"Accents and Amateurs" reuses a plot idea from my previous story, "The Princess Nurse."  The
characters involved are the property of William Goldman, and the creators of Chicago Hope.  I
obviously know nothing about them.   If you have not read "The Princess Nurse," you should do
that first.

What follows is a sequel to "The Princess Nurse."  I hadn't planned on a sequel, but one of the
replies to my original story suggested that Inigo and Geiger should meet.  (I wanted to give credit
to this person, but can't find the post.) I didn't really think about it, but wheels will turn.

                      Accents and Amateurs
                                                
                        by Gail M. Eppers
                                              
INTRODUCTION


       As Jeffrey watched Alicia play near the shoreline, first chasing then running away from the
waves as they rolled in and out, he thought about his last meeting with Philip Watters.  It had
been four years since he worked at Chicago Hope.  This six month leave of absence had gone too
far, he had to agree, but it would be hard to explain to Alicia why he was going to be gone so
much more.  It had been so joyful for him to see her grow up, but at the same time, painful in
that it reminded him that Joey had never had the chance.  And that it should be Alan watching
her grow up.  He sighed.
        In Watter's office, he had sighed, too.  Every few months Watters called him in for the same
conversation.  They would chat for a while, catch up on things, then Philip would look sternly
over the desk at him and just say, "Please."  He looked dignified, of course, when he said it, but
Jeffrey knew that wasn't what he was feeling.  This time it was even worse.  He got the feeling
that inside, it was as if Philip was on his knees at Jeffrey's feet, sobbing like mad.  "I need you to
come back, Jeffrey."
        "Austin can do it.  She won that Cushing thing; she's gotta be good." Jeffrey had never
gotten along with Kate Austin.  She was all ticked off because he was number one on the list and
she wasn't on it at all.  He'd rather be on the list than have that ugly Cushing trophy, anyway.  He
didn't want to have to deal with her day in and day out.  Such a prima donna. After all, that was
his job.
        Philip shook his head. "Well, she's not as good as she thinks she is.  You know she once
killed a patient by leaving a clamp in her?"         
        "So did I," Jeffrey admitted, then added, "of course, that was years ago and I was a resident. 
And the guy weighed 600 pounds.  You could have lost a basin in there."  He paused. "And she
still won the Cushing?" He couldn't believe they would give it to someone that inept.
        "She never told the family.  It was never public knowledge."
        "Ah," he acknowledged.  "Why don't you just fire her, Philip?"
        "What?  Fire HER?  If I did that, we'd have a sex discrimination suit on our hands faster
than you can sing 'Russians'."
        Jeffrey's head whipped around to see if anyone could have overheard that last remark.
"Shhhhhh.   I don't want people to know about that."
        "That you sing?  Everyone knows about that, Jeffrey.  Remember -- 'Rock-a-Bye'?" As he
spoke, he came around from behind the desk and sat on the edge with one buttock.
        "Not that I sing.  That I sing 'Russians.'  If that gets out they'll be yelling for it every night
and I'm telling you, Philip, that preamble ain't lyin'."  He was getting a headache just thinking
about it.  He rubbed his right temple.
        "Every night?  You sing every night, now?  I didn't know about that."
        "Yeah, at Russo's.  I'm the headliner there.  After Alicia goes to bed a neighbor lady stays
with her.  They pay me real good money."
        "You're not the headliner.  I've seen the posters.  It's a girl. What was that name ... Mandy
Pankin is the headliner. "
        "It's Mandy Patinkin.  And it is me."
        "You're a girl?"
        "That's my stage name.  Never heard of stage names, Philip?  It's a good name.  Good, solid,
Jewish name."
        "Sounds like you're spitting."  Philip muttered.
        "Well, it's either that or The Singing Doctor, which would get me all the respect Sally Field
got for that Singing Nun thing."  Geiger argued.
        "That was the Flying Nun."
        "Are you sure?  But there was a Singing Nun, wasn't there?"
        "Positive.  The Singing Nun was somebody else." Philip paused, then added, "Wait a
minute, they PAY you?"
        "You never came in to see me?  I'm disappointed, Philip.  You'll have to come with me
some night."  Jeffrey picked at his fingernails.
         "The point is, you've accepted a job while you're on personal leave from Chicago Hope. 
That's not good."
        "Fire me."  He wasn't concerned.  He hadn't been fired yet even though his six month leave
had gone on for nearly four years.   He knew where Philip was coming from.  There might yet be
another pinch, not that most of them had actually been pinches.  Jeffrey wanted a real
emergency, something dramatic.  Something experimental.  You couldn't go wrong with
experimental stuff.  Unfortunately, the experimental surgeries were getting pretty weird, even for
Geiger.  What was that one he read about in a journal a while back?  A mechanical heart that ran
on rechargeable batteries?  Then there was the brain transplant that even Aaron had refused to
contribute to in any way.  Hard to find a suitable donor.  The review board insisted that the brain
be worth the trouble, and very few people of any intelligence managed to die without destroying
too many brain cells in the process.
        "I don't want to fire you.  I want you back here working.  Someone has to keep an eye on
Kate."
        "I'll think about it."  This was Jeffrey's standard way of saying he'd argued enough and
wanted to leave now.
        "Think quickly.  Austin has a full schedule."
        "What's on the schedule?  Anything out of the ordinary?"  He wanted to add 'anything really
challenging -- more difficult than a hangnail that you think she couldn't handle,' but kept it to
himself.
        Watters rolled his eyes.  It shouldn't matter, but "a tonsillectomy, a radical mastectomy, and
a triple bypass."  Besides, Jeffrey knew that there were always plenty of unscheduled things
going on at Chicago Hope, too.
        "I'd take the bypass, but if she sees me, she'll throw a fit. You know that."
        Philip looked at his watch.  It was hard to make progress arguing with this man.  "I have
another M & M conference in half an hour.  Would you like to come with me?"
        There was silence.  Philip stayed firm, until finally, Jeffrey backed down.  That had been
his hold card.  Remind Jeffrey that people were dying unnecessarily; make him really think
about where his responsibilities were. "Besides," he added, when he saw Jeffrey accept the
inevitable, "if I play my cards right, she won't even know you're here."
        "What are you talking about?"
        "You do accents, don't you?"
        "I play with them, yes."
        "What's your favorite one?"


