexico.” Methos said, pulling the laptop back over to him and sending the email. Even though it wasn’t finished there was all the information there that Sam had put in. He had cut off halfway through saying his goodbyes and promising he would find a way to come home.

“ZIGGY!” Liz exclaimed, that’s the project my mother’s working on.

“You’re mother?” Methos asked.

“She is working on a project in New Mexico, something for the Government, top secret. I found out about it while I was going through her papers. She changed her name when she got married; it used to be Samantha Josephine Fuller. She changed it because of some sort of stigma with her family, something about her mother and grandmother going crazy.” Liz explained, looking around the bar. It seemed empty, no customers, just a mug off coffee on the bar next to a half drunk pint of beer.

Methos just smiled before letting out a loud laugh.

“Methos, it isn’t funny.” Liz said, resolve face showing clearly.

“Oh but it is, Liz.” Methos said, in-between laughing.

“Why? Stop that.”

“I don’t know, it just is.” Methos grinned.

Blame Gambler for the plot bunnies that wouldn't leave me alone!

M

Joe looked up from the glass washer to see the customer enter, he walked up to the bar and casually sat on a stool. There was something off about him, something dangerous. He had long dark hair and was wearing an immaculate Brooks Brother’s suit, topped off with expensive Armani sunglasses. He took the sunglasses off and laid them carefully on the bar before nodding to Joe.

“What can I get you?” Joe smiled at the customer; up close he could see a bulge where this guy was obviously carrying a gun on some sort under his jacket.

“Milk please.” He said, leaning back in the stool.

“Coming right up.” Joe grinned and went over to the fridge.

“You ever get daylight in here?” The customer asked, looking round. The windows to the bar were blacked out with heavy drapes, the window on the door had been covered over with a black board and a neon sign mounted on it.

“Nah, some of our regulars prefer the darkness, anyway gives it more of a seedy detective bar feeling.” Joe said, sliding the glass of milk over the bar.

“How much?” the customer asked, fishing out his wallet and opening it.

Joe had to do a double take, the guys wallet had more cash in it that he made in a month. “Seventy five cents.” Joe said softly, and then taking the coins rang them through the till.

“Interesting decor.” He said, motioning to the back bar where the collection was amassed.

“Heh, yeah. Few of our customers have left weird things here, make for good conversation starters. Everyone enjoys a good tale.” Joe still couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something dangerous about this guy, he seemed friendly enough, there was just something niggling at the end of his mind...

“Where’s the john? I gotta take a leak.” He asked, standing up from his stool.

“Up the stairs, straight across.” Joe motioned to the stairs at the end of the bar.

“Cheers, I’ll have another when I get back. Make it a pint.” He said, leaving his glasses and jacket on the bar as he made his way over to the stairs.

Joe poured his pint of milk and placed the glass in the fridge, keep it chilled for him when he gets back. “See ya.” Joe said to the last of his regulars as they left the bar. Great, leave me with mister tall dark and dangerous. He looked over to the stairs and saw the guy coming back down with a bemused expression on his face.

“Uh, you know you’ve got a stuffed moose in one of the cubicles don’t ya?” He said, sitting back down.

Smiling, Joe got the glass out of the fridge and placed it on the bar in front of him. “Yeah, seemed like a good idea at the time, having second thoughts now.”

“Just weird that’s all, this your place?” he said, taking another gulp of milk.

“Yeah, been open three months now. The bar for the weird and exotic, that’s what my friends call it, some of our regulars aren’t exactly what you’d call normal. Joe, Joe Dawson.” He said, holding out his hand.

“Jackie,” grasping the hand, he shook it. “Jackie Estacado.”

“Cool name.” Joe smiled and poured himself a coffee.

“Thanks, how’d you end up running a bar? Not that you’re old or anything.” Jackie trailed off asking, checking his watch.

“Just kinda fell into it with my best friend, seemed fun, still is.” There was still something off about this guy, but he didn’t seem threatening or weird. Just sat there drinking his milk.

“Ahh yes, best friends... they’re the ones you have to watch out for, if they ask you for anything, you can’t say no.” Jackie smiled, thinking back to Jenny growing up in the orphanage.

“Yeah, but where would we be without them? In darkness and shadow I believe is the quote.” Joe said, pulling a tray out of the glass washer and putting a fresh load in.

“Don’t know, I kinda like it in the darkness.” Jackie grinned.

“Some people do, quite fond of it myself.” Joe grinned back, maybe he’d found a kindred spirit here.

“Don’t mind me asking what happened to your leg?” Jackie motioned to the crutch Joe was propping himself up with.

“Ahh, long story involving a few too many swords.” Joe said, wincing at the memory.

“Bloody hell, and I thought I had it bad with the angels.” Jackie smiled; he’d avoided the Angelus for a while now. Maybe she’d given up on him, not damn likely.

“Angels? Man, sounds like you’ve got a story that rivals my own.” Joe grinned, settling down on a stool behind the bar and taking a sip of his coffee.

“Fair enough, milks on you though if I’m telling the story.” Jackie said, pulling out a pack of cigarettes and lighting one in a smooth motion.

“Sounds fair to me.” Joe grinned, fetching him another glass of milk and an ash tray.

“See it all started back about six months ago in New York. I was working for my uncle in the family business, had a good thing going for me as well. Fast cars, sharp suite, plenty of women. See my dad died before I was born, which is quite an annoyance because I would quite like to kill the git myself.” Jackie paused, taking a long drag of his cigarette before letting the smoke curl out of his mouth.

“Anyway I got taken in by my uncle Frankie, he was a good guy. Known to his friends as Butcher Franchetti and to the people the messed with him as ‘oh god no, don’t kill my children Don Franchetti’. He had a few problems, one of them his anger. Sometimes he got me to solve these ‘problems’ for him, which I figure is the least I can do for the guy, making me part of his family and all.” Jackie paused again, taking another deep pull of his cigarette before stubbing it out in the ash tray.

“So what? He was a mob boss or something?” Joe asked carefully. If this ‘Don Franchetti’ was a mob boss then Jackie here was definitely one of his enforcers.

“Something like that, but that’s not the main part of the story. See my two favourite pastimes back then were driving women in fast cars, wearing sharp suits to impress them to get them into bed.”

Joe grinned nodding.

“And my first favourite pastime was going to bed with them.” Jackie said, smiling with a glint in his eye.

Joe just let out a bark of laughter, he liked this guy. Mob enforcer or not, he had a good sense of humour.

“So, this is all going fine until I hit my twenty first birthday, when I find out I’m the inheritor of the darkness. An ancient power allowing me to do pretty much anything I want, as long as it’s violent, messy and screws people up.” He smiled as he watched Joe swallow visibly and scoot his chair back a few inches.

“Don’t worry, I like you. Besides I’m meeting someone here, but I’ll come to that.” Sparking up another cigarette, Jackie took another mouthful of milk and continued. “This is all good, see, it made me one serious badass, but it’s also bad. See there can only be one guy that can use the power of the darkness, and it’s passed on at birth, as soon as you conceive, the child inherits it and you drop dead. So, as of now my second favourite pastime is irrelevant and my favourite one is more dangerous that Russian roulette.”

Joe had to laugh at this. The guy had the power to do anything he wanted, anything at all. He could rule the world with this power, but he couldn’t have sex, ever. Man talk about a punch line.

“Yeah, messed up isn’t it?” Jackie said with a glint in his eye as he took a pull on his smoke.

“Sounds bad, so what happened then? I assume that isn’t the end of the story.”

“Not by a long shot mate, see I get stuck with these guys calling themselves ‘the brotherhood of the darkness’. A bunch of goofs who ware too much black and probably read way too many fantasy novels. They come and start with all this BS, about how I’ve got a destiny to lead them to the throne of the underworld and all that bollocks. Anyway I politely say no and walk away.” Jackie grinned over at Joe, watching him grin back. That wasn’t exactly how it went down but there’s no need to scare the kid witless with the gory details.

“I’m guessing there’s more to that bit then?” Joe asked, draining his coffee and putting the mug on the back bar.

“Yeah, gruesome fight, lots of blood, anyway that’s problem number two. Then problem number three kicked in my door and started shooting, there’s this being, called the Angelus...”

“Whoa... Angelus? Broody vampire guy with way too much hair gel?” Joe said, now listening intently. Angel had popped in a few times to see Lorne, and as the bar owner Lorne had told Joe about Angel’s darker side, Angelus.

“Nah, hot babe with wings, a fiery sword and very skimpy outfits.” Jackie smiled, thinking back to his encounter with the Angelus. She was hot, if she wasn’t try and kill him he’s probably be trying to bone her.

“Ahh, very different to our Angelus then.” Joe shuddered, trying not to imagine Angel with wings and a skimpy outfit.

