NOTE: "All the Fun" is the sequel to "All the Good Women", which is on fanfiction dot net. "All the Good Women" is rated M, so you'll have to set the filters so you can find it. Both stories take place in the HL3 movie universe, so the events of HL2 and HL4: Endgame didn't happen here.

by Parda (2008)

Chapter 1 - Bachelor Parties

Saturday, 27 August 1994
New York City

"Take it off!" Richie Ryan yelled, pounding on the table and almost knocking over the beer bottles.

"She is taking it off, Richie," Duncan MacLeod observed as he rescued his beer from an imminent demise, even though this brand of beer really wasn't worth drinking.

"All off," his kinsman, Connor MacLeod, agreed, keeping a close eye on the proceedings.

Duncan couldn't argue with that. The total area of cloth still covering the limber ecdysiast probably amounted to less than half a square foot, and it was disappearing an inch at a time. Duncan took a drink of beer and leaned back in his chair. It had been a long time since he'd been to a strip-joint, but Richie had insisted. In fact, he had talked about little else since the invitations had arrived a month ago.

Duncan and Richie had spent the summer hiking in the Pyrenees and swimming in the Mediterranean (topless beaches were still a novelty in Richie's eyes), sparring every morning, drinking wine and dancing with pretty girls almost every night, moving on again in a day or two or four, as the mood took them. They were both building new lives - Richie settling into his immortality, Duncan finally letting go of his mourning for Tessa - and the footloose existence had suited them both - no schedule, no pressure … no ties.

At the end of July, mail arrived at their hotel by special courier: large, hand-addressed cream-colored envelopes from the States, one for Richie, one for Duncan. "Hey, Mac," Richie said, peering at the return address. "You know anyone in South Tamaqua, Pennsylvania?"

"No." Duncan shrugged and opened the envelope, only to find another envelope inside, this one addressed simply to "Duncan." Inside that envelope was an even smaller envelope, and a sheet handwritten in beautiful calligraphy - a wedding invitation. Duncan leaned back against the headboard of the hotel bed to read.

requests the honor of your presence

at the marriage of her daughter

Alexandra Elise Johnson

to

Connor MacLeod

"What!" Duncan sat bolt upright, spluttering. Connor was getting married? Connor?

"Holy shit," Richie breathed, staring at his own invitation. "Sir Lancelot ties the knot. Huh. Hey, did Connor tell you anything about this-" he looked at the invitation again "-Alexandra Elise Johnson woman when he and John stayed with you on the barge back in March?"

"No," Duncan said sourly. "Not a word." Of course, Connor had never been one for small talk. Duncan snorted. Connor had never been one for any kind of talk.

Duncan reached for the smallest envelope and took out the reply card. There was already a checkmark placed next to "Will Attend," and at the bottom of the card Connor had written in his small, precise handwriting, "You're my best man."

"How'd Connor know where we were?" Richie asked. "We've been on the move for weeks."

"When I told him I'd sold the barge and that you and I were traveling around Europe, he said John was collecting postcards, and he asked me to send John one from every new town." Duncan shook his head and swore under his breath, smiling in amusement and exasperation. Connor had always liked to surprise people, and he had just done an excellent job.

"Why didn't he just tell you to keep in touch?"

"Because then I would have asked him why."

"Seems kind of … devious."

"Just keeping things private, until he's ready. He's like that."

"Must run in the family," Richie said under his breath.

Duncan pretended not to hear. He reached for telephone next to his bed; Connor had better do some explaining now.

Connor explained - briefly, of course. He had met Alex (Dr. Alexandra Johnson, noted archeologist) in January. They had started dating in April, right after Connor and John had returned from France, and over the Fourth of July weekend Alex and Connor had decided to get married. John liked her, too.

No, Duncan did not have to wear a tuxedo or a kilt for the wedding. No, Richie certainly didn't have to rent a tuxedo - and please God not a kilt! - for the wedding, either. The wedding was going to be casual and private, with just family. (Richie would like to know Connor included him in the family, Duncan thought.) John would be there, of course, and Connor's long-ago-adopted daughter, Rachel Ellenstein. Alex's mother, Margaret, was going to be the "best woman," and Alex's older brother and his wife and two kids would be there, too. And one or two other friends.