        That was Friday.  It was Sunday now, and Philip expected him to come in on Monday, in
disguise, using a fake accent.  But he wasn't looking forward to it.  How long could he keep it up,
after all?  Eventually, she'd find out.  Then the shit would hit the fan.  He laughed to himself. 
This might even be fun after all.
        "Jeffrey!"  Alicia called to him, pointing at something out on the lake.  He had taught her to
call him Jeffrey.  The first time she'd called him Daddy it almost killed him.  He told her about
her Daddy often, though. For them, Alan would always be around.  Jeffrey shaded his eyes to see
what she was pointing at.
        His jaw dropped.  Off in the distance, he could make out the tall masts of an old-fashioned
sailing ship.  He walked closer to the shore, still trying to see details.  Then, the wind hitting it
just right, the flag unfurled at the right angle to be visible from shore.   He didn't need to see the
detail, but it was black.  "What the--" he started.
         Then Alicia was pulling at his pants leg. "Do you see it, Jeffrey?" His attention suddenly
diverted back to his adopted daughter, he picked her up into his arms.
        "Yes, I see it, Sunshine."  Then wordlessly, he carried her back to the car.  Whatever was
coming into port, he didn't want her to be there to see it.


        Inigo stood on the deck of his ship as it rolled once again into the Chicago harbor.  When
he'd received word that Buttercup was in her last month of pregnancy, he'd rushed to be here. 
That was almost three years ago.    He, of course, added about eight months to account for
midseas mail, and that worked out right.   It had still taken two more years to actually get here. 
They had run into a lightning storm -- one of the three terrors of the high seas -- and gotten
blown way off course.  But, better late than never, he thought as he prepared to disembark.
        His first mate, a young sailor by the name of Sam Rosenthal II, approached him.  "Cap'n
Roberts, sir?  You'll be going ashore, then?"
        "Yes, Rosenthal.  You remember my instructions?" he asked through a thick Spanish accent
        "Aye, sir.  Five bucks a head."  Last time, they had made a little extra money by giving tours
of the elegant ship to the gathering crowd. They had charged a dollar at first, upped it to two the
following day.  Five seemed about right this time.
        "And if I'm here more than a day?"
        "Add a dollar," he said with a wink.
        "Sam, you're a great pirate," Inigo admitted, then indicated Sam's self-made attire, which
looked as if it might have been too large for Fezzik, Inigo's deceased giant friend. "But you
should not be a tailor."
        "Have a good time, sir," Rosenthal said, giving Inigo a pat on the back and another wink.
        "Oh, one more thing."  Inigo removed his scabbard and handed it to Rosenthal.  "I won't
need this here."  Inigo remembered that his sword had not been given a warm welcome last time
he'd been in Chicago.
        "Are you sure, sir?  It *is* Chicago."  Rosenthal didn't like his captain going out without a
weapon.
        Inigo gave it obvious thought, then repeated, "No.  Take it back to my cabin."
        Inigo watched him go below decks.  Honestly, these pirates were a lecherous bunch.  What
did they think Inigo was here for?  He shrugged. Let them think what they wanted.  Now, what
was the address of the stables where Wesley and Buttercup said they kept the horses?  Their
letter said they had a house nearby.   He started down the gangplank, wondering if the child had
been a girl or a boy.
        He walked for over an hour, as the sun set and the sky grew dark, but finally found the