“Yeah, anyway, turns out she’s the age old nemesis of the darkness or some such crap. She knew I’d just come into my power and would very much like to eviscerate me before I become any kind of threat to her. So she sends her warriors to deal with me. So in the midst of this battle, which happened in my apartment. Problem number four arrives in the form of Tommy Marchinni, one of Uncle Frankie’s rivals. He’s a low grade a$$hole with delusions of grandeur, been trying to start something for years. Anyway I gave him the excuse when I emptied a nine mil into his nephew.” Jackie paused, finishing off his smoke and nodding to the glass which Joe quickly refilled.

“Man, you’ve got more enemies than I do, and that’s saying something.” Joe grinned as he topped up the glass of milk.

“Hey, I didn’t know the creep was Marchinni’s son in law. He was just some punk that had been ripping Uncle Frankie off so I dealt with him the same way I dealt with all the guys. So now I’m stuck in the middle of a mob war with a godlike power I don’t even want, and two sets of powerful bad guys after me, one wanting to kill me, the other wanting to worship me.”

Joe just let loose a laugh again; man and he thought he had troubles finding a date.

“And to top it all off, I can’t even get laid anymore!” Jackie exclaimed, stubbing his cigarette out in the ashtray and draining the milk with a gulp. “Now do you understand why I want to kill my own dad?”

Joe smiled and nodded his head.

“So the punch line, this is a killer. The punch line is that I’m the good guy in all of this.” Jackie rolled his head back and laughed, a definitely masculine laugh.

“Man and I thought I was screwed with my friends. You’ve got it bad man, worse than me.” Joe smiled, filling his glass with milk and topping Jackie’s up again. Holding his glass he raised it to the roof. “To life, however messed up it may be, and the women we have as friends.”

“To life.” Jackie echoed. “Wait, how did you know there was a woman involved?”

“It’s a bar.” Joe grinned motioning round the empty bar. “There’s always a woman involved. Let me guess, you grew up together, and didn’t realize until too late that she had a crush on you, maybe even loved you.” Joe smiled as he watched Jackie nod. “And now I take it, it’s too late to do anything about it?”

“Don’t know. Jenny, that’s her name. Caught a coach out of New York, was heading here. I got here first; figured I’d wait for here, see if we could be anything.” Jackie smiled, finishing off his milk and putting his jacket back on.

“Well, best of luck to you. Let me know how it works out, there may be hope for you yet.” Joe smiled as he watched Jackie put his smokes back into his pocket and put his sunglasses back on.

“Sure thing, how did it go with your women? The friend I mean, did you ever get together?”

“For a while, it was good for a while. Turns out she’s a lesbian now, we’re still friends though. That’s here, right there.” Joe said, pointing up to the new picture of Alexa he had framed on the wall.

“Well, I’ll be... lucky for me no women I’ve ever been with has turned out to be a lesbian, could be interesting though... nah I’m more for blondes myself.” Jackie grinned as he walked out of the bar.

“Heh, now that is one messed up guy.” Joe muttered to himself as he cleared away the glasses. “Hey what’s this?” Joe grinned as he reached over. On the chair was a photo of Jackie, underneath it was scrawled a number, ‘555-770-2219 if you ever see this, Jenny. Call me. Jackie.’

Smiling to himself, Joe picked up the photo and pinned it to the wall. Maybe Jenny would come in here one day. Maybe they would meet up at the coach station; they could have a happy ending. Maybe... but if they don’t I’ll leave it here. The least I can do for him.

Joe smiled as he pinned the photo up, taking out his mobile phone he dialled a number from heart and pulled up a stool.

“Hi, Alexa. I know it’s late, yeah. Just wanted to talk, seems we don’t do enough of that these days.” Joe grinned, thinking back to the story he’d just been told. There’s always time for second chances, even for people like them.

wonder if i'll ever get bored of this lol

M

Another Monday night for Elusive, he sat at the same table as last time but with no companions and no drink either. He was just staring at a small gold coin which had a bullet engraved on one side and a cross engraved on the other. Joe wasnt working tonight, it was a young purple haired girl who Elusive never met.

"Can i get you anything?" The bartender approached him not long ago and asked the same question.

"Uhh... yea a virgin pina colada" Elusive was tired, he barely knew where he was.

The bartender came back a few moments later with the drink and sat down across from Elusive, staring into his orange eyes.

"I'm Liz" you could tell her intentions were friendly, but Elusive didnt notice.

"I'm Logan, but everyone calls me ElusiveStorm"

Liz smiled for a second, Elusive never looked up to see her face since staring at the gold coin.

"So your the guy Joe was talking about, something about you barging in here for the first time with a bear claw in your arm"

ElusiveStorm placed the coin in his jacket and grinned, he looked up and met Liz's gaze and their eyes locked.

"Yea, so what's a bartender's life like yours like?"

"Slow, and hows the life of a retired mutant warlord?"

Elusive looked down for a minute, it seemed many knew his past deeds which made him ashamed.

"Its fun"

Liz started to laugh and she placed her hand on her shoulder, "You look pretty strong on the news today, fighting those god awful monsters"

Elusive showed a small sign of a smile, he had battled a pack of Broodlings that were trying to take over Chicago earlier that day.

"I never liked those aliens, did alot of horrible things to me in the past, but thankfully i lived today to meet you"

Elusive grabbed Liz's hand and held it in both his hands. Liz started to blush, Elusive noticed it and knew his charm started to work on the bartender.

"Well its good your alive Logan, but you aint getting to no base with me"

Liz pulled her hand back, and Elusive's cellphone started to ring. He quickly answered it,

"Hey... yea ok i'll be there"

Elusive got up from the table and left thirty dollars on the table,

"Thanks for the drink but it looks like i gotta go back to work, i'll see you around Miss Liz"

"You too Mr. Logan"

Elusive smiled and before he left throught the bar, he turned around,

"To be formal, its Logan Stark"

Elusive left the bar and into the winter cold.

"Stark? Could he be a relative to Tony Stark?"

Post Edited:2007-12-03 13:20:07

Sean was cleaning the counter after the drunk once again had a fit of "You know when i was.." and puked all over the counter and floor. "I'll do the counter Hacken you do the floor." The big burly man known as Hacken looked up "Why do I have to do the floor." Sean looks up glaring at him "You asked Six what he did in the past, so you pick up the bigger mess." Sean finishes the counter and throws his good rag away " Never going to be using this again." And as he tossed it in the trash the bar door bursts open and another freak comes in, but this one bald and with an odd pair of glasses on sits at the bar. "What can i get you?"

The man looks up and snarls "Anything that will make me forget the current moments."

Sean looks around and grabs a bottle of everything strong and mixes it into one big glass and slides it to the new guy. "What troubles you stranger."

"Spider"

Sean gives the man a odd look "Dont worry Hacken got rid of them."

"No my name its Spider, dont call me stranger it makes you sound old and irritates the hell our of me." Spider says as he lies his head down on the bar "I have two women who enjoy nothing better than to max me out and stomp on my face. And i just slept with one, and dont remember a thing. But on the bright side of that these pointing to his glasses saw everything, I will use that to my advantage at a later time. Right now i need this." He picks up the glass and takes a big swallow of it but comes from it in an eruption of coughs and heavs.

"What the hell was that? I asked to forget not burn them from my memory good lord...that was good." Spider takes another chug and sets the glass down his body calming down. He was shivering when he first walked in but now its died down to a dull twitch.

"Ever have someone in your life you would love nothing better than smothering them while they sleep but also your life would be very different without them."

Sean thinks of the number of people who come to the bar and Six Pack is the first to come to mind. "Yeah it would be alot more dull without said person, and life would be much quieter right?"

"But also with quiet comes going crazy because with total silence from the both the filthy assistants i would have a slightly less chaotic life. But with what i do life is never dull."Spider says

"What do you do my friend?"

Spider looks up as if the mans gone insane "I'm Spider Jerusalem and i write columns for The Word, you have never heard of it?"

Sean shrugs "This is my life my friend i try not to find out how more of the world has gone to sh!t, i see that everyday within this bar my friend."

Spider too shrugs taking another chug from the drink "You make a good point, but if you dont know whats going on in your world why care for what happens here, you could have criminals in this bar everyday or even politians who dont care anything about their own people and just I'm quoting now "F@$k them all" and that the world around you is going down the toilet faster than you can even begin to realize."

"I will stop you their because i know how my world is and right now from this point of view, if it does go to hell i will go down fighting tapping on the gun next to him this old dog has alot left in him. Just ask any of the usuals that come here....well except him hes and idiot pointing towards Hacken"

"This idiot will outlive all of you, and bask in the glory of it. I will tell your stories you hear." shouts Hacken

"Shut up you drunk and finish" Sean says as he attempts to pour more into Spiders glass.

"No that will be all, just one more thing before I go. Should i get rid of the filthy ones." Spider says with a drunken smile

"No they sound like they mean alot to you, more than you think."

