See "An Introduction to Detective Monica" for Full Disclaimers.

Part Seven

I'm having a hard time repressing a fit of the giggles myself at the look of Jeremy faithfully guarding the door between two big bikers.  Monica does a double-take at seeing him and gives me an incredulous look; I take a leaf from Rose's book and shrug.

We cautiously enter another room, and find nothing but five corpses.  I notice Rose has paled considerably at the sight, and I feel a little more sympathetic for her.  Richie notices too, and puts his arm around her, reminding me of my own responsibilities.  I turn back to check on Monica, and find her looking more pissed than anything else.

She meets my look and frowns.  "Gone, all right," she says in a low voice.  "Sorry, Duncan; the last three of these guys came in all at once, and I had to use the Uzi, I knew I could never get 'em all with the sword.  I knew it would give away our position, but. . ."

I have to struggle not to laugh or look dumfounded, but inside I feel a great wave of pride, amusement and thankfulness.  She's never killed anyone before, I know that; nor has she been shot at or fought in a running battle until tonight.  And yet here she is, hiding any queasiness she may feel, calmly apologizing to me for losing a prisoner because she had to make noise while fighting off an attack.  What an Immortal she'll make!

Right now all I want to do is hug her to me and tell her how proud I am, then show her; but it'll have to wait.  With no prisoner to take, we need to get out of here as fast as we can, preferably with minimal damage to ourselves.  I say so, and start hustling everyone back through the conference room and out the way we came.

There's a small delay while Jeremy whickers joyfully at Monica and gets as close to her as he can.  At least he waited until we had a slight lull.  Monica rubs his nose and tells him to be quiet; surprisingly, he falls behind her and trots along without any nudges or grumbling.  I don't even look at Methos this time.  I'm afraid I'll start laughing.

We only run into one more small group of Hunters on the way out, and they're dead almost before they notice us.  Rose and Monica say none of them are Draxen, so we keep on going.  We know where Rose's car is; that's what led us to the entrance we came in by.  There's a furiously whispered argument between Rose, Richie and Methos about whether to take her car back with us or not; while they're arguing, Monica retrieves her notebook from underneath the seat and comes back to me.

Finally, "Enough!" says Methos.  "We aren't sure about the gas, and I don't want to have to worry about you in an ambush on the way back to Paris.  We're all going in the 4x4 even if it is crowded.  Now as I really don't want to have to fight more fanatics tonight, could we all get moving?"

I keep my mouth shut, grab Monica's hand and head towards the 4x4 at a trot.  Methos can worry about getting Rose and Richie going; I've got who I came for and don't want to risk anything further.  Fortunately, shortly after we've boosted Jeremy in the back seat, the other three show up, still arguing in whispers.  Jean-Pierre is bringing up the rear, looking somewhat bemused.  (I don't learn until later that he practically had to threaten them to get the three of them moving; he was still chuckling over it a week later.) The other bikers are already starting up their machines; I don't blame them.

I'd thought about taking over the driving, but in the end I leave it to Methos.  The old guy can certainly drive and argue at the same time, and I want to be in the back with Monica; she's not going to leave Jeremy.  Richie climbs in the front after Rose; Monica's safely between me and Jeremy.  The bikers are acting as outriders; we're all as safe as we're going to be as we take off.  I finally start relaxing a bit; if anyone is organized enough to attack us on the way back, they not only have a moving target, but have to get through the bikers first.

Methos and Richie are still telling Rose what they think of this little escapade, and she's putting up a spirited defense of her own.  They're so loud that I give up any thought of putting my two cents in.  Meanwhile, it's a long drive back to Paris.

I turn to Monica, snuggled up to me inside the circle of my arm; she gives me a rather quavery version of her usual impudent grin.  I can feel her shaking.  She was more than okay in the crunch, but now that it's over, reaction is setting in.  Only natural; seasoned veterans do the same thing.  But she's managed to hold together during action with almost no training or experience.  Twice now, in only a month, yet.

Jeremy's contentedly leaning against her legs on the other side; everyone in the front seat is concentrating on their argument.  Any conversation with all that going on would be a little difficult.  So I pull Monica closer and start showing her how worried I was.  And how glad I am that she's safe now.

****

What amazed me was that I fell asleep on the way home!  Well, not right away; almost as soon as Methos started the engine up, Duncan pulled me against him and began kissing me.  In between he kept whispering how much he loved me and how glad he was that I was okay.  