stables.  He recognized the "boys" immediately, and Wesley was there combing one of them
down by the light of a lantern.  A small girl of about three tried to help.  The girl saw Wesley
first, and hid behind her father's legs, causing Wesley to look up.  Wesley dropped the brush.
"Inigo!"  He stumbled forward, dragging the child who clung fast to one leg.  "We thought you
were lost at sea!"
        "I was," he admitted.  "I finally asked directions from a passing yacht.  I hate to do that."
        "I thought you hated waiting."
        "That, too."  He knelt down to see the child as she ducked behind Wesley's legs.  "And who
is this?"
        Wesley gently guided the child out from behind him.  "This is Margarine."  Wesley
suddenly shaded his eyes and looked behind Inigo. Inigo turned to see Buttercup, again large
with child, approaching.
        "Wesley!  Wesley!" she called, holding her stomach with one hand. "It's time!"
        "Time for what?" Inigo asked, bewildered, as Wesley hefted his wife onto the horse, then
pulled himself up in front of her.  He motioned for Inigo to grab another horse, and the child. 
Together, they galloped off, Buttercup alternately screaming and "oof"ing as they went.


                           Chapter Two

         For most people, the day had wound down hours ago.  But the emergency room at Chicago
Hope was buzzing with activity as Dr. Kronk and Dr. Nyland worked on a teenage boy with a
knife in his groin.  "Pull it out!" the teen yelled, then, "No, don't pull it out!  Aaarrrrgghhh!"
        "Get him to the OR!" Dr. Kronk yelled above the din. "I may have to amputate!"
         An orderly replied, "I'll get the chainsaw ready!"
         "Wait!" the kid yelled.  He pulled on Kronk's arm, "Doc!  Doc, does this mean I won't be
able to... you know?"
        "Not tonight, I have a headache," Kronk told him, and veered off into a scrub room.
        The aftermath in the ER was a mess.  An orderly pushed a mop through the blood and
gauze on the floor.  Nyland was cleaning himself up, ready for the next patient, when he heard
the clomping of horses approaching.  "What the--" he said as he moved toward the door.
        Wesley jumped off the horse before it even stopped, and tied the reins to a drain pipe.  Then
he helped his wife off and rushed her through the doors, where Nyland, coming to the immediate
diagnosis of labor, had a wheelchair ready.   Buttercup sat down and was whisked away.  Wesley
tried to follow, but a nurse with a clipboard stopped him.  She had red curly hair, but Wesley did
not recognize her.  "Excuse me, sir," she said with a smile.  "I need some information."  And she
pulled him off to one side.
        Meanwhile, Inigo arrived seconds later on his horse, dismounted with the now sleepy child
in one arm, and wrapped his reins around the same drain pipe.   He went in the doors, but could
see neither Wesley nor Buttercup. Oh well, he thought.  He found the waiting room, and went in. 
He sat with the little girl in his lap, and waited.
        And waited.
        And waited.
        Margarine began to fuss, and reached for a book, which Inigo handed to her.  "I know," he
told her, "I hate waiting, too."  The book amused her for a time, but soon it was out of pages,
which lay crumpled on the floor. Other people in the waiting room stared angrily at Inigo, but he
did not notice.
        Finally, he heard Wesley's voice.  "Why would you need to know my cup size?" he asked,
obviously at the end of his patience.  "I get pretty thirsty; I usually use a 32 ounce.  Now do you
have enough information? Where is my wife?"
        "All right, sir.  Right this way."  Inigo heard the nurse reply, but saw no one, though he
leaned this way and that trying to see.
        So again, he waited.