To this Spider waves at Sean as if he is insane and takes the last chug of his drink before taking out his wallet.

"On the house, but next time you will pay." Sean says with a wide smile

Spider closes his wallet and walks out the door giving the place a good finger and a wave as he walked away.

Sean sits and waits for the next would be freak to come into the bar...or until Six Pack wakes up.

Joe wiped the counter yet again. And sighed. Yet again. An unbiased bystander might have decided, after a brief analysis, that the counter was spotless. After a longer observation the unbiased bystander would undoubtedly come to the conclusion that a madman with a pound of Kleenex had been let loose in the bar. Fortunately for himself, Joe Dawson was not unbiased. So he swiped the washcloth across the gleaming mahogany and sighed. In fact, truth be told, Joe Dawson was desperately bored. And a little sad. Not that he'd admit to either.

"Man's got to have some dignity," he muttered and nodded firmly. And then he caught a sight of the moist washcloth and his reflection in the counter. He shuddered disgustedly. "Who the hell am I kidding?" He scratched the three-days-old stubble and sighed. Again.

"This is ridiculous! So those b@stards all disappeared and left me all alone. So they have a life. And I...not so much. I've still got Her!" He nodded, more determined now, and a small, genuinely happy grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. Amy had really outdone herself, when she'd got Her two years ago, for his birthday.

He waddled stiffly and carefully across the freshly mopped floor, the prosthetic legs squeaking slightly. As always they felt heavy and, in an absent-minded, long-familiar way, utterly alien. He left the cane leaning by the stage and pulled himself up. "Damn. A genuine." He chuckled in quiet appreciation, lovingly tracing the graceful lines of the plugged-in guitar. "A customized Oberheim. You pretty thing, you." He sat down on the high stool and carefully looped the wide belt over his head, hooking it under his right arm. The instrument settled comfortably and habitually in his hands and he plucked the upper string experimentally. The sound resonated strongly and clearly and Dawson hummed in quiet appreciation.

"Engaging into unnatural rituals with your guitar again, Dad?" For a split second Joe thought that the voice was simply the echo of the fading note, so in synch with the clear, joyful sound were the amusement-tinged, lightly teasing words. He grinned and slowly took off the guitar. The cold gust died suddenly as the door slammed shut and the quick clicking steps approached the platform. Squinting, Dawson looked down at the young woman before the stage, examining her with a critical eye. Of medium height, but made to appear taller by her slenderness and shortly cut brown-reddish hair, Amy Thomas looked little like her heavy-set, graying and generally somewhat grizzly father. Although at the moment her almond-shaped, laughing blue eyes erased the subtle differences, making the resemblance unmistakable.

"Nothing unnatural about a man and his guitar spending some quality time together. And you? Calling it a night early?" he retorted, squinting perceptively.

Amy wrinkled her nose. "I was bored. And it's not that early. Six -- already dark outside."

Joe chuckled and got up. "Jake didn't show, huh?"

His daughter glared at him for a second, before passing up the cane. Dawson smothered another chuckle. "C'mon. You're dripping all over my clean floor."

"How come it's suddenly your floor? Barely two hours ago when you had me clean it, it was my future inheritance."

"I ain't dead yet. Plus -- hey! I did the kitchen and the dishes."

"Slacker." Amy giggled as it was his turn to glare. She shrugged off the heavy coat, the material wet and sodden with the melting snow.

Dawson hobbled toward the counter, frowning at his daughter briefly. "Hey. Hang it, don't throw it on the table. What, were you raised in a barn? What do you want?"

"Mostly for you to stop mothering me, but since that ain't happening... Bourbon on the rocks, pretty please." Amy shuddered expressively. "It's beastly cold outside. Snow everywhere and the wind has actually gotten worse. I need something to warm me up."

"Right. Coffee it is."

"Dad! I am 26 years old, for chrissakes!"

"Yeah. And?"

"You suck. Don't skimp on the cream and sugar." She considered for a moment, before she finally concluding thoughtfully, "A LOT of sugar. Enough to rot my teeth from the distance."

"That'll show me."

Not dignifying the comment with an answer, Amy simply stuck her tongue out at him and looked around the murky interior of the bar. "Wow. The place is really jumping tonight."

"Hey, it's Christmas. What kind of people would spend their Christmas in a blues bar?" Amy grinned and he winced. "Ouch. I walked right into that one, didn't I?"

"Gimme my coffee, old man. Mmmm... Cofffee-coffee-coffee. Waaaaaarm." Amy closed her eyes and tasted the scalding liquid, savoring the sensation. "Suuuuugary."

"You're a shameless hedonist, you know that?" Dawson observed the intricate process of his daughter ingesting caffeine and sugar with undisguised fondness.

"I know how to enjoy life. Unlike some old and grouchy bar-owners with disreputable rabble as an excuse for friends and who wouldn't know a good time if it sat on them." Amy smiled sweetly and blinked innocently. "Not that I am pointing any fingers, or anything."

"Of course not. Drink your coffee before I decide to charge you for it."

"You are beast, a beast I say! Will I be forever made to suffer the cruel injustices of fate and my father?!" Amy's voice climbed dramatically and she pressed the back of her hand to her forehead -- an image out of Shakespearean tragedy. "And you...whoa. You're aware that you have a customer, right?"

Joe quirked an eyebrow and half turned to follow his daughter's glance. "Who, the kid?"

"Yeah." Amy's eyebrows, thin and graceful lines of black, came together in a half-puzzled expression. The blue eyes narrowed speculatively and for a second the giggling schoolgirl exterior fell away like dry leaves, revealing the Watcher beneath. Amy's gaze grew cold and perceptive, the little details all being cataloged and filed away by a trained mind.

The subject of her attention presented an interesting view to the world and dared the world to say anything about it. A short, thin figure sat perched cross-legged on a chair, the hard-worn wool-lined leather jacket thrown rather carelessly on the back of the stool. Remarkably enough the youth -- he couldn't have been older than 22, Amy thought detachedly -- appeared to be wearing only a green tee-shirt and a pair of brown slacks, both every bit as weathered as the jacket. Just thinking about going out in Seacouver winter dressed in that tee shirt and jacket made Amy shudder in sympathy and take another long sip.

Then she saw the sneakers. And took another long sip. Deciding to forgo the clothes for a moment she transferred her attention to the guy himself. Her eyes immediately and unsurprisingly were drawn to the hair. In her mind it rather quickly became "The Hair." She admonished herself for a rather childish fascination later, but...the childish fascination persisted stubbornly. Not entirely surprising, considering. The shape alone drew the eye, as the somewhat haphazard and rather spiky 'do looked very much like an irritated porcupine.

That first impression was quickly overshadowed, however, as Amy took another look. No porcupine could ever be that color. On further thought -- Amy quietly decided -- nothing produced within the laws of nature could be -that- color. The fading blond dye clashed with the even older remnants of red and with the irresistibly assertive natural light brown, the end result truly defying description.

Amy shook her head in silent admiration and stopped cold as the kid suddenly raised his head and looked straight at her. For a briefest of seconds she felt disconcerted to the point of loss, unable to pinpoint exactly the reason for the shiver of alarm that slithered along her spine. True, it was hardly a regular face, with the prominent bone structure and the hollow cheeks, the strong jaw and slightly sloping forehead all merging to produce a somewhat primal, almost simian appearance, a throwback to the Cro-Magnon age. The deep-set eyes glittering strangely in the lamplight added another note to the disturbing composition, until Amy actually Looked. Really looked, catching the green stare with her own eyes and seeing the calm, quiet intelligence.

The young man smiled at her suddenly and returned to his book, leaving Amy somewhat frustrated. Joe smirked. "Unusual-looking kid, huh?"

"He looks like a crazed weasel," Amy replied somewhat uncharitably. "Did you card him? It better not be some Immortal looking for trouble. I'm on vacation."

"Yes I did, as a matter of fact." Dawson coughed, somewhat embarrassed, remembering the raised eyebrow of one 22-year-old Daniel Osborne upon being carded while ordering a bologna sandwich. "Anyway. Speaking of slightly mad Immortals who are magnets for trouble..." Joe ignored the blue-eyed glare with the ease of long practice and sipped his own drink, raising an inquisitive eyebrow. "Where is the Old Man?"

"How should I know? I told you. Vacation. Can you say vacation? Ho-li-day. No work. Work Bad. Amy time."

Dawson swished the bourbon around his mouth savoring the taste before swallowing it. Raising the glass and swirling the amber liquid in the artificial light of the bar, he glanced at his daughter out of the corner of his eye. "Who are you trying to kid, Em, hm?" He shook his head and seemingly absently scratched his wrist. Right where his Watcher's tattoo was hidden by the shirtsleeve. "You know exactly where he is. And I bet the current unfortunate Watching him has got your beeper number, your home number, the bar number, and a homing pigeon. So spill."

Amy's glare reached epic proportions before she hid her nose in a cup and muttered something sullenly.

