The windows were foggy and the streetlights glowed three times as large in the reflection of condensation. Traffic was sparse all day and, now that twilight was descending, ceased altogether. It felt like snow, but the sky petulantly refused. The grocery at the corner couldn�t resist the next season and had a string of multicolor Christmas lights up already. Their Santa was crooked and the nativity scene was missing one wise man.

Tessa, apron-clad and her blonde hair pulled back, tucked a garnish around the vegetable plate and warned Richie off with a look. The honey-hued turkey rested on the sideboard, steaming victim awaiting the blade. From there, the main dishes and side dishes took up the entire counter and the island held three pies.

Richie pinched a piece of flesh from one leg of the bird and ducked under Duncan�s arm to escape the kitchen before Tessa chided him some more. Duncan let him go and aimed a fond look at Tessa�s expression.

�This is what it would be like with children,� he reminded her.

�Yes, but I would have had a chance to adjust to them being underfoot and getting into the food before they were as tall as I, and could reach everything!� She glanced around the kitchen, which was strewn with every size of pan and pot, ladle and spoon, and a variety of spices. The sink was full of dishes, the stovetop soiled, and two discarded kitchen towels were flung in a corner. �I think I�ve got it all.�

Duncan sipped his wine and smiled. Yes, you do. You always do. �The table is ready.�

�The candles lit?�

�Of course.�

�Did you find my gravy bowl?�

�I did. It was hidden in with the Chi set.�

�The Chi set? How did it get in there?� Tessa rolled her eyes. �I�m glad you found it. My grandmother, Helen, gave me that bowl before she died. She used to make the best turkey gravy and serve it in that thing every holiday. We would vote on who would refill it when it was empty, you know? My sisters vied with me over who would eventually get that gravy bowl. The place of honor was always the person who got to sit right beside the gravy!�

�I know,� Duncan said dutifully. He heard this story every Thanksgiving and Christmas. Family; so much a part of Tessa�s growing up years�the reunions, the communions, the weddings, the holidays, the quirky little things that made families tick. For the twentieth time, he wished his immortality did not cut him off from such family warmth�and did not cut her off as well. For them, there would be no lively gathering of children and great grandchildren. Tessa would not be that grandmother someday, passing off a gravy bowl that was ugly by looks and beyond beauty with memories.

Beyond beauty, he thought, swirling his wine in the goblet. Just an old bowl, but a treasure that symbolized family and home.

�Are you ready for me to carve?� he said abruptly, discarding regrets from his mind. �Yes, I think so.� She plugged in the electric carving knife and traded it for his glass of wine. �Are you going to teach Richie how to do this?� she asked softly. A tendril of her hair had escaped the bun and dandled down her neck.

�Some day,� he said with a smile, curling that blonde tendril in one finger. �But, today, why don�t we have some slices that are actually whole and teach him another day?� Tessa smiled and the lights in her eyes mesmerized him. She does have family � right here. With me and this awkward and sometimes irritating young man that has been dropped in our midst.

Abruptly he frowned and then put the carving knife down.

�What is it? Do you need a bigger platter or�� Tessa began, but then halted, watching his expression. �Oh, no � not now? Don�t they know it�s Thanksgiving?�

�Some don�t care about the holidays,� he said grimly, picking up his sword from the corner of the kitchen. �Others think it�s the best time because with family and friends around it makes their target more anxious.� He walked purposefully from the kitchen and through the bright dining room. The candles made the tablecloth and linens glow, the china gleam. Richie saw the sword and got up from the table with a scrape of his chair.

�You�ve got to be kidding, Mac? It�s Thanksgiving!�

�Stay with Tessa, Richie.�

Seven steps to the door to open it. Three steps to clear the entranceway and have a clear line of sight to the street. The cold air bit at his open collar and around the back of his neck. The runoff through the storm drain gurgled through the grate. The annoying buzz of Dickson�s half-dead neon grocery sign hummed erratically in the quiet.

Twenty feet away stood a figure in a long coat with his hands jammed in the pockets. A familiar figure. A surprising figure. Especially the hands in his pockets. Duncan dropped his sword point and walked straight to meet him�right up face to face�and it was telling that the other man did not move. Did not even bring his hands from his pockets.

The guarded eyes of Connor MacLeod looked back at him, gray sentinels in a young face. Duncan suspected there was a gun under one of those hands in a pocket. He didn�t ask. The collar of the coat was turned and came up to Connor�s ears and the perpetually unkempt hair spilled around the cloth like an angry sea. For a long moment, they stared at one another like ill met strangers.

�I should have called.� Connor shrugged diffidently. An awkward, out of place movement given the boldness of letting Duncan stride right up to him. �It�s Thanksgiving.�

Duncan studied him: the lines around his eyes, the puff of mist from this one sentence escaping as if under pressure. The other immortal didn�t fidget on his feet, but neither did he quite hold Duncan�s gaze.