        Wesley was led upstairs to the labor room where his wife lay screaming.  Dr. Sutton was
with her.  "Quit your whining," he told her, "it's just a baby.  It's not like you're passing a kidney
stone, or anything."  He flipped the cover on her chart.  "I passed a kidney stone once.  Now
that's pain."  He hummed as he read, "Second child.  No problems with the first, well, nothing
serious anyway."
        Wesley went to his wife's side and took her hand.  "I'm here, Buttercup."
        "Drop dead!"  Buttercup screamed, as a contraction came.
        "As you --" Wesley started to say.
        "No, I'm sorry, dearest!"  Buttercup interrupted him.  She held his hand tightly.
        Dr. Sutton put the chart down, and went to the foot of the bed to examine Buttercup's
progress.  He lifted the bed coverings, then pulled a carpenter's tape measure out of one pocket
and extended it several inches, locking it in place.  He slipped the whole thing under the blanket,
then his head followed.  After a moment, both emerged again.  "Oooops.  This is inches.  How
many centimeters in an inch?"  He pushed the release button and pocketed the tape measure. 
"Never mind."  He put his hands on Buttercup's large belly, and felt carefully, humming again. 
"Definitely round."
        Buttercup screamed again and her body lurched forward.  "Good girl!" Sutton said.  God,
this job was fun!   He checked his watch, noted that he hadn't eaten.  "I'll be right back.  You're
doing fine."  He left and headed for the cafeteria.
        Wesley tried to comfort Buttercup, who was sweating profusely now from her exertions.  
He got a cool cloth from the bathroom, and lay it across her forehead.  "Thank you, Dearest,"
Buttercup whispered, and took his hand.  The next thing Wesley knew he was flying over the bed
as Buttercup screamed and pulled him completely over the bed, where he landed on his back on
the floor.


        Down in the waiting room, it was nearly dawn.  Margarine had finally fallen asleep on
Inigo's lap, and the hospital had grown quiet.  In the quiet, he heard it.  He heard the scream,
faint though it was.  He sat up straight, listening.  There it was.  The sound of ultimate suffering. 
He rose and gently tossed Margarine to one shoulder.  She stirred briefly, but did not awaken.  
He followed the screams.
        As he walked slowly down the hallway, a balding man in a long, open coat approached him. 
"Can I help you -- Jeffrey!"  He whispered excitedly, "Great disguise!  Kate will never know it's
you!"         
        "Excuse me?"  Inigo was confused.
        The man put one hand gently on Margarine's back. "Couldn't find anyone to take Alicia,
huh?  Camille's scrubbing, but Diane Grad will be happy to watch her, I'm sure."  He paused,
trying to see her in the dim light.  "Awww.  They look so much smaller when they're sleeping,
don't they?"  The man straightened up. "You're just in time.  Austin's heart tranplant is for 7:00
AM.  OR 3.  I suppose it's best if you beat her in there, then I'll figure out a way to keep her out. 
Thanks for doing this, Jeffrey.  I'm just running home for fresh clothes.  I'll be right back."  He
put one hand on Inigo's shoulder, briefly, then walked away.
        Inigo watched the man leaving.  Then he again heard the sound of ultimate suffering and
continued his search.


                          Chapter Three

        As Watters headed for the doors, he noticed an unusual man coming in.  He wore a tattered,
large-brimmed hat low on his head, and kept his head low.  He looked up at Watters, though, and
smiled.  "'Ello," he said with a wry grin, in a bad Spanish accent.  "Can you till me ha to feend
Dr. Philip Watairs?"
        Watters' heart sank to his stomach.
        The man stepped closer, and lost the accent.  "What do you think, Philip?"  He lifted the hat
slightly.
        Watters just stared at him, unable to move.
        "Philip, hey, what do you think?"
        "I think,"  Watters began, "I just made a huge mistake."  And without another word he
turned and ran at top speed back down the hallway, throwing himself into the stairway as if the
door weren't even there.  A few seconds later, Geiger followed, also at top speed.
        Watters pulled on a surgical mask outside OR 3, then went in. Austin was there, in cap,
mask, and scrubs, gloved hands held in front of her.  Mozart's Requiem was playing in the
background.  "Something wrong, Philip?"
        "Uh..."  Watters didn't know what to say.  Where did that guy go? "No... yes.  Change that
music!"
        The nurse in charge of the tape player asked, "To what?"
        "Anything but that.  You want the patient to hear that?"
        Austin looked at Watters questioningly. "It's a classical piece, Philip.  My OR, my choice." 
Then, to the nurse, "Leave it."  She saw someone moving behind Philip then, and leaned over for
a better view. "Who is that?"
        Geiger sheepishly came forward, distinctly aware of the hat.
        Austin laughed loudly, recognizing Jeffrey, then cut herself off short, realizing why he was
probably here.  "Hey!"  She stepped up to Watters, gloved hands still in the air.  "My OR, Philip. 
Mine.  Got that?"
        Watters was still searching for his dignity, the back of his mind occupied with the search
for an unidentified man with a small child that may or may not have belonged to him.  "Carry
on," he muttered, and pushed Geiger back out of the OR.