"What's that?"

"I said he's home. Last I saw he had a six-pack and a bunch of movies. He's gonna be home all night making fun of Braveheart and Gladiator. Casting dispersions on Hollywood's historical accuracy and killing his brain cells with alcohol. All right? Now lemme alone." Amy finished her coffee in one gulp and pondered the empty cup with the air of infinite loss about her. "I'll be in the kitchen."

Dawson chuckled quietly, quickly killing the sound as Amy suddenly wheeled around looking at him with suspicion. "There are not going to be any of your reprobate buddies dropping by today, are there? It's going to be nice, peaceful, and quiet." Before Joe could assure her that that, indeed, was going to be the case, she'd already done the thing with the eyes. "Lie to me, Dawson. Tell me tonight is going to be nice and quiet."

"Git. Go on, get outta here."

Amy grinned and disappeared into the kitchen. Dawson muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like "brat" and, throwing his lone patron a look, shrugged and ambled back toward the stage. He didn't bother with the stool or the belt this time, simply squaring his shoulders and standing in the middle of the platform, thinking. Eventually he nodded, settling on the song. He felt the need for something old, something classic tonight, and so he touched the strings gently and closed his eyes as the first notes of Ole Miss floated gently across the bar. He didn't see the matted head of the blond-brown hair rise suddenly from the book, the green eyes narrowing as Daniel's right foot unconsciously tapped the floor, keeping the beat.

After a while Joe sunk into the melody, the soft music enveloping him as he rocked slightly, his fingers, so rough and callused at the first glance, running over the strings with surprising grace. He didn't sing; it didn't seem right. So he just stood there, swaying, the squeak of his dead legs and the intermittent, habitual dull ache pushed to the very back of his mind, drowned out by the music.

He'd just reached the moment when it all really meshed, when he and guitar teetered on the edge of becoming one, but then reality rudely intruded in the form of a thunderous crash from the vicinity of the kitchen, followed after a short pause by a timid, "Oops..."

Joe's fingers slipped and the air was suddenly split by a jagged, screeching death of a chord. Dawson's eyes flew open just in time to catch a pained wince on the face of the kid in the corner. Mildly irritated by the whole thing, Dawson drew his busy eyebrows together to fix the young Mr. Osborne with a not-quite-glare. "Problem?"

Daniel considered the question carefully and nodded. "You're dragging on the 'A.'"

"Is that right." Dawson's eyes narrowed fractionally. "You play?"

One skinny hand with black-painted nails dragged itself through the multi-colored hair. "Used to."

Dawson looked at him expectantly, tapping the guitar softly. The kid again carefully pondered the situation before closing the book and jumping off his perch. "Cool."

Daniel moved unhurriedly across the room, lightly leaping on the stage. Dawson harrumphed quietly and jerked his finger toward the back wall. "C'mon, Mr. Osborne."

"Oz." The kid didn't appear to be overly disappointed, although he clearly expected Dawson to turn over the Oberheim.

"Oz?"

The calm green eyes abandoned the neat row of the instruments to thoughtfully regard Joe for a second.

Joe grinned suddenly. "Yeah, I expect you heard all the jokes by now."

Oz shrugged and scratched his chin, pausing for a split second before reaching for the gleaming blue Tobias. He plugged it in with a quick sure motion and gingerly plucked the strings, frowning as a false note sounded out.

Joe harrumphed again meaningfully, but with no visible effect as Oz carefully tuned the guitar. Dawson was starting to get the impression that there wasn't much that Oz didn't do carefully. Finally the kid nodded in satisfaction and raised his head, surprising Dawson with a frankly happy grin that completely transformed the somber face. Almost reluctantly, Joe returned it. "Shall we?"

Daniel nodded, running his fingers along the smooth surface, the strings still humming from his last tuning strum. "Ole Miss?"

Dawson looked at him flatly, noting the subtle inflection. "Why? W.C. not good enough for ya?"

"Handy's cool," Oz replied laconically.

Dawson sighed. "But?"

And what did the skinny punk do but shrug and touching the strings lightly, launch into "Call It Stormy Monday." Dawson bit down a curse and, settling for a short glare, timed his entrance. Soon enough the Seacouver evening was filled with the languid sounds of T-Bone Walker's classic. But it appeared that this night was destined to thwart any musical attempt. They were barely into the song when the door to the bar was kicked open, followed by what sounded like a truly vile imprecation, although not in a language either of the duo knew. A cold gust of air followed, bringing with it a cloud of snow and a lunky, dark-haired, and thoroughly wet and irritated man in a long black duster. "...isgusting! Absolutely unacceptable!"

"Well. Look what the wind blew in..." Joe's tone was dripping with sarcasm, almost disguising the fact that his eyes were intent on the soaked and pitiful-looking figure. "Adam."

Anyone would be hard-pressed to guess the truth about the newcomer on any day, but today as the lean-almost-to-the-point-of-gauntness man shrugged off his coat and let it fall on the bar with a wet "plop" Adam Pierson couldn't look any less like a 5,000-year-old Immortal.

Joe sighed with no small measure of regret and shrugged, turning to Oz with a rueful smile. "Sorry." The word seemed to break the kid out of some trance; he was looking at "Adam Pierson" with narrowed eyes as if trying to remember where he'd seen him before.

"No problem." Daniel nodded and started to take off the guitar; he stopped, raising questioning eyes as Dawson's hand gripped his bony shoulder.

"Nah, kid. I gotta go see about this snake-in-the-grass lest he steals my beer cooler blind. You can stay and fiddle with the axe if you want."

Oz started to say something, but stopped and settled for a nod of gratitude.

"Just don't touch the Oberheim."

"Wouldn't dream of it."

"Adam," Dawson repeated more firmly as he clambered off of the stage, not expecting and getting no assistance from his friend. His friend. It still seemed surreal to him sometimes, even after over thirty years as a Watcher, that his closest friends were people who fought at Troy or stole from Louis XIV. Life was a strange, strange thing, he thought not for the first time, making his way toward the bar where Adam was making himself blatantly at home. It was odd, but sometimes Dawson found it simply more comfortable, easier... safer to think of this man as Adam Pierson, perennial graduate student, rather than Methos, one of the Four Horsemen. He had a sneaking suspicion that Methos knew this perfectly well but let him get away with it. Up to a point. And then he'd drop comments about Cleopatra's nose with seeming innocence.

"Hands off the booze, boy."

"You call this booze?" Methos' Roman nose twitched in a moue of disdain. "Please."

Dawson smiled, an expression brimming with insincerity, and grabbed the bottle away. "All the more reason to leave to for us lesser mortals, isn't it? Get the hell out from behind my bar."

Methos sighed and shook his head, vaulting over to the other side. "Is that any way to treat a valued customer?"

"No." Joe put the bottle back with a loud clang. "Hence I am treating you this way." He turned around to find Methos clutching his chest dramatically.

"You wound me, Joe."

"I'll aim better next time." Dawson nonchalantly put his back toward the stage, from where faint notes could be heard still, and quirked an eyebrow as he silently mouthed a query.

Methos' thin sharp-featured face didn't give any clue as to whether he understood as he sighed in deep melancholy and hooked a nearest chair with his leg, dropping into it. The clever-green eyes moved almost imperceptibly toward the heap of his trenchcoat and back to Dawson as Methos burrowed deeper inside the chair. "I can't believe you people celebrate this time of the year. It should be mourned! Mourned I tell you!"

"Oh noooo. No. Noooo. It's not fair. No!"

Methos's eyes brightened suddenly with the unwholesome light of a cat spotting a canary. "Amy, light of my life. How's your vacation going?"

Dawson steeled himself for the inevitable, meanwhile carefully concealing the sigh of relief. The kid wasn't Immortal. Methos would never have put his coat, which also held his sword, out of his reach otherwise. Even though, as Dawson knew perfectly well, those faded blue jeans and the oversized sweater concealed at least one dagger. Methos believed in being prepared.

"You. You... You incredible b@stard! What...what are you doing here, you sneaky louse?!"

Methos pondered the empty glass that Joe was cleaning just to keep his hands busy. "Vainly expecting this establishment to live up to its name. Whom do I have to decapitate to get a drink around here?"

Dawson opened his eyes wide. "Oh, you haven't heard? See, I just learned this fascinating new business concept. It's called solvency. You pay, me serve." He put the glass down looking at Methos expectantly. The latter looked back in him in undisguised horror.

"You want me to pay?! For beer?! Here? And let the carefully cultivated tradition go to waste? Joe... You vandal!"

Joe smirked and turned around, looking over the drink cabinet. Beside him Amy let out an explosive breath. "Hey! You! I asked you a question. What the hell are you doing here?"

"Who, me?" Methos sounded surprised. "Well, due to the beastly weather, the electricity in my flat went a little out. And then the beer ran out." A sad sigh sounded as Methos dragged his hand through the wet mass of the short black hair. "Everything ends. Such is life. And beer. It's quite tragic really." He concluded philosophically.