Not in a church, at Connor's place on Hudson Street. It was plenty big enough. Their immortal friend Sean Burns would perform the ceremony; he was a psychiatrist now, but he'd spent a century or so as a monk. He'd be flying in from France that morning. The legal wedding would be taken care of by a judge the Friday before. No, Connor was not going to tell Duncan where the honeymoon was going to be. Wedding presents? Surprise me.

"You caught me by surprise with this," Duncan said, the words both an admission and a rebuke.

In the silence that followed, Duncan could see Connor's lowered gaze and embarrassed nod, the unspoken apology well-known and well-understood, if not exactly frequent. "Sometimes these things don't work out," Connor said finally.

And explaining - or even mentioning - a failed love affair was not something Connor would ever want to do, Duncan knew. Duncan dropped that and moved on. "Does she know?"

"Yes, everything." Connor paused. "The Game, and the Prize."

"What's she like?" That was what Duncan really wanted to know.

"A good woman," he said, "and fun. She taught John and me to do the Hokey Pokey."

"The Hokey Pokey," Duncan repeated, trying to dredge the song from four centuries of memories.

"You know." Connor started to sing: "'You put your right foot in, you put your right foot out.'"

"Oh, yeah," Duncan said, remembering now. It had been all the rage about forty years ago. "Where you put your hands on the waist of the person in front of you."

"No, that's the Bunny Hop," Connor corrected. "That was on the flip side of the 45. In the Hokey Pokey you usually stand facing each other or side by side. After John was asleep, Alex decided the Hokey Pokey was best done naked."

"Uh … right," Duncan said. You put your right hand in, you put your right hand out, you put your right in, and you shake it all about.

"The last verse is the best," Connor supplied helpfully.

"Uh-huh," Duncan replied, angling away from Richie so the boy couldn't see his face. You put your wholeself in, you put your wholeself out … you do the hokey pokey and you turn yourself around. That's what it's all about!

"Or maybe it was the second to last," Connor mused.

You put your head in, you put your head out … Duncan stopped himself right there. Yup. A fun woman. Duncan nodded, satisfied. He didn't want to have all of the fun and all of the good women. Connor deserved to be happy, too, and Duncan was glad to hear that his kinsman had found someone again. Duncan buried his own thoughts about Tessa, about Little Deer, about Terese, about Debra. "Congratulations, Connor," he said, putting all the warmth and sincerity he could into those two words.

"Thanks, Duncan." Two more words, said often before, but heartfelt every time.

"I'm looking forward to meeting her."

Connor laughed, that familiar dry chuckle. "Come to New York the week before the wedding. You and Richie can stay at the apartment above the antique store. We'll have some fun."

And they did. Richie hadn't been to New York City before, and he wanted to see everything. Ten-year-old John was just as eager to sightsee, and the three MacLeods and Richie and Alex, and sometimes Rachel, went everywhere.

There were quieter moments, too, when Duncan and Alex got a chance to talk. "You and Connor haven't known each other very long," Duncan commented as he and Alex sat drinking coffee one morning in a little restaurant in Greenwich Village, just a few blocks from Connor's store.

"About seven months," she agreed, "but sometimes I feel as though I've known him my entire life." She gave a small puff of air upward, blowing her bangs off her forehead, the way Tessa used to do. Then Alex shook her head in amused exasperation. Tessa used to do that, too. Duncan glanced away.

"Other times," Alex said, "I think I'll never know him, no matter how much time we spend together." She added milk to her coffee and stirred. "Connor's very … private."

"Yeah, he is," Duncan agreed. "We get that way."

"Richie hasn't been immortal very long, then," Alex observed.

Duncan had to smile. "Nine months." Nine months and two days.

"So, he really is as old as he looks."

"He'll be twenty next month," Duncan said. Maybe he should start looking for a birthday present.

Alex leaned forward a little, her hands not quite steepled but with her fingers interlaced, her dark blue eyes inquisitive and focused. Her voice, naturally husky, was low as she asked, "Who's the oldest Immortal you've met?"

Duncan had to think about that. "Rebecca, I guess. She was about three thousand. Connor's teacher, Ramirez, was close to twenty-five hundred when he died, and Darius was almost two thousand."

"Darius and Rebecca are dead, too." Alex didn't make it a question.

"Darius died in May of last year, and Rebecca four months ago," he confirmed briefly then turned to more pleasant matters. "Everything ready for the wedding? Flowers, music, cake?"