        Geiger threw his hat on Philip's leather couch, then sat in the chair, while Philip prepared
two drinks and filled him in.  "What did he look like?"
        "Like you!"  Watters gestured with a glass at Geiger. "But... I don't know... fluffier."  He
remembered the thick curly black hair.
        Jeffrey felt his close-cropped hair.  "I'm not fluffy, Philip."
        "I thought it was a wig."  He placed one glass filled with scotch in front of Geiger and took
a swig out of his own, then sat in his chair.  He sat the glass on the desk, leaned back, put his feet
up, and rubbed his face with his hands.  Working a MASH would be easier than this.
        "So where do you suppose he went?  You think the kid was his?"  As a parent now, Jeffrey
found his concerns changing.  Before, in a situation like this, he would have laughed the whole
thing off and gone home.  But now he wanted to find this guy and make sure that kid was safe.
        "I don't know."
        "Which one?"
        "Either."  He took the receiver from his phone, "Security, please," he told his secretary. 
Then in a moment, "This is Chief of Staff Philip Watters.  I need you to find a man..."  And he
explained the situation. "Thank you."  He hung up.
        "Okay, Philip, what the hell was that all about?"  Kate Austin stormed in. "Why the hell is
he here again?"
        Philip sighed, "Because your mortality rate has gone up 25% in the last 18 months."
        "What?"  Geiger was astonished.  He turned to Austin. "Congratulations."
        "Shut up," she spat at Geiger like he wasn't worth the time it took to say it.
        "Don't you have a transplant to do?"  Watters wanted her out of the office.  At least it was a
start.
        "He's dead.  His appendix burst."  She said it as if it was no big deal.  Watters raised his
eyebrows at her.   "I'm a HEART surgeon," she stressed.  "Where the hell is Kronk when you
need him?"
        "I believe he was removing a knife from a young man's groin.  He was occupied.  You are
perfectly qualified to remove an appendix."  Watters waited expectantly for an explanation.
        Austin's mouth moved to speak, but no sound came out at first. Then, "What was Nyland
doing?" she asked out of curiosity.
        "It doesn't matter.  Your work here has become less than satisfactory, Kate."
        Geiger was almost squirming in his seat.  He was surprised Austin hadn't ordered him out
by now.  She seemed to have forgotten he was there. C'mon, Philip,  he thought, drop the big
one.
        "'Less than satisfactory'," Austin repeated.  "What is that supposed to mean?  You know the
kind of work medicine is.  All the variables in each case.  There are no guarantees in this line of
work, Philip.  I've had a run of bad luck."
        "This is not Las Vegas, Dr. Austin."  Watters explained, "luck is no replacement for skill. 
'Shit happens' is not an excuse."
        Austin crossed her arms.  "No one is perfect."
        "How profound."  Geiger couldn't help himself.
        Finally, Watters remembered that he and Kate were not alone.  He kept his stern eyes on
Kate as he said, "Jeffrey, you'll excuse us, please."
        Geiger didn't move, until Watters turned those stern eyes on him. Quietly, he picked up his
scotch, rose and left the room, closing the door completely behind him.  And there he stood.
        "There is no excuse for this, Kate!" came Philip's voice loud and clear. "You're setting a bad
example for our residents and junior surgeons. You are named in no less than twelve malpractice
suits that are pending, and we've had to settle four others out of court.  Kate, you're fired," he
said, more quietly, but still audible to Geiger, who leaned nonchalantly against the door and
smiled.