Dawson started to consider whether the Tribunal would really be all that upset if his daughter decapitated the oldest known Immortal in the middle of his bar with a spoon. Methos, however, appeared to be less concerned. "What interests me," he continued, ignoring the fuming young woman, "is what you're doing here, so early. I was rather under impression that there was a party today."

"I was bored. So I left. All right?"

"Ah." Methos nodded understandingly and looked at Joe. "Jake didn't show?"

Dawson nodded, keeping his face somber with a truly superhuman force of will. Amy glared at them both with an indiscriminate measure of disgust before stomping off, muttering under her breath and grabbing her cell-phone on the way.

"Here." Dawson slid the full glass down the bar toward the Immortal. "You derive a truly indecent amount of pleasure from teasing her, you know that?"

"Yes," Methos agreed complacently and partook of his beer with an air of a man fully content with his place in the world. Pausing, he raised his voice slightly. "Oh Amy, my dear heart. Do convey my deepest condolences to your fellow Watcher on his unfortunate accident with that plow truck. I do hope his car wasn't too badly damaged."

Amy's reply was clear, well-thought-out, precise and quite definitely not learned in the halls of the University.

Methos shrugged at Dawson. "She was starting to take me for granted."

"Right."

Methos relaxed, long legs stretched out and beer in hand. He gave the bar a cursory overview and grinned suddenly. "That's what I like about your place, Joe. You meet the most interesting people."

"Hm?"

The Immortal pointed with his chin toward the far corner. "Only here the customers eat bologna sandwiches and read Rumi, Joe."

"It's the ambiance," Dawson replied, absently, meanwhile looking back toward the stage and reevaluating the serious young man yet again.

"If that's what you want to call it." Methos smiled lazily, shaking his head. "To imagine that you left Paris for this town. The cushy teaching job at Watchers' Academy. Fully furnished bar. For this. Why oh why would you come back to this place? What came over you? What possessed y--"

Methos stopped short of finishing the sentence as he registered Dawson's flat, serious gaze.

"Ah. Yes. Of course." He smiled a little sadly and nodded as if to himself. Dawson didn't say anything as he returned to wiping the bar. He could have asked why Methos himself had reappeared in Seacouver only weeks after Dawson settled back in. Why the Immortal strolled into "Joe's" one evening, loudly complaining about the weather, the people, the gas prices and the American beer. He didn't. Although he was more curious than he might have shown. Dawson knew, without ever asking, that Methos didn't believe that Duncan would resurface in his lifetime. Perhaps he didn't even believe that if MacLeod did come back it would be to Seacouver. Still... Still and yet.

Their eyes met suddenly and the unspoken agreement passed between the blue and green. Joe nodded imperceptibly and reached behind the bar. "Check this out."

"Oh, hellooo there. Is that what I think it is?"

"Surely is. The game."

"Joe, I take back almost everything I said about you. C'mon."

Dawson chuckled and put the tape in, tilting the TV.

As the familiar music sounded from the television set, the music from the stage faltered slightly. "Is that the Rangers/Capitals game?"

Dawson nodded and Methos waved his glass in acknowledgment. In less than a minute Oz abandoned the guitar and grabbed a chair, eyes intent. "I heard Ollie is back on the roster."

Dawson nodded again and fast-forwarded the tape impatiently. Methos grimaced. "Eh. I fail to see the fascination with the Capitals. One decent player on the team and he's the goalie."

"What about Bondra?"

"Please. Mediocrity incarnate."

"Hey, shuddap, both of you. Here we go."

When Amy finally decided that she was once again calm enough to deal with the men in her life and reentered the bar, the scene playing out before her stopped her cold. She watched, biting her lip to keep from laughing, as the dignified Joe Dawson slammed his cane on the nearest table and bellowed like a wounded bear. Next to him the legendary and elusive Methos was doing serious damage to the shoulder of serious and intelligent young Daniel Osborne, whose face was buried in his hands.

"The Caps/Rangers game?"

Three heads nodded in unison, their eyes still locked on the screen where Chris Simon was going after Eric Lindross with admirable persistence and obvious homicidal intent, the players of both teams and the referees presenting only the nominal of obstacles.

"Who you rooting for?" Amy asked, making herself comfortable behind the bar. The innocent and sensible question was met by three uncomprehending pairs of eyes.

"What?" Amy asked warily.

"It's Eastern Conference," Methos said slowly and deliberately.

"Doesn't matter who wins," Oz clarified.

"As long as someone kick-- Oh! Oh! Look at that. Did you see that?!"

Amy regarded the three quite obviously gone men and shook her head. She pondered her options when suddenly Methos cocked his head and his eyes grew hard. He gave respite to Oz's shoulder and, in a carefully casual manner, strode toward his coat. Amy's eyes narrowed and she glanced at Dawson. What surprised her was the fact that her father was looking at Daniel, who was looking at the door...with his hackles quite literally up.

Just as Amy was about to say something and Methos laid his hands on his coat, the much-abused door flew open and let in a slender, immaculately dressed young woman. "Darlings! I do declare this city is not the place to spend the winter. Amy, my dear, you look absolutely ravishing!"

"Amanda." Amy grinned as the shorthaired platinum blonde, apparently completely unaffected by the snowstorm outside, proceeded to sweep through the bar like a mini-tornado. Methos appeared to be unfazed as he hung his coat up on a hook, for all the world his only original intention. Amanda nodded to him and imperiously shrugged off her coat. "Adam, be a dear--"

Amy stifled a snicker as Methos deftly caught the coat before it touched the floor and hung it near his own. The darkening green eyes promised dire retribution. Amanda appeared to be mostly unconcerned as she hugged Amy and kissed air near her cheek. "What are you doing here? I though you had a party?" Amanda's eyes suddenly lit up with understanding. "Oh! Did Ja--"

"Yes! All right already! Jake stood me up. Okay?! Can we lay off Amy now?"

Amanda nodded and patted Amy's hand. "Sorry. Did these two gang up on you? Don't worry. They'll get theirs."

Dawson suddenly looked alarmed and Amanda smiled sweetly at him.

Which, interestingly enough, appeared to do nothing for his peace of mind. Satisfied, Amanda turned to Methos, who was already back in his chair nursing the refilled beer glass. Feeling her eyes on him, he smiled lazily. "Tell me, Amanda... Aren't you a little overdressed for this humble establishment?"

"Hey!"

Methos blithely ignored both Dawson and Amy's objections and quirked his eyebrow at Amanda.

The latter narrowed her eyes dangerously. "For your information I'm coming from a prior engagement."

"Should we expect company then?" Methos leaned back into his chair and closed his eyes. "You know - like to dress in blue and have unhealthily fondness for handcuffs?"

"I resent that, Mr. Pierson. Why, you might give this young man a completely wrong idea with your infantile sense of humor."

Dawson winked at Daniel in sympathy, the latter appearing a little taken aback as Amanda unleashed the full force of her charm on him. It didn't take long, however, for him to collect himself. Joe noticed the green eyes jumping from Amanda to Methos several times. So he wasn't completely taken by surprise when the question was

asked. "Is Adam your brother?"

Amanda was less prepared and was uncharacteristically struck dumb in the middle of a sentence. From behind Dawson Amy appeared to have swallowed something wrong and was coughing rather loudly. Methos' response was delivered with his usual aplomb and grace.

He fell out of the chair laughing.

Amanda glared at her fellow Immortal and retreated behind the bar. "You guys suck."

Methos finally regained his composure, also his chair and his beer, and turned to Oz, with whom he'd apparently found some rapport during the time he'd used his shoulder as a punching bag. "No, we're not related per se."

A muffled "Thank God" from behind the bar was magnificently ignored as Methos sipped his beer. "So you never did answer me. What brings you here?"

"Going home for Christmas. Or I was." Oz looked toward the window, his expression inscrutable. "Airport was snowed in."

"Must be fate."

Dawson was surprised by the speed with which Oz 's head whipped to look at him. The green eyes were unreadable. "Must be." Suddenly the stare slid off Joe to the left and the eyebrows creased in a thoughtful frown. "Mate in three, right?"

In practice, Oz was a better player than Dawson. But Dawson'd had the questionable advantage of playing Methos regularly for the last couple of years. Methos, with his usual catlike arrogance, offered silkily to take the black -- seemingly in the inescapable position. Dawson sighed, recognizing the situation but said nothing. Soon enough Oz was frowning, the green eyes looking at the board with an expression Dawson knew only too well.

The little guitarist also proved to be wiser than Joe and declined the offer of the rematch, retiring back to the stage to tinker with the Tobias. Methos looked around him, with the smug expression that as always proved too much for Dawson's resolve. "All right. Line 'em up."