"Hundreds of black orchids and fifteen bagpipers, with drummers and pipers, too," Alex said and then laughed aloud at Duncan's start of surprise. "No, we're having roses with heather and greens, and a string trio: violin, viola, and cello. I suggested a harp, but Connor said no."

Duncan nodded as he reached for his cup. "He doesn't like harp music." There'd been one evening in a smoky low-ceilinged inn, up near Paisley it had been, when Connor had walked out as soon as the harper had started to tune. Caterwauling on cat-gut, Connor had called it. He didn't like metal-strung harps any better.

Alex lifted an eyebrow. "So much for that Celtic stereotype."

"Connor," Duncan stated, "is not a stereotypical anything."

"That's certainly true," Alex said, with a small smile that was anything but demure. "But he can be a traditionalist, with some very old traditions. We're having two cakes: a bride's cake and a groom's cake. The bride's cake is white, of course, and the groom's cake will be chocolate. John is happy about that, and Elaine and Jimmy will be, too. They're my brother Pete's kids," she explained.

"Is the chocolate cake only for the kids?" Duncan inquired. Richie would have something to say about that. So would Duncan. He liked chocolate.

"You can wrestle them for it," Alex suggested with another smile, wider this time. "Are older Immortals different?" Alex asked, turning right back to immortal matters, not letting that go. A stubborn woman, Connor had said, and he was right.

Duncan let out a careful hiss of a sigh between his teeth. "We're all different, Alex," he answered finally. "Some of us are usually happy, looking forward to new things. Some get grim and depressed as the years go by. Most of us do a little of both. And some of us never seem to grow up," Duncan said, grinning a little as he thought of Amanda and Fitz. "We're priests, thieves, soldiers, librarians, doctors, con-artists … we're just people, Alex. That's all."

Alex nodded, but she didn't look totally convinced. Duncan didn't blame her. It wasn't all, and both of them knew it, and nobody could do a damn thing about it.

Early on Friday morning Connor made a quick trip with Alex to the courthouse in the morning for the legal ceremony, and then everyone went to Rachel's (formerly Connor's, c. 1915) small summer cottage at Breezy Point for a day at the beach. On Saturday, the women were busy with "things." The men were left to their own devices until the wedding on Sunday afternoon, because Rachel had made plans for a "bachelorette party" that evening: dinner at a restaurant followed by some movies at her house, and then a sleepover for the "girls."

"What movies?" Connor had asked when he had heard. Rachel had only smiled, arousing everybody's curiosity and suspicions, but she wasn't talking, not even when Duncan tried to persuade her. She was a stubborn woman, too. Duncan supposed she'd had to be, growing up with Connor as her dad.

Connor and Duncan and Richie and John spent Saturday at Coney Island, eating hot dogs and wasting money on rides and games; then they went to see the movie True Lies. John fell asleep on the couch at eight-thirty, exhausted by the long day and the busy week. Richie knew exactly what to do. "Let's go to a strip joint!"

Connor and Duncan exchanged glances. They'd been to strip joints. Lots of them.

Richie hadn't, at least, not enough of them. "It's tradition!" he said, outraged at their lack of enthusiasm. "What do you Scots do instead the night before a wedding?" he challenged them. "Go bowling? Arrange the pleats in your kilts?" He walked over and stared down at Connor, who was lounging back on the sofa with his feet up on the coffee table.

"Shear sheep?"

That did it. Mrs. Reston, a good friend of Rachel's, arrived to keep watch over John, and so the three men headed out into New York City on a Saturday night. Eventually, they found themselves drinking lousy and too-expensive beer in a smoky, noisy, crowded strip-joint, watching women gyrate on a stage and take off improbable costumes.

And having a pretty good time. Richie's enthusiasm was contagious, or at least amusing, and the night out on the town brought back fond memories of Duncan's own student days. Duncan glanced over at Connor, glad to see his former teacher looking relaxed and happy. Duncan hadn't seen much of Connor these last four decades or so, but this century had been a grim one, with two World Wars and plenty of smaller ones, dizzying changes in science and society, and the ever-faster pace of the Game. Connor had taken that grimness within himself, becoming more silent, more reserved, less likely to show up on Duncan's doorstep and suggest they go sailing, or go running, or just go. Go somewhere, anywhere, just for the sake of going, and seeing and doing and living.

Really living, not this endless brooding waiting that sucked out all enjoyment and excitement. After Connor's wife Brenda had been killed in a car accident seven years ago, sometimes it seemed to Duncan as though only the need to care for their adopted son, John, had kept Connor going. John had given Connor a reason to live, and now Alex was giving Connor a reason to laugh.