        "What?"  Austin leaned on Watters' desk with both hands.   "It's because I'm a woman, isn't
it?  You men can't stand that a woman can do your jobs, can you?"  She pushed herself upright. 
"You'll be hearing from my lawyer, Philip.  Now I'm sorry I slept with you."  And she huffed out
of the office, pushing the door open and ignoring Geiger as she passed.
        Geiger spewed his scotch and looked in at Watters where he sat dejectedly behind his desk. 
"She... you?   You and she?"
        "Shut up," Watters said.


        "Excuse me?"  Wesley turned to see Inigo pop his head in the door. Seeing he finally had
the right room, he entered with the sleeping child. Dr. Sutton now sat at the foot of Buttercup's
bed like a baseball catcher. Buttercup, slightly drugged, sweating profusely, pushed and groaned.
Wesley held her hand.  His head sported a bandage on his left temple.
        "Inigo,"  Buttercup breathed.  "Margarine."
        Dr. Sutton looked up. "You shouldn't be in here."
        "I will not be moved."  Inigo stated.
        Sutton shrugged, said, "Okay," and returned to his position. "It's almost here, Buttercup. 
Two, maybe three more big pushes.  Okay?"
        Buttercup put her all into another push, with Wesley supporting her shoulders.  Inigo stood
in the corner by the door, the sleeping child almost unnoticed on his shoulder.
        The door opened, hiding Inigo.  "Excuse me.  Security.  Anyone here who's not supposed to
be?"
        Sutton didn't even turn his head. "Just you."
        "Sorry."  The man ducked out, closing the door.  Wesley and Inigo shrugged at each other.
        "Okay, Buttercup.  One more, I promise.  Push!"  Buttercup pushed. Then there was a baby
crying.
        "You have a son, Mr. Wesley."  He handed the baby off to a nurse like a football.
        Wesley kissed his exhausted wife.  "What shall we name him?"
        Buttercup tried to catch her breath. "As you wish, Dearest."
        Sutton filled out the birth certificate:  Azuwish Dearest Wesley.


                           Chapter Four

        Watters looked at Geiger across the top of his desk.  They'd both refilled their scotch
glasses more times than either one would like to admit.  Watters was squirming inside.  They
both knew the situation. Chicago Hope was sans heart surgeon at the moment.  Philip knew that
Geiger knew that he was in the proverbial catbird seat.  "Okay,"  he said with a heavy sigh. 
"What do you want?"  This could cost the hospital more than keeping Austin would have.
        Jeffrey leaned back in his chair and tried to put his feet up on the desk.  Being about as
drunk as he'd ever been, he missed three times, then finally got up and lay down on Philip's
leather couch.  "I'll have to shink about thish one, Philip," he slurred.  "Lezzee.  There's kipping
quiet about her slipping with you, there's daycare for Alicia, then there's pickin' up where she left
off."
        Philip squinted. "Either I'm really drunk, or your Spanish accent is improving." He said
nothing about Jeffrey's suggested conditions.  He was right so far.
        "On the other han'," Jeffrey continued, "I'd have to quit Russo's and shinging there meanslot
to me."
        "You can sing here."  Philip was thinking: Now I know I'm drunk. What did I just say?
        "Here?  No.   Can't do it in front of pipple I know."
        "Well, you know I can't guarantee you certain nights off.  The job of heart surgeon doesn't
work that way."  At that moment, the phone rang, causing Philip to jump in his seat and spill his
drink.  "Waste of scotch," he muttered, and picked up the receiver.  "Watters," he said.  "Uh huh.
Well, he's here somewhere.  Look again." And he hung up.  He rubbed his temples.  "I thought
the hangover came after the binge."  There was no response from Geiger, so he prompted,
"Jeffrey?"
        The only reply was a muffled snore.


        Austin, still furious, began packing up her office.  There was no sense waiting.  Philip was
not going to change his mind, not with Jeffrey right there waiting for her job.  There was a knock
on her open door, and she looked up to see Nyland standing there, looking worried.  "Something
wrong, Kate?"
        "Philip just fired me," she said.  Might as well spread the word.
        Nyland closed the door and stepped closer to Austin. "Then, this means you're no longer
working here?"
        Austin sighed, "That's right."  Nimnall, she added to herself.
        Nyland stood right next to her.  In her space, and she saw the lost puppy look in his eyes
that made every woman melt.  "That means, I'm not a colleague," he whispered.
        "That's right."  Austin breathed the words.  They were nose to nose. "We aren't working
together anymore."
        "Of course, that didn't stop you from nailing Kronk."  He took a perverse pleasure in
bringing that up.
        She backed up, just slightly. "Oh, that penishead?"
        "I'm Penishead.  He's Chainsaw."
        Suddenly, they were nose to nose again.  "Got it," Austin said, and wrapped her arms
around Nyland's neck and shoulders.   She pressed her lips to his forcefully, and he did not
object.