You and me both, I wanted to say, but frankly he didn't give me a chance.  I could tell he'd been frantic about me; it's fairly obvious when a guy's holding you so tight you can hardly breathe.  At that point I was in no condition to complain about it, though.  So I didn't.  I just concentrated on returning the favor.

After a bit Duncan finally slowed down and simply held onto me.  That's when I noticed I was still shaking, but at least now I wasn't too sure about the reason.  And I felt so nice and safe and warm in his arms that I started relaxing.  So much that despite the loud argument still going on in the front seat, I gradually started to drift off.

Well, hey!  I was exhausted, wrung out emotionally, and suddenly able to come down from a high emotional pitch; what did you expect?  Of course, if there'd been a bed in the back seat -- or just a reasonably private spot and no bed -- things could have been quite different.  But no matter how horny surviving danger makes you, I sure wasn't going to attack Duncan in front of God and everybody, there in the back seat.  'Sides, Jeremy took up too much room back there, even for a fairly acrobatic couple.

I didn't even wake up when we got back home.  Well, I apparently did speak, but I can't for the life of me remember what the heck I said.  Or that I said anything, although apparently I told everyone good-bye and gave Jean-Pierre a hug of thanks.  I was gone, out like a light; sleepwalking, basically.  Duncan had to put me to bed.  Or so Duncan informed me when I sat bolt upright in bed the next morning and yelled, "Dragon!"

Not that he immediately launched into a play-by-play of what I'd done the night before.  No, as soon as I yelled, there was a muffled snort beside me and he erupted from under the blankets, hair standing out all over and a wild look in his eye.  "Wha'?  Where?" he asked intelligently, reaching for his sword.

"Not here, St. George," I assured him.  Boy, did he look good all bare-chested and breathing hard, holding his sword and looking around for danger.  It brought back vivid memories of last night, and I had to swallow, hard.  Then I said, "No problems, hon, I just remembered something."

Duncan put the sword back, scrubbed his hands over his face, gave himself a brisk shake and looked at me.  "Huh?"

"Draxen," I said patiently.  Normally he's the bright and cheerful morning person, and I'm the grump; now, however, he looked like he could use about a gallon of coffee.  "I was trying to figure out what the heck it meant.  I kept thinking of Donder and Blitzen and oddball stuff like that. . ." I gulped and hurried up at the grim look in his eye.  "Anyway, in some Germanic language or something, doesn't it mean Dragon?"

He frowned, thinking, then allowed as if that might be right, but he wasn't too sure himself.  Then he got on to how I was feeling, and what I did after I fell asleep, and then asking was I  sure I'd gotten enough sleep to recover from yesterday?  'Cause Adam and Richie and Rose would come over later, and we needed to be ready for some intensive discussions, we were going to be straightening out some things, and-

Well, I got tired of that awful fast.  He could explain it all when the trio got over here.  Besides, knowing them, they'd be several hours late.  So I put my arms around him and kissed him right in the middle of a sentence.

He stopped talking.

****

My  word I don't believe all this!  Well, no, actually, I do believe it, it's just. . .it's so. . .on the other hand, I've seen proof, but  still it's. . .aw, hell.  Who'da thunk it?  I mean, really;  Immortals???

All three of 'em did the honors of showing me proof of being Immortal; Duncan, Adam and Richie.  Rose is a normal, like me, but belongs to the same organization Adam does.  The organization that wanted my help in going after Draxen.  The organization that the invisible Red belongs to.  They Watch Immortals.  (Sounds like a lovely slogan, doesn't it?) And so does Joe Dawson, by the way; belong to the Watchers, that is.  Apparently he's risking a lot to be friends with Duncan, Watchers aren't supposed to get involved with their assignment.  Which made me cast an incredulous glance at Rose.  She blushed until she resembled her name, but didn't let go of either of her guys' hands.  Oh gawd, now I'm worrying about  other people's love-lives!!  Next you know, it'll be matchmaking!

None of this explained why Adam was risking his Watcher cover by telling Rose, or why Rose wasn't turning him in, and why she was staying involved with, knowingly,  two Immortals.  One of them (Richie) being known to the Watchers as an Immortal already.  (Oh, yeah, that's the name of the mysterious Organization -- the Watchers.  Remember those tattoos Adam has on his wrists?  Yeeup; sign of membership.  Rose, now. . .oh.  Yeah.  Later.)