Connor was laughing now as Richie groused about the stripper. "Well, she's not taking it 'all off' fast enough," the young Immortal said.

"Yelling won't make her go faster," Duncan said, then pulled out a twenty dollar bill, getting ready to order something different to drink. "But something like this might."

"Thank you very much," Richie said as he plucked the money from Duncan's hand. "Hey, it's Connor's bachelor party, right?" he asked, smiling angelically at Duncan's glare. "And you're his best man." Richie shoved his chair back and went to talk to one of the dancers, a well-endowed redhead. The money disappeared into some small invisible pocket under the sequined panties, and the dancer arrived at their table.

"Good choice, Richie," Duncan said to his student as the lad settled back into his chair, mission accomplished. "Connor likes redheads. Especially healthy ones." He grinned cheerfully and leaned back in his own chair, getting ready to enjoy the show. "Don't you, Connor?"

Connor didn't answer. The show was already starting, and Connor was giving it - and her - his full attention.

"Are you nervous, honey?" Mom asked, on the limo ride from the restaurant back to Rachel's house. "About tomorrow?"

Alex laughed. "Yes. But more about the wedding than the marriage." That wasn't a surprise, was it? She already was married legally, though it didn't seem real. The civil ceremony had been quick, dry, and boring, performed by a tall, thin judge with a bad cold who had sneezed four times between the "I now pronounce" and "husband and wife."

"Congratulations," she said then called, "Next!" and it was done. Connor and Alex retreated to the hallway, where a triangular sign warned of a slippery floor and civil servants wandered back and forth with file boxes in their arms.

"Back to the loft?" Connor suggested, an eager gleam in his eyes.

"John and Duncan and Richie are there," Alex objected.

He nodded. "Right. A hotel, then. That's safer, anyway, with Duncan around."

"Oh, he wouldn't - ," Alex began, but Connor raised an eyebrow and then turned for the stairs. "Connor," she said, laying a hand on his arm. "Let's wait. Until Sunday, after the real wedding. I want it to be special."

"We've been waiting," Connor pointed out. "All week, ever since Duncan and Richie got into town, and you moved back into your apartment to be with your mom."

"It's only been five days," she corrected. "Not all week."

"By the time the wedding is over two days from now, it will have been all week."

"Sunday night," she insisted, but with a smile, soft and tempting, dangerous and slow. "It'll be worth the wait."

Connor sighed then smiled back and bowed as he offered her his arm. "Sunday night," he'd agreed, even as he claimed her as his own: "Mrs. MacLeod."

"Yes," Alex had said, answering to her new name, her new husband, and she'd given him her hand as they headed to the lawyers to sign some papers.

Still, tomorrow was the wedding ceremony, and Alex was nervous about that. "I keep wondering if the musicians will show up on time," Alex admitted to her mother as the limo stopped for a red light. "Or if the food will be edible, or if I'll remember both my shoes. And I have this horrible feeling there's something I forgot to do."

"Oh, it's always that way," her sister-in-law, Lara, said. "I had to run out and buy a slip, just three hours before my wedding!"

"I remember," Mom said dryly, and Alex remembered, too.

"Mitzi got her start planning weddings as my maid of honor, over thirty years ago," Rachel reassured them, "and she's planned hundreds of them since then. The food will be fine, and if you forget something, she probably has an extra one somewhere."

"Even musicians?" Alex asked, though Mitzi's white van (emblazoned with the words "Mychelle's Wedding Designs" and decorated all over with pink hearts and doves outlined with black) seemed to hold any number of amazing things. Alex had watched her pack it a few days after Rachel had first suggested getting some professional help.

"Oh, thank you," Alex had said, on that hot and sticky July evening, as they sat in the small garden behind Rachel's brownstone and Rachel poured iced tea. "But I don't think -"

"Just in case," Rachel said, as she gently but firmly pressed a glass into Alex's hand. "The wedding's in six weeks, right?"

"The twenty-seventh of August," Alex agreed. "We've got the rings and the location; I've asked some musicians and a caterer. How much else can there be to do?" Rachel's lips twitched and her eyebrows went up, and Alex suddenly wondered if she might perhaps have bitten off more than she could chew.

"Do you have a dress yet?" came the next question.