        Buttercup sat up and held Azuwish to her breast tenderly.
        "He is beautiful," Inigo whispered, still holding the sleeping Margarine on his shoulder. 
Wesley sat at Buttercup's bedside, leaning in a little to see his son.
        Buttercup lowered her eyes, and said, "Sweet Wesley?"
        "Yes?"
        "I've been thinking."
        "About what, Buttercup?"  He tickled his son under the chin.  The infant gurgled.
        Buttercup paused, considering how to say what she had on her mind. Finally, she blurted, "I
want to go back to Florin."  She didn't look at Wesley, anticipating a reaction.
        Wesley looked at her with concern, rose and stepped to the foot of the bed. "I miss Florin,
too.  But unfortunately the horse and buggy business isn't doing very well.  We don't have the
money."
         Buttercup did not hide her disappointment very well.  "We never worried about money in
Florin."
        Inigo set the sleeping child in the chair Wesley had vacated. "Excuse me.  You don't need
money to get to Florin."
        "What, Inigo?"  Wesley asked.
        "I will take you!"  Inigo said proudly.  "I've been thinking of going back to Florin myself. 
Rosenthal is ready to be the Dread Pirate Roberts."  He winked at Wesley.
        Buttercup grew quite cheerful. "You will take us to Florin?"
        "Anything for the Man in Black."  He patted Wesley on the back. "Without you, I could not
have slaughtered Count Rugan and avenged my father.  There is nothing I will not do for you!"
        "I'll need to bring the boys," Wesley added, referring to his four white horses stolen from
Prince Humperdinck when they stormed the castle.
        "Except that," Inigo stated.
        "Inigo!"  Wesley was shocked.
        Inigo smiled broadly. "Just kidding."  What were a few horses on board his ship?  There'd
been worse things aboard.  "But I will have to go back to the ship.  We'll take on a new crew at
our first ocean port, and I will pass on the name that was passed on to me!"  With enthusiasm,
Inigo opened the door. "There will be blood tonight!"
        "Inigo!"  Buttercup and Wesley whispered harshly.
        "Okay, no blood."  Inigo shrugged.  "Meet me at the ship tomorrow morning."
        "Um, Inigo...."  Wesley prompted.
        "Yes?"
        "Buttercup just gave birth hours ago.  We haven't packed a thing." He explained gently.
        "Okay." Inigo shrugged again. "Afternoon."