�I just thought I�d see you. Just say, �hey,� and then go.�

The perpetually wary eyes looked past Duncan and down the shadows of the street. Cataloguing each one and what made them, even though he surely scouted this whole block on approach.

�It�s Thanksgiving,� Duncan said quietly. �And when the blessing is said and I think back on everything I�m thankful for, I�m thankful for life. And love, when I have it. Good hands. A strong back. A sharp mind. Wealth to make a difference for people. Friends.� Duncan paused. �Young friends and older ones��

The gray eyes settled from the watchfulness of the street to his.

�And one of them is named Connor MacLeod.�

A trace of a smile caught the edge of those cagey wolf eyes, but then skittered away again like something unfamiliar.

�It�s the same every Thanksgiving, you know, and I get tired of evoking that name when the man wearing it is never there,� continued Duncan in his same quiet tone.

�I can�t stay, Duncan.� The sky seemingly agreed and a snowflake landed on Connor�s coat and melted. �I just wanted to see you�� He looked as if he�d say more, but the thoughts failed in his mouth and he looked away again.

I know he can see them through the windows, fog and all. Richie watches, thinking he�s unseen, and Tessa paces. The white of table linen and candle flame bouncing off of china. The glint of silverware. He knows how that table looks and the way it looks in homes all over town tonight.

Duncan nodded agreement with that last statement, but as Connor shifted on his feet, moving to go, he reached out one bare hand and caught his coat�just by a button. One button � two fingers under it and one on top. Even that slight pull halted the perceptive man hidden inside the wool and lining and shining steel. One button to hold him, yet not enough to mean force. A hint, politely given and easily escaped; yet it held the other man as if he�d stretched a cable around his torso.

�You can�t stay if you�re going to eat all the pie.� Duncan fingered the metal button, warming it with his thumb. �And you can�t stay if you don�t listen interestedly to Tessa talking about an ugly gravy bowl from her grandmother. Other than that, you can stay.�

Connor looked down at his coat, the hand that held him, and then scanned the street again.

Like clockwork. Duncan smiled at the predictability and then the intense eyes were back on his, weighing his words gravely.

�I didn�t call.�

�I�m not fighting for my life out here. You think she won�t be happy to see it�s you?�

�Even if I don�t talk much and I leave right after I eat?�

�The best kind of guests; the ones who eat everything thankfully and then depart.�

Connor�s eyes glinted that same trace of humor. �But leave some pie.�

�Richie is here. You must leave some pie.�

He had him partway down the street before the snow began to fall in earnest. Wide wet Northwest flakes that created soggy lumps instead of bushes and mushroom shaped mailboxes. Connor balked ten feet out and Duncan purposefully nudged into him with a shoulder, breaking his fixed contemplation of the storefront.

Ever since the Kurgan, Duncan silently reminded himself. He�ll come right in to beard the lion if there�s a fight afoot � but just try to get him to sit and relax, with no trouble to hold him there, and he�s skittish as a wild hare. He told me that it would take a while for him to work it all through � I never expected it to take him years to get past that brute. He blinked a snowflake off his eyelashes. But we have years. We can see this through.

�You don�t need to be uneasy with me, Connor.�

�I know. It�s not you�it�s me. I should go��

��After you leave some pie, you can go.�

�I didn�t call, Duncan��

�I know Tessa. She�ll want you to stay. You saved her from a broken heart, remember? And I want you to stay, because you've saved me from more than just that.�

Connor grunted and then sighed, flicked a watchful eye at the street. Even the shadows were being driven out by the brightness of snowfall. Duncan let him study the terrain until he seemed satisfied.

�What about Richie?�

Duncan snorted softly beneath his breath. �He�ll be worried about the pies, not much else.�

Eight steps. Five steps. Richie at the window, his blue eyes a smear in the condensation, but Connor didn�t notice because the storefront door opened. Tessa, hair half down and her eyes luminous, came out the door and it pushed back an arc of wet snow in its wake. She was barefoot and bareheaded, but even so, she recognized Connor and reached for him as she called, �Connor! Oh, I am so glad you are here! You�re just in time to help Duncan carve this turkey�and we have pies! Oh, you�ll love the pies.� And with one circle of her arm and Duncan�s circle of his, they drew him inside.

�I should have called,� Connor said apologetically just as he cleared the threshold.

Tessa took him in with one look, head to toe. �Family never has to call ahead, Connor MacLeod,� she said gently. �You just come and we�re thankful. The table is always ready for family.� She leaned closer, conspiratorially and Connor instinctively leaned to hear her whisper, "You must not eat all the pie, though!"

"So I've been told," he whispered back. "Can I sit by the gravy bowl?"

Tessa practically beamed.

~MacNair~
Nov. 24, 2003

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