"I'm going shopping next week." That had Alex a little nervous; usually, she just bought all her clothes through the mail. But L. L. Bean didn't carry wedding gowns, so she was going to have to brave a real store.

"Why don't you come watch Mitzi get ready on Friday?" Rachel suggested. "Just so you can see."

So Alex had watched Mitzi get ready, and had been astonished by the contents of the van. "Four different veils?"

"In case the bride's veil is stepped upon and torn," Mitzi had answered, her be-ringed fingers twinkling as she expertly coiled the lace into a stiff cardboard box. "This way, she has a choice. I have four spare wedding rings, too, for both bride and groom."

"Do you have slips?"

"Of course. Twelve kinds: white, ivory, slits, no slits, full-length, T-length, knee."

Alex had hired Mitzi that afternoon, shifting the wedding date from Saturday to Sunday so that Mitzi would be free. Alex knew she was lucky that Mitzi had any room in her schedule at all. People put deposits in with Mitzi before they even got engaged.

"Oh, for a friend of Rachel, anything!" Mitzi had exclaimed, her bright black eyes sparkling above a sharp blade of a nose. No one would ever call Mitzi pretty or nice - her features were too pronounced, her tongue too sharp - but no one ever forgot her, or no one ever just walked on by. "A striking woman," Connor had commented, and with her signature hand-painted silk scarves and tailored black linen pant suits, Mitzi turned heads all the time.

She had a head for business, too. Mitzi owned three florists and a bridal shop, and was planning on acquiring a jewelry store. "With me as her partner," Rachel had said then added thoughtfully, "We might even use a corner of the antique store. People could get their wedding presents there, too."

"Mychelle's Wedding Emporium," Alex had suggested flippantly, but Rachel had nodded with a still-thoughtful smile.

Rachel was smiling now, too, but it was more of a grin. "Mitzi hasn't had a live musician in the back of her van since Woodstock," Rachel said. "But she does have tapes of the music you've requested. She got them from the musicians ten days ago, just in case they're late or become ill."

"Oh," Alex said, surprised again by the odd, yet pleasurable, feeling of having things done for her, instead of doing everything by herself. "Well, good."

"Just relax, Alex," Rachel encouraged her. "It'll be fine. Do you have reservations for tomorrow night?"

"Yes, Connor and I are going to leave the party around ten and go to a hotel. Everybody else can stay at the loft if they want to and have a good time." The limo started moving again, its motor a gentle hum. Alex leaned back into the softness of the leather seat and stretched out her legs, all the way. She could get used to this.

"Which hotel?" Lara wanted to know.

"I don't know," Alex answered. "It's a surprise."

It was also a secret. "Duncan is not going to know where we are," Connor had declared.

"Think he might put rice in the bed?" Alex had asked with a smile, but Connor hadn't smiled in return.

"It's better this way. Trust me."

And Alex did. She'd decided to trust him months ago, against her own better judgment and the cop's advice. Connor's advice, too. "You don't know what you're getting yourself into," he had told her the night they first met, when she had still known him by the name of Russell Nash, before she had known him at all. "Stay away."

She hadn't, not even after the cop had told her the same thing. "Russell Nash is a dangerous man," Lieutenant Stenn had told her as they sat in an all-night pool hall hazy with cigarette smoke, and smelling of mildew and over-ripe cheese. "Now I suggest you stay away from him." His narrow, stubbled face was earnest, his watery blue eyes red-rimmed. His hands shook slightly from continuous overdoes of nicotine and caffeine. It was five in the morning, and neither the lieutenant nor Alex had gotten any sleep at all; she'd been chasing after Connor MacLeod, and so had John Stenn. And so had a slimy Immortal named Kane.

Connor and the lieutenant had been right, both of them. She hadn't known what she was getting into, and Connor was a dangerous man. But he wasn't dangerous to her, no matter what Lieutenant Stenn or her friend Tommy thought. Or said. Or insisted. Alex was sure.

"Some butterflies in the stomach are normal, of course," her mother was saying. The limo turned a corner, only three blocks from Rachel's house. "But I'm not surprised you don't have them about Connor. He's a good man, and you always were one to know exactly what you wanted."

"And to know how to get it," put in Lara, laughing. "Your brother's told me some stories about you."

"I chased Connor until he caught me," Alex admitted, smiling, completely certain that marrying Connor was the right thing to do. "How is Pete doing?" she asked. She hadn't seen him since the family had gathered in Pennsylvania for the Fourth of July at Mom's, the weekend she and Connor had gotten engaged.