        Geiger groaned as he rolled himself to his feet.  Slowly, slowly, he reminded himself.  And
will someone please pick up the head, he thought as he easily imagined it rolling off his
shoulders and across the floor.  He held it on with both hands while he rose to his full height. 
Philip was not present. "Oy."  He glanced at his watch, squinting, then looked at it again. 
"Crap."  He tried to walk to the door but canted to the left and had to correct.   "What on earth
was in that scotch?"
        He stumbled slightly, but with each step he was steadier.  It was nearly noon, and Alicia and
her sitter would be waiting for him.  He couldn't even remember if he and Philip had come to an
agreement.  That's what he was thinking about as he found the hallway, and made the conscious
effort to turn toward the front door rather than fall into the far wall. Suddenly, he was on the
floor.
        And so was someone else.
        The sudden fall had sent Geiger's world spinning again, but it cleared quickly.  He turned to
the unfortunate that had run into him at full speed, and took him by the arm to help him up. 
Then they were standing face to face.  They stared at each other.  "Hello," said the stranger, "my
name is Inigo Montoya."  He looked like he was wondering if Geiger even spoke English.
        "Hi," Geiger replied, still staring.  Then it came to him.  This was the man Philip was
looking for.  There certainly was something odd about him.  Geiger couldn't put his finger on it. 
"Where were you going in such a hurry?"
        "I must return to my ship," Inigo explained as he tried to rush out, but Geiger still had him
by the arm.  Inigo looked at Geiger, then at his arm, and back to Geiger again.
        Jeffrey wasn't about to let go.  "Where's the kid?"
        "What kid?  I have no children."
        "Philip... Dr. Watters saw you with a little girl."
        "I don't know a Dr. Watters."  Inigo suddenly realized which child he was referring to. "Oh,
you must mean Margarine.  She is with her parents."         
        Geiger didn't trust this guy.  "Show me."  He gave the man a gentle push back the way he
had come.
        Inigo looked back at Geiger, insulted.  "I swear on the soul of my father murdered these
twenty-four years, she is with her parents."
        "Show me," Geiger said again, with another gentle push.  Inigo sighed, and headed back to
Buttercup's room.
        Inigo opened the door, prepared to show the happy family.
        The room was empty.
        A nurse was changing the sheets on Buttercup's bed, but she was alone in the room.
        Geiger didn't hesitate. "All right.  You're coming with me."
        Inigo was beginning to regret leaving his sword behind.  But although he felt evenly
matched against this man, he decided against trying to fight him.  He also decided to keep silent,
at least for the time being. Buttercup must be checking out.  Perhaps they were already on their
way back to the stables.
        Geiger brought the man to Watter's office.  In the outer office, he yelled to the secretary to
page Philip to his office, then pushed the man onto the couch.  Jeffrey's fury was rising.   It
wasn't long before Watters came rushing in.  He took one look at the two of them and said,
"That's the guy!"  Then, glancing around, "Where's the kid?"
        Geiger pointed a thumb at Inigo. "He says she's with her parents, but when we got to the
room it was empty.  It was in maternity, if that helps."
        "Got a name?"  Watters looked at Geiger, then Geiger looked at Inigo.
        Inigo looked bewildered. "Buttercup and Wesley," he said. "They had a boy."
        "Wesley.  Wesley."  Watters muttered, "Why does that sound familiar?"  He shrugged. "Oh
well, this is easy enough to check.  Stay here."
        Watters went out to the nurses' station. "Camille, can you help me find a file on a maternity
patient?  I'm looking for a Buttercup."
        "Sure.  Just a minute."  She disappeared into a back room and came back a minute later
with a small, restaurant-size Country Crock.  "Here you go.  Now, what's the name of that
patient?"
        "Buttercup."
        Camille picked up the Country Crock, as if he hadn't seen it the first time. "Right here,
Philip."  She pushed it toward him.
        He pushed it back.  "No, the name of the patient is Buttercup."
        "Ah!"  She blushed at her error, then went to the filing cabinet. After searching three or four
drawers, she pulled out a slim folder.  "Here it is."  She handed it to Philip.
        Watters opened it right there and paged through it.   Husband's name was right, and it
showed two children; one girl that would be about three now, and a newborn boy.  The facts
matched.   He closed the file and sighed again.  There was still something odd about that guy. 
"Thank you, Camille."
        He returned to his office where he found a very strange sight. Jeffrey and Inigo were singing
"Anchors Aweigh," arms around each other's shoulders.  The singing stopped as soon as Philip
entered.  "Sorry, Philip."  Geiger motioned for Inigo to sit down again and went over to Philip.
"You know, this guy can sing as good as me!  Except for the accent."        
        Philip waved the nonsense out of the air. "Never mind.  His facts match the files.  He's
telling the truth.  He can go."
        Inigo rose and was about to bolt for the door, then he hesitated and approached Geiger.
"Ever stormed a castle?"
        "Huh?"
        "Never mind.  I must go."
        "Hey, Inigo, where do you live?  Let's keep in touch, huh?"  It had been great having
someone to sing with.
        "So sorry, my friend.  I will be at the whims of the seas soon. Perhaps I will visit again."  He
gave Jeffrey a friendly pat on the back, then stepped warily passed Philip and was gone.
        Philip waited for Jeffrey's explanation. "Well?"
        "Hey, don't ask me."
        "What about the deal we made?"  Philip had an inspiration.
        "What deal?"
        Watters pointed to the empty glasses still on his desk. "You're coming back to Chicago
Hope.  Full time."
        "I am?"  He didn't remember making any deal, but then he'd been quite drunk, and Philip
was not in the habit of lying to him.  "What else was in this deal?"
        "Nothing experimental without my express approval."
        "No!"
        "Yes!  AND I get to play with the trains."
        "No!"
        "Yes! AND you will sing for the staff a minimum of one hour per week."
        "No!  Philip!"  Jeffrey protested, fairly sure now that Philip was making this up.  "Anything
else?"
         "You let me win every other hand at the poker game."

                             THE END