He didn't do too bad -- Joe thought -- this time. He frowned considering the next move. Behind him, Amy coughed impatiently and Amanda, sitting next to Methos, sipped her martini with something very close to a pitying expression in her eyes. Joe cleared his throat and concentrated. The knight was most definitely gone. But he didn't like that smirk... Aha. No. "Oh, no. You ain't getting my queen, you conman."

"Moi?"

"B@ll@cks! See? See what happens when I listen to you? Blues bar. We end up in a soddin' blues bar."

Dawson raised his head and Methos turned around just as the second voice joined the conversation, still outside the door. "How is this my fault?"

"Well excuse me. If we didn't pick up every stray and gave them a lift, we wouldn't be caught in the middle of nowhere. Now would we?"

"First of all -- I seems to remember you two got along very well. And the second-hand smoke alone... Yeeegh. Plus. I'm not the one who got lost. Twice! And instead of doing it the easy way you are the one who insisted on...I dunno. This."

"There's gonna be no easy way. Did we forget our little 'apocalypse' conversation?" The door opened and the second comment was much clearer. "And I ain't lost. I know exactly where I am."

"Right. Where are we?"

"North." The first speaker delivered with an utmost confidence and turned toward the group around the table. "Right?"

Methos nodded. "Most assuredly. We're most definitely north of most places."

"See?" The hawkish-faced lean man turned back at his redheaded companion. "I never get lost."

The girl shook her head in exasperation and smiled at Dawson. "Sorry. He's hungry. That always makes him irritable." She paused for a moment and added thoughtfully, "Er."

Amy hid her chuckle behind the palm of the hand and very carefully did not look at Methos. "Yeah. Know how that song goes. I'm Amy. That there is Adam, Joe, and Amanda. The guy in the corner is Daniel."

"Hi." The redhead smiled again. She had a nice friendly face, Amy decided. Not beautiful but pretty. Plus red hair. Muchness of envy, she sighed inside. That'd never work for me.

The guy was... interesting. Goth? Probably. He certainly dressed like one. Black jeans, black tee-shirt, black leather coat. Even black manicure. The bleached hair completed the portrait. Yet somehow he didn't look like a complete idiot. The girl caught her examining her friend and grinned. "Walking that fine line between tragically hip and completely ridiculous, that's him."

Amanda snickered.

The bottle-blond appeared unfazed as he made himself comfortable. Joe shook his head as yet another trenchcoat was added to the pile. Amy noted the certain protective possessiveness as the man moved to take the girl's jacket. Boyfriend?

The girl sat down by the bar with a tired sigh. "He's Sp...uhm, Will. And I am Willow." She appeared momentarily surprised by the similarity of the names but recovered quickly. But no one at the table missed the brief confusion and Amy caught Methos and Amanda exchanging a brief inscrutable look.

Will returned, pausing briefly before the table. "Hey. Nice 'do."

Amanda inclined her head to the frankly admiring tone. "Why thank you." She glanced at Methos out of the corner of her eye. "Finally, a man of taste."

Methos responded by shielding his eyes. "Good heavens. 'Tis the peroxide convention."

Dawson chuckled and waved his hand magnanimously, his eyed locked on the board. "You want something to drink -- help yourself. Leave the money on the counter."

"Thank you."

Will did not follow the girl's lead in dispensing gratitude but rather got right to the point of ransacking the bar. And Amy was fairly certain that she heard him praising the Lord for trusting suckers. Apparently so did Willow, who shook her head reproachfully at his back.

Amy grinned at her and waved her over. "C'mon. It's warmer in this corner." Willow hesitated for a moment but eventually couldn't resist and wedged herself in the corner between Amy and the end of the chair. Will rejoined them himself a moment later, making his disgust over the status of the bar's pallet loud and clear. Methos,

to no surprise, wasn't far behind in showing firm support. Amanda shook her head as Willow started fidgeting nervously, vainly trying to catch Will's attention.

"Don't worry about it, honey." Amy patted the redhead's shoulder and nodded toward Joe, who was weathering the criticism with a truly stoic fatalism born of long practice. Willow didn't appear to be mollified, but before she had the chance to say something her companion paused suddenly, his fine-boned face tense.

"Wait. Waaaaait." He sniffed the air violently. "Bloody hell. I take it all back." The crescent scar splitting his left brow into three danced as he grinned wolfishly and focused on Amy, unerringly taking her for the lady of the house. "Hot chocolate?"

"Ayep."

"Can I have any?" Will inquired plaintively.

Amy made a show of thinking it over and the blond dug into his back pocket, his English accent getting stronger. "I have money."

Dawson coughed sternly, still not taking his eyes off the board. "Amy. Don't tease the patrons."

She sighed and waved her hand resignedly. "Oh fine. I never get to have any fun."

Will's face melted into a smile of pure joy for a moment before being drawn together by a wary yet hopeful expression. "Say... Do you have those little marshmallow thingies?'

"Green cabinet, second drawer."

Willow chuckled slightly as the black blur vaulted the bar and disappeared behind the doors. "Well. We lost him."

Amy felt her shudder slightly as she acclimated to the warmth of the room, finally letting go of the chill outside and letting the heat warm her to the bones, relaxing her. Amanda caught the movement also and wordlessly moved her brandy across the table, winking.

"Will?"

"Wot?"

The question from the kitchen went unheeded as the redhead stiffened suddenly, her eyes growing wide.

"Willow..." Oz still sounded unsure and seemed to be holding his breath as Willow turned around to face him. "Damn."

"I said WOT?! Can't a body drink his chockie in pea... Oh." Will appeared in the door, holding the biggest cup Joe owned in his hand, apparently impervious to the heat of the steaming liquid inside. The blue eyes moved from seemingly-frozen Willow to Oz and back, taking in the situation at a glance. "Oh bloody hell." He chuckled disbelievingly and raised both eyes and mug heavenward in a brief gesture of respect. "Good one."

Methos' eyes narrowed as the little guitarist sunk into a crouch and something that sounded a lot like a growl rumbled warningly at the base of his throat. And the jovially cynical Billy Idol wannabe casually put down his mug on the bar and stepped to the right to give himself room.

"No!" Willow's scream cut the sudden tension. "No, both of you!"

Oz didn't relax, turning his head slightly. "You're with him?"

Will smiled with the arrogance Dawson found disturbingly familiar, and in a quite obviously provocative tone contributed. "Quick, aren't you? No, see we're here at the same time purely by coincidence."

"Spike. You're not helping."

Will, or rather Spike, appeared genuinely surprised. "Well -- duh. Hello? Eviiiil. Pure eviiil. Remember?"

Willow squinted annoyed eyes at him. "Spike."

"Fine, fine." The blond sniffed disgustedly and picked up his chocolate, making his way to the table. "Don't get any blood on the carpet now, you hear? We're broke."

Willow sighed and, grabbing Oz's arm, pulled him away toward the stage and out of earshot.

Methos raised a calm eyebrow as he casually took Joe's queen. "Spike?"

"Yeah." Will shrugged. "What can I say. It seemed like a good idea at the time." He gulped his chocolate and gestured with his head. "Is she all right?"

Methos glanced at Amanda, her foot tapping the floor and eyes burning with curiosity as she observed the quietly talking couple by stage.

Dawson shrugged. "Well. If she spontaneously combusts we've got a fire extinguisher in the back... Damn. Dammit!"

Spike looked at the board. "Give him the rook."

"What?"

"Give him the rook, then take that far pawn."

"Yeah, right. Thanks." Joe shook his head, and muttered something about amateurs. Then suddenly paused and looked at the board again. "Hey. Heeeey now."

Methos frowned. "Two on one?"

Spike shrugged. "I could take you one on one."

"Is that right?'

Amanda sniggered softly, catching Amy's eye. "When egos attack. News at 11."

Joe didn't waste time and grabbed at the opportunity to escape. "Poor kid. He has no idea what he's in for." He shook his head in commiseration and firmly put another chair between himself and the board. "Must have hit his head when he got that chocolate."

Amanda grinned into her brandy and he glanced at her. "What?"

She nodded silently toward Spike's heavy black boots, the right shoe scuffed white. Joe shrugged. "So?"

Amanda sipped her drink contentedly and lowered her voice tinged with amusement. "He checked for the back door, Joe."

"Check."

"B@ll@cks. All right. What about this."

"Hm..."

Amy sighed and got up, stretching leisurely. "This is such a gyp. What kind of a Christmas is this? Hm? We don't even have a tree. Where is my tree?"

Amanda nodded firmly. "The girl's got a point, Dawson."

Joe raised his hands defensively. "Hey! Don't gang up on me, all right? I bought one. Paid and all. They were supposed to deliver it this morning."

Amy sniffed. "That's what happens when you leave it till the last minute."

"Oh, please! You can't be serious! The Ramones couldn't wipe the Pistols' collective @rse. And also check."

"If you say so."

"Didn't I just? And I meant to give you that knight."