Mom had been really excited. "Have you picked the colors for your wedding yet?" she'd asked after dropping the kitchen towel on the floor and giving Alex a hug. Alex had blinked before answering, "Uh, no. I've only been engaged about twelve hours, Mom. I haven't really thought about it yet." She'd never thought about it at all.

That had been BTW: before the wedding. Alex could now converse knowledgably about MOB dresses, ring bearer pillows, and custom-dyed shoes for bridesmaids. Alex was more than ready to get the wedding over with. At least Mom was still excited.

"Oh, Pete's good," Lara was saying. "Tired from the drive today. It's a long ride from Vermont when you've got two kids bouncing around in the back of the car. He said he was just as happy to stay at the hotel with them and let me go out for a 'night with the girls'."

"Aren't you tired?"

"Oh, no," Lara said with a grin. "I napped while he drove."

"We're here!" announced Rachel. The four women got out of the limo and went down the stairs into the entryway of the brownstone. Rachel unlocked the door and led them into a hallway crowded with two bicycles and a pair of large garbage cans. She unlocked another door that opened onto a staircase.

"What's that other door to?" asked Lara, pointing down the hall, as curious as always.

"That's the basement apartment," Rachel answered. "When the house was first built, this ground floor was the dining room and the kitchen, but it was turned into an apartment during World War II. I'm renting it to two college girls now. They're probably out dancing tonight."

"You own the building?" Mom asked as they went up the staircase.

"Yes, my husband's grandfather bought it, over a century ago. David and I lived in the fourth-floor apartment right after we were married, not that he was here much. The Army kept sending him places, and then with Vietnam..." Rachel turned to the right at the top of the stairs and opened the door to the living room. "David's brother didn't want the house - he's in California - and so when my mother-in-law died in '77 she left me the house in her will, to keep it in the family."

Alex and Rachel walked into the living room, but Mom and Lara stopped in the doorway. "Oh, my," Mom said in surprise, and Lara added a "Wow." Alex had done the same thing the first time she'd been here. The house may have been built in the Victorian period, but the furnishing was minimalist Danish modern, all spare lines and glass and polished wood and open space. A large Mondrian painting of stark red and blue lines hung over the fireplace, and a set of Japanese raku pottery in blues and browns was the main decoration on the open bookshelves against the wall to the right.

"I work with antiques all day," Rachel explained as she walked past the three tall, narrow windows that looked out over the street. "I like a change of pace when I come home."

"It's lovely," Mom said, and she came on in. "Very relaxing. Very...clean."

Rachel laughed as she turned on the light in the corner. "I've been working at the store for over twenty-five years, and I've come to hate dusting curlicues on furniture. Mitzi hates dusting, too."

"Will she be here soon?" Alex asked.

"She'll be home before midnight, and then we'll start the movie. In the meantime … margaritas, anyone?"

The Men - Going Home

"New York, New York!" Richie warbled happily, making his way down the sidewalk.

"Is he always this cheerful?" Connor asked Duncan, as the MacLeods followed a few paces behind, on their way home from the third-and final, over Richie's protests-strip joint.

"Usually," Duncan admitted.

"Better not introduce him to Fitzcairn," Connor cautioned, watching the erratic progress of his student's student past the subway entrance. "The boy might lead Fitz into bad habits."

"It's a hell of a town!" Richie continued.

"At least it's not raining," Duncan said, with a sidelong glance at Connor. "Richie likes old movies."

Connor started to laugh at the image of Richie dancing with an umbrella and singing in the rain. "Gene Kelly he's not," Connor said firmly. "But he looks like he's a good kid."

"Yeah," Duncan agreed, gazing at his student, who was now swinging one-handed around a lamppost. "He is."

"How's he doing?" Connor asked. Richie had become an Immortal less than a year ago, and the transition was not an easy one. Neither was the life.

"All right," Duncan said. "He took his first head six months ago."

Connor raised one eyebrow. "That was quick."

"Too quick," Duncan said sourly as they started walking again, following Richie's lead. "We had a … discussion about it, but he didn't listen."

"I can't imagine that," Connor commented with a completely straight face, and it was Duncan's turn to laugh.

"You don't have to imagine it, Connor. I gave you plenty to remember."

"Good memories," Connor said, grinning, too, and he clapped Duncan on the back. "I'm glad you came to New York for the wedding, Duncan."

"Wouldn't have missed it for the world," Duncan answered warmly, but the shadows in his eyes weren't only from the street lamps.

Connor knew why. There had been another wedding planned, less than a year ago, and Connor was to have been Duncan's best man. But Tessa had been murdered, shot down in the street in the same senseless mugging that had made Richie an Immortal, and Duncan's life had been shattered once again. He was still putting the pieces back together. This time Connor's hand lingered on his kinsman's shoulder as he said quietly, "It's never enough time."

"No," Duncan agreed. "But it's all we've got."

"And all they have, too." Connor looked up, trying to see the stars, but the lights of heaven were drowned by the lights of man.

Brenda hadn't had very long at all, but she'd known a lot, just the same. "One year of love, even though it ends in death, is better than an eternity alone," she had said to him once, and it had become so wonderfully-and then so terribly-true. Almost a year later, she had died in Connor's arms.

But it had been a good year. A great year. Brenda had made it so. And because of her, and because of what she had taught him, Connor had decided to take a chance and risk his heart again, to have the family he'd wanted for so long. Connor didn't need to look up at the heavens anymore. The stars were always shining, even beyond the glare.

A police car cruised by, and Duncan muttered a curse when it pulled over at the street corner, right next to Richie and the two prostitutes who were sauntering toward the boy. "New York's finest," Connor said as he and Duncan hurried to catch up to their young friend. "It must be an election year."

"Oh my God, I can't believe he did that!" shrieked Lara, pointing at the screen.

"Him?" Alex said, almost choking on a nacho. "What about her?"

"There goes her foot, there goes her foot!" Mom called.

"That settles it, ladies," Mitzi announced from her seat next to Rachel on the couch. "We should all drink pink champagne."

"We have to," Lara said mournfully, tilting the pitcher. "The margaritas are gone."

"The champagne's in the refrigerator," Rachel said, starting to get up.

"I'll get it," Alex volunteered.

Mom joined her in the kitchen, a shining space of chrome and stainless steel. "Rachel seems very nice," Mom said as she took glasses from a cupboard and set them on a tray.

"Oh, she is," Alex agreed, rummaging in a drawer for the cork puller. "She's great. And she said just about the same thing you did when Connor and I told her we were getting married."

"'That's wonderful'?"

"Yes, that," Alex agreed. "And then she said, 'It's about time.'"

"I never said that," Mom protested.

"You thought it."

"Well...," Mom admitted with a laugh. "You did seem married to your work for a while," she said, and it was true. "Not that a career isn't important, of course," Mom continued, "but there's more to life than a job."

Alex grinned. "I know." She'd always known that; it was only lately that she'd found it. "Ready?" she asked, and they carried the champagne and the glasses into the living room. They paused the movie while Mitzi did the honors with the cork and Rachel poured.

Lara sipped her champagne then leaned back in her chair with a contented sigh, wiggling her toes. "What a great party! And great food. That Chinese place was fantastic!"

Rachel nodded. "The Jade Dragon has been a favorite of ours for years."

It was one of Alex's favorites now, too. And it had been a marvelous dinner, even if there had been that awkward moment when Lara had wanted to know what Connor's Chinese birth year was. "You were born in the Year of the Tiger, weren't you, Alex?" she'd asked, scanning the horoscope page on the back of the menu. "Is Connor a Tiger, too?"

Alex had looked up blankly, not knowing what to say, because 1518 certainly wasn't listed as a birth year and besides that, the date would have to be converted from Julian to Gregorian. "Um..."

"His birthday's in January," Rachel had put in smoothly. "So it's before the Chinese New Year. I'm not sure if that means he's the one before or the one after. What's your Chinese sign, Lara?"

"I'm a Rat," she'd said, going back to the menu. "It says I'm 'charming, persuasive, and often self-centered.' Hey! I don't think I'm like that. Do you think I'm like that? The self-centered part, I mean, not the charming and persuasive parts."

Mom had agreed that, no, of course not, Lara wasn't self-centered, and Alex had agreed too. It was true, mostly.

"I can see why you like that restaurant," Lara was saying to Rachel. "And it was really great that Alex got the best fortune cookie, especially once we added 'in between the sheets' to it."

"What was it again, honey?" Mom asked.

Alex pulled the scrap of paper out from her purse to read: "'It is not how much you do, but how much love you put in the doing."

"I like that one," Rachel said thoughtfully. "Even without the 'sheets' bit added on."