Methos added something Dawson didn't catch and Spike's eyes flared. "I knew it! I knew it! Every damn time! You bloody Yanks. Every time you get into argument about music you have to drag King Cole into it. He's been dead thirty years and more! Let the man rest in peace!"

"Well so has the Billy Idol look, but you are keeping THAT alive by sheer perseverance."

"Hey, now..."

Dawson frowned, looking at the board from the distance. "I'll be damned... I think the kid's got him on the run."

"Checkmate."

"What? Waitaminute... Oh, sh!t. I can't believe I missed that... Dammit!"

Two feet behind him, Dawson sighed. "Dammit."

Spike propped his head up by the right hand, muttering under his breath and retracing his moves. "I don't believe this. I haven't lost in a hundred years..."

"Figuratively speaking."

Spike threw a sullen glance at Willow before going back to the board. "Right. Whatever."

Willow grinned at the curious glances shyly, her hand lightly gripped in Oz's. "He's not a ball of sunshine."

"We've noticed," Amanda remarked dryly.

Amy sighed loudly. "I want my tree."

Dawson raised his hands in exasperation. "Don't pout. It's undignified."

"I don't care! I want my tree!"

"There is no tree!"

"I want one!"

"You can't have it!"

"Want!"

"Umm..." Willow retreated a step under twin blue-eyed glares but rallied gamely. "Actually... There is a tree. It's right outside. In the...uhm...snow." Her eyes suddenly lit with a unhealthy glow and she added demurely, "I am sure Sp...Will is going to be more than happy to help."

Spike's head came up sharply as he tried to catch up on the conversation. "I will not!" He regarded the suddenly sad faces of the men around him and his eyes narrowed farther. "Help with what?"

"Okay, OW!"

"I'll see your Ow and raise you a Gah." Muttered Oz and promptly disappeared under the mesh of snow and pine.

"Turn it, turn it... To the right. To. Your. Other. Right."

"Sorry." Methos sounded anything but.

"Another sorry like that and there is going to be one less Spike."

"How's that a bad thing again?"

"Grrrr."

"Push, it, push it!"

"We're not giving birth here, Joe! Get the hell out of the way!"

"Heave ho!"

"Who're you calling a ho'?"

Tree hit the floor with an appropriate 'whomp' and the trio retreated, looking at the fallen giant with an undisguised loathing. Spike reached into the pocket and fished out a crumpled pack of cigarettes, absently offering them to Methos and Oz. Before either could decline, the pack was deftly plucked out of his hand. "Ey!

What's wrong with you? Give 'em back!"

Amy calmly pocketed the pack and pointed imperiously at the "No Smoking" sign above the door. Spike looked at Dawson in disbelief. "She's kidding, right?"

Dawson shrugged.

"This is a blues bar!"

Dawson shrugged.

"Are you people insane?!"

Dawson shrugged. Amy frowned sternly. "You're not done, anyway."

Amanda nodded firmly. "Stand her up. Time to decorate."

"Oh."

"What fun."

"Good one, Spike."

"Shuddap, runt." Spike sighed and with quiet fatalism approached the tree. "All right. On three?"

"Three."

"No! Och.. Well. That's just bloody marvelous. Goodbye, spleen. I'll miss you always."

"Lean it...carefully...carefully...CAREFULLY!"

"Sorry." Spike smiled at Methos with quiet malice, anything but repentant.

"Petty vengeance, Spike?"

"It's the best kind."

Amanda squinted and looked at Amy. The latter pursed her lips and nodded. "To the right, I think."

Methos's face appeared from between the fir and snow to glare at his Watcher momentarily before diving back in.

"Ey? Wolfboy?"

"Yessss?"

"Unless you are buying me dinner right after, get your damn hand off me @rse!"

"Not me... And would somebody mind terribly securing this end? Quickly."

"Well, I'm sure as soon as Adam done molesting me, he'll be happy to oblige."

"I'm over here, Spike. And you're not my type."

Willow swallowed a highly undignified giggle as Amanda faced Spike's suspicious stare with her most innocent one. "Yes? Was there something?"

Spike regarded three studiously virtuous faces with a baleful expression before turning to look at Dawson. "There's no way I'm going to win this, is there?"

"You're wise beyond your years."

"Spike..."

The blond glared at the women again, apparently debating the wisdom of getting into an argument.

"Spike?" Oz tried again. Dawson thought his tone was rather remarkably calm considering.

"What?"

"I hate to bother you but the tree is sort of falling."

"So?" Spike bit off, still glaring at the trio.

"On me!"

"I still say it's not straight."

Methos smiled and firmly sat on the nearest chair. "Isn't that just tragic?"

"I know my heart is breaking." Spike downed another glass of bourbon and filled it again, gingerly probing the bright red welt on his cheek. "Right?"

Oz nodded, gasping. "Yeah. Terrible."

Willow scratched her chin and squinted speculatively. "You know I could..." Her fingers moved slightly and Spike rapped them sharply without turning around. "There'll be none of that, now."

"It's just a little one!"

Spike turned around, the blue eyes suddenly stern and empty of humor. "No."

Amy held her breath as beside her Oz tensed. But after a moment's pause Willow dropped her eyes. "I was just saying..."

Spike held the silence taut for a second before relaxing. "Right. And I need my nicotine." He turned around until spotting Amy, and stretched out his hand imperiously. "Hand 'em over."

Amy stepped back, clutching her pocket protectively. "Not in here."

Spike looked at her speculatively and then at the door and the sounds of the storm outside. Then back at Amy. "Fine. Gimme."

He grabbed his coat on the way and limped his way toward the door. Joe winced sympathetically. "Tree got you?"

Spike's steps faltered slightly. "Yeah."

He exited the bright room, closing the door carefully behind him. Willow looked after him sadly but did not follow.

He sheltered from the snow in the corner that the stairs made and, shielding the matches from the wind, lit up. The first drag filled his lungs with the acrid, biting smoke and he exhaled it slowly, savoring the bitter taste.

"Accident?" the hitchhiker asked, nodding at his limp.

"Girlfriend," he replied shortly, lighting up and throwing the pack to the guy with the weird eyes and annoying accent.

The witch disappeared inside to pay for the gas and they stood outside, leaning against the car, the wisps of the smoke torn away by the wind into the darkness in a matter of seconds.

"Happens," said the hitchhiker as he took off his shades, looking at the billowing snow with a strange expression. "You broke up?"

"On and off." Spike glanced at the meter. "I'm on and she's off."

"Happens," Remy repeated, and they stood in silence for a time, looking at the falling snow.

"He's not going to freeze out there, is he?" Amy sounded worried as she glanced at the clock for the umpteenth time.

Willow shook her head, her eyes still sad but not alarmed. "He likes the cold sometimes."

Amanda looked toward the door perceptively. "Bad break-up?"

Willow nodded. "Something like that. He took it badly."

Oz suddenly straightened, startled. "Buffy?"

"Yeah."

"And Spike?"

"Yeah." Willow was starting to sound a little defensive. "Riley headed for the jungles."

"I know. Ran into him ways back."

Methos chuckled suddenly without humor from the depths of his chair, looking up at the glittering, haphazardly-decorated tree. "Some gathering this is. The abandoned and the cast-out. Come all and make merry."

Willow frowned but fell silent, catching Amy's look. The latter smiled ruefully, looking at the suddenly thoughtful Amanda and Joe.

"I leave for a second and you degenerate into an angstfest." Spike shook his head, snow falling from the bleached hair onto the black duster and the floor. "This is Christmas, for cripes' sake. Where is your damn cheer?"

"I'm Jewish." Willow grinned at him, shaking the melancholy off. "I've got an excuse. Adam?"

"Atheist. Amanda?"

"I am full of cheer, darling. It's your new friend here that's bringing the mood down."

Spike looked around and finally put out the cigarette butt in Amy's cup. "I'm what she said. Jewish."

Willow suddenly appeared to choke on her eggnog.

Methos raised an eloquent eyebrow. "That explains a lot."

Spike flipped him a bird and sunk on the floor by Willow's chair. "Christmas. What a joke."

"Not a fan of the gentle man from Nazareth?"

Spike shrugged, looking at the fireplace with hooded eyes. "He was a hero. I'm not a fan of heroes."

Methos closed his eyes, his hand holding Amanda lightly as she reclined in his lap, her eyes also unfocused, looking with an unseeing stare into the fireplace. "Heroes... A strange and cursed breed. Doomed to walk alone."

Spike laughed, a short and unpleasant sound. "A contagious curse, that. World would be a nicer place without them if you ask me. Them and their standards." He paused, his voice, losing some of the edge. "No one can judge us harsher that ourselves. Save for our heroes."

Willow's slender pale hand reached down and ruffled the blond hair affectionately. "And yet."

"And yet?"

"And yet," Dawson said quietly, stretching his dead legs. "In the end they stand between us and the Darkness. Even if it's our own."