"If only it were true for laundry," Mom replied, and Alex smiled as she put the paper away to use in her wedding scrapbook later on.

Lara sighed dramatically. "Of course, I'm the one who got stuck with, 'There is no love like self love...in between the sheets.'"

"There is some truth to that," Mitzi said, and everyone nodded thoughtfully.

"Yes," Lara said, "but not as much fun," and everyone nodded again.

"Mine was sweet," Mom said. "Both ways. 'True gold fears no fire.'"

"Mine was awful," Rachel said. "Beware of odors from unfamiliar sources..."

"...in between the sheets!" Lara added.

"It is good advice, dear," Mitzi said, patting her arm.

Rachel smiled sweetly. "I'll get you yours." She went to the kitchen and came back with the cookie. All the women leaned forward as Mitzi broke it open and unrolled the scrap of paper, then sat holding it. "Well?" Rachel finally asked.

Mitzi straightened, tossed back her head, and proclaimed: "Ignorance is not innocence but a lack of effort..."

And all the women gleefully chanted, "...in between the sheets!"

"It is good advice, dear," Rachel told her, smiling sweetly again as she patted Mitzi's arm.

Mitzi returned her smile fondly then declared, "I need more champagne."

"I haven't had a 'girls' night out' in years," Lara said as the glasses were refilled. "And it really is a night out, the whole night. I can't remember the last time I had a slumber party. For me, that is. Elaine had one on her eighth birthday party." She shook her head. "Those girls giggled the whole time."

"That's what we're doing," Alex pointed out.

"But not for the same reason," Mitzi countered.

"God, I hope not," Lara said, rolling her eyes.

"Thank you for letting us spend the night, Rachel," Mom said, moving the conversation along. "It really is a treat, and tomorrow morning won't be as rushed since we're all at the same place, and your house is closer to Connor's than Alex's apartment."

"Plus it's more fun!" Lara said.

"That's exactly why I suggested it," Rachel agreed.

"Speaking of fun," Mitzi said, "are we ready for the movie again?"

"Oh, yes!" Lara said, and everyone turned back to the screen.

"Oh my goodness," Mom murmured a little while later from the corner. "The look on his face..."

"And hers," Rachel put in, leaning forward to see better.

As Alex sipped at her champagne, she wondered how things were going back at the loft. John was no doubt asleep-it was nearly two in the morning-but the three immortals might have decided to stay up and watch a movie or play cards. Or maybe they were having fun with swords. Alex shrugged mentally and went back to enjoying herself. Connor had told her there was nothing to worry about; he'd take care of "the boys."

The Men - Waylaid

Connor was beginning to be worried. The cops hadn't been that interested in Richie, and had been about to tell them all to go on home, when the tall cop-whose nametag read Ramirez, Connor had noticed earlier with some amusement-suddenly motioned to Carlton, his gray-haired partner, and said a few quiet words.

"Watch it," Connor said to Duncan, for the cops were looking at his kinsman very thoroughly. Then the cops nodded to each other, and the older one approached.

"If you'll just come with us to the station," Carlton said to Duncan, "we have a few questions for you."

"What kind of questions?" Connor snarled, moving partially between Carlton and Duncan, noting with approval that Richie had taken up a position nearby, but not close enough to get in the way.

The cop's weary eyes, almost colorless in the glare of the streetlight, slid over him and came back to his face, then stayed there. "Just some questions," he said evenly, though his tension at the confrontation showed in the set of his jaw and the tightness of his shoulders, visible even under the ill-fitting uniform. Behind him, Ramirez placed a hand on his gun.

"Connor," Duncan said smoothly, stepping out into the open, his hands spread wide, "it's OK. Probably just a case of mistaken identity." He smiled at Ramirez. "Isn't that right, Officer?"

"We'll see," Ramirez said noncommittally

"Nothing to worry about, Connor," Duncan said cheerfully as he casually handed his coat to his former teacher and smiled reassuringly at his student. "We're always happy to cooperate with the police. Aren't we?" Richie gave him a wan smile back, but wisely kept his mouth shut as Duncan headed for the patrol car, Ramirez in front of him and Carlton carefully following behind.

Connor swore, the weight of Duncan's sword heavy on his arm, and he and Richie watched from the sidewalk as the police took Duncan away.

"New York, New York," Richie said again, not singing now. "It's a hell of a town."

Continued in Chapter 2: Butterflies