"Unless it's too dark. And then we burn and they watch."

"And yet." Methos sighed, a strange self-mocking expression darkening his face for a second. "In the end if they call, we will come."

"Yeah, well. Works both ways, don't it? Ain't life grand."

Amanda refilled the two glasses and kissed Methos softly on the cheek. "To our heroes? Imperfect as they may be?"

Methos accepted the glass and locked his eyes with Spike for a second.

The latter played with his drink, letting the amber liquid swirl in an intricate play of light and glass. Finally he smiled a strange twisted smile. "Fine. To heroes. And to their faithful companions." He drained the glass in one gulp. "May God have mercy on them all."

"Do you think they're okay?"

Buffy Summers turned around, her eyes blank for a second. "What?"

Dawn patiently repeated her question. "Do you think they're okay, out there?"

The Slayer turned back to look out the window into the quiet California night. "I... Yes," she replied, her tone firm, the shudder of the shoulders almost imperceptible and the eyes almost dry. "Yes."

Dawn Summers sighed and looked at the blonde women in the doorway. Tara smiled at her tremulously and moved to softly cover Buffy in a wool blanket. "Of course they are, Dawnie. They'll take care of each other."

"And someday they'll be back." Buffy's remark sounded more like a question than a statement as she turned toward Tara, her eyes strangely vulnerable and defenseless. "Someday?"

"Of course." Tara smiled again, blinked any hint of tears from her eyes, and beckoned Dawn over, spreading the coverlet over all three of them as they stood by the window. "We'll wait for them."

And whatever the tall dark-haired man on the hill, half a world away from Joe's bar, thought as he went through the motions of kata with a broken sword, would remain forever unknown.

And whatever the strange Cajun thought, as he surprised the girl once known as Pryde, was hidden very carefully behind the laughing red-on-black eyes and perhaps unimportant in the face of the sudden, completely unfeigned smile on her face.

And whatever other people like them - the Heroes and the Companions, the Cynics and the Don Quixotes, the Villains and the Cast-Outs, the Betrayers and the Betrayed, those that found the elusive peace and those who still walked troubled in the night -- thought on that Eve...

Well. That's a completely different story.

Wednesday night, colder than the last and the snow kept blowing, yet surprizingly it was a busy night at the bar with Liz watching over the place making sure the customers were happy and their drinks full. It was 6:00, and Logan arrived earlier than usual,

"Hey Logan", many of the customers greeted him as he came in, it caught him off guard and confused. He never met any of these guys and they were treating him like a friend. He approached the bar where Liz was just standing there smiling at him.

"Well, what'd you do Liz?"

"Well when you told me your last name was Stark, I wanted to know if you were related to Tony Stark, Ironman, but instead I found that your the same ElusiveStorm as the one who is the leader of the Arcryn race. Lots of people still talk about what you did against the Brood, even though you lost the war. Honestly at first i thought you were just a poser of the real deal and you were using the name to get with chicks but i was wrong. But just to be clear, are you related to Tony Stark?"

Logan looked straight into her eyes, he pulled out a twenty and placed it on the counter.

"The usual please"

Logan wasn't in the mood to talk about his adventures with the Arcryns, they were tales of the past, and he wanted to move on making a new image of himself. He walked to his usual table where a few customers were already there waiting for him, he sighed and knew it'd be one hell of a long night.

"Hey fellas, so how about the NHL eh? What a sport but i gotta say if my Canadian countrymen ever hope to win the cup, the teams will have to pull off some miracles!"

The group started to chuckle, Logan could tell they were hockey fans, even a couple of them were wearing Dallas and Florida jerseys. They were also interested in the "great ElusiveStorm"

"So Logan, why did you step down from the leadership of the Arcryns?"

Logan started to chuckle, he thought that it would take a short while before the questiobns would come and before he answered, Liz came by with his virgin pina colada and pulled up a chair beside Logan to listen.

"Well its all because i wanted to try my duties solo and its like a personal test for myself to see if i'm as good alone as i used to brag about"

the group nodded their heads and still stared, Liz decided that she still wanted the answer about the Stark relations.

"What about your last name? Are you related to Tony Stark?"

Logan looked at her, his heart started to beat faster, he took a breath.

"Yes, i'm his cousin but i only found that out a few weeks ago"

Liz smiled along with the group who were shocked, she knew he was related to Tony Stark, and for Logan's sake she decided to change the subject,

"So who do you guys think is gonna win the Stanley cup?"

Logan looked down and grinned, Liz was a nice and respectful person, the night would continue with more hockey talk and Logan would'nt be stressed about his status for the rest of the night.

The Bar Brawl.

Everyone was gathered together around a single table in the middle of the bar, Joe was challenged to a drinking game against a kid that thought he could easily beat the best drinker in the bar. Elusive was standing next to the chair Joe sat in, he and joe had put a fourteen hudred dollar bet on Joe to easily win against one of the kid's friends in which many of them were bearly legal.

"Ok Joe youve been around alcohol for practically all of your adult life, this kid's probably just drank his first beer yesterday. You'll easily win and were gonna make the easiest cash in our lives."

Joe looked up at Logan, he winked and turned his head back at the kid, Elusive also noticed that every regular customer was on Joe's side like they should but they were outnumbered by the amount of kids supporting the young challenger. What was weird out of all of this, they kids faces were covered in scarfs and sun glasses. They looked like silly fools wearing sun glasses in the middle of a cold winter storm.

"So have you talked to your cousin yet?" Joe had talked to Liz after Logan had left and found out about the family relations.

"Not yet, i made an appointment through his secretary at Stark Tower, hah an appointment to see my own cousin."

One of the guys who had been a customer for years came out of the crowd and stood at the side of the table between the two drinkers. He placed down the most powerful bottle liquor in the center of the table along with two shot glasses. This bottle had no professional or company label on it, just a peice of tape with "Winner" written on it. This along with dozens of other bottles like it were locked away and only allowed to come out for these occaisions. It seemed like Joe was a veteran of drinking contests and alot of the regulars placed alot high bets for Joe to win.

"Ok gents, there are no limits for how many rounds, the first one the drop on the ground loses. Thats it, plain and simple"

The glasses were poured and the contest began, it was not only a battle of who could hold more liquor, but it was also a battle of witts. The tension and anxiety inside the bar was high as there would be lots of money won and lost depending on the outcome.

Thrity minutes passed and the kid was swaying from the edge of one side of his chair to the other. Joe was steady but you could tell that the liquor was getting to him and he'd be out soon enough. Everyone looked at Joe as he took another shot then at the kid as he struggled to lift the glass up and pour the powerful stuff into his mouth. He dropped the glass and fell to the floor, there were alot of cheers and alot of dissappointments. Elusive was surprized though at how much the kid could hold, and he held quite a bit of respect for that brave challenge he made, that was until five minutes later.

Elusive along with the other regulars went to collect their money but the kids were calling Joe a cheater and that they didnt win. They decided to head out but the door was locked thanks to a paranoid customer, who had experienced this type of situation before.

"Come on pay up or we'll make you pay up, its the rule." Elusive was angry now and the kid who owed him and Joe money made his final decision by spitting in Elusive's face.

Elusive became furious and knocked the kid to the ground with a single punch, the scarf and sunglasses fell off and Elusive knew why the gang concealed themselves, the one who fell to the ground looked the exact same as the one who competed in the drinking contest.

"Ok guys we got a problem here, this gang of kids are actually copies of one of them"

The gang took off their scarfs and sunglasses, Elusive was right and this was gonna be one hell of a fight. He always hated fighting people that can duplicate themselves ever since fighting an army of Jamie Madrox's copies and nearly killed.

The gang of kids rushed at the regulars and all hell broke loose in the bar. Everyone was fighting except for Joe and the challenger who were passed out on the floor. Elusive was taking on three at a time and each other them were being reaplaced by two more. The fight kept geoing on for hours, Elusive decided that the true kid was the drunk and passed out one. He rushed to the kid laying on the ground and pulled out a pistol and put it right against the side of his head.

"Ok! Stop! Now you will leave here but after we take what you owe us and you'll never come back or i'll have to use my powers!"

One by one the kids left the money they owed on the cenetr table and were let out by the paranoid regular. They all left except for the one being held by Elusive and the one that owed Joe and hismelf money.

"I think your bluffin"

The kid pulled out the fourteen hundred dollars he owed and held it in his hand.

"You'll have to beat me up for it"

Elusive's right hand glowed with kinetic energy.

"Fine i will."

A kinetic blast unleashed from Elusive's friend sending the cocky copie flying out of the bar and the money that was rolled up in his hand dropping to the ground. Elusive kicked the drunk kid out of the bar and everyone collected their money.

"What a night, but were richer Joe."

The battered group laughed and went to the bar to get a few rounds of victory beer for showing that kids arent as tough as they say they are.