Well, obviously, she was in love; and so were they.  But according to Duncan, this is horrendously out of character for Adam, who's more mistrustful than a Missouri mule when it comes to revealing he's Immortal.  And yet he got into a situation last night where it was fairly obvious he's older than he looks, and if he'd gotten hurt, his cover would have been blown six ways from Sunday.  Ditto for Duncan and Richie, but only with the bikers and me; Rose already knew they were all Immortal.  I guess the swords are pretty much of a dead giveaway, though.  (And I wonder just  how old Adam is.  Looks don't count with Immortals.  He looks younger than Duncan, but apparently isn't. . .and he blends in so well with any kind of company, it makes me really suspicious.  You have to work long and hard to get that good at being inconspicuous;  really long and hard.)

Must have been an interesting chat the three of 'em had last night. . .

As for Draxen (I'm still wondering about the Dragon meaning, gotta look it up somehow, see if I'm right), well -- Jean-Pierre sent a couple fresh guys down there, and sure enough, the whole place is cleaned out.  Nada, nothing, zippo.  Not even any convenient clues, dammit.  So Draxen is still bopping around, and we have no idea what he'll be up to next.  Everyone kinda drooped at that conclusion.  Bad enough about this Game that the Immortals are involved in!  Which you won't believe, and I shouldn't mention anyway.

Of course, the point is now somewhat moot, as I'm -- reluctantly -- going to have to stick to writing in a journal now, instead of mailing the entire, uncut version to my friends.  Dammit.  Oh well, at least I can put the truth on floppies.  But I'm going to have to be really careful about cutting certain parts out of any mail I send from now on.  Descriptions of my scrapes, as Duncan quaintly puts it, are fine; any mention of Immortals, no.  And believe me, when a guy his age puts his foot down, he puts it down.  Firmly.  Which I always thought would make me pretty mad, y'know?

Well, True Love must be different.  Or maybe it's just the impact that 404 years of command practice has on me.  Or maybe it's all that and more.  Whatever, when it comes to crunch stuff, or decisions on necessary discreetness. . .well, it's kinda difficult to argue with someone who's had that much experience in staying camouflaged from the general run of the mill public.  At least he usually doesn't expect me to automatically jump when he says frog; that's only in an emergency.  And it's certainly not a problem with me asking questions and discussing decisions and putting forth ideas of my own, oh, no!  I just. . .usually want to do what he says.  After all, it usually makes sense.  Strange, but there it is.  I never would've  believed I could be so traditional, but I seem to be learning a lot about myself ever since meeting Duncan, too.

Anyway, obviously we're gonna have to keep an eye out for Draxen.  At least we've cleaned him out in a major way in the northern part of France, apparently.  Rose said she called in this morning to talk to Red (yup, that's the name she used for her, obviously this lady really  means it about staying anonymous).  Red told her that we took out about half Draxen's henchmen, and the rest were scattered far and wide, most vowing they'd never heard of Immortals and had no desire to ever hear Draxen's name again.  Much less try to stay infiltrated into the Watchers.  Draxen himself appears to have disappeared into the woodwork again, although they're gonna be keeping a close eye on the fish lady back home.  He'll definitely keep going back to her.  But they think he's probably left France, at least.

Which is a relief; it means we should be able to spend the winter fairly comfortably, without watching for mortal renegades trying to chop heads off.  But you never can be  sure, y'know, so we'll sort of be on the qui vive all the time. . .a nice, tense way to live.  Duncan just shrugged it off; he told me later that Immortals live that way anyway, although at least they get some sort of warning when another Immortal's around.  I informed him this was not the best way to go about keeping me calm and worry-free.  The big lunk just laughed and said it was time for a sword lesson.

Which brings me to another thing.  After all the conferencing and hashing out options and reports and bringing me up to speed on Immortals and -- well, everything, it was pretty overwhelming -- I'm still left with several questions.  Questions I haven't asked yet.  Like, why did they go ahead and tell me about Immortals, huh?  I mean, they could have kept that secret for quite some time yet.  From  me, anyway.  Rose certainly had managed to keep that from me; hell, all I needed to hear was there was a threat to Duncan and I was on her side!  Not to mention them explaining the whole Game and the rules quite thoroughly, as if it was something I'd need to know.  Well, I can see Duncan wanting me to understand, so I wouldn't screw up a challenge; but still. . .

And knowing now why they fight with swords -- it's just for personal self-defense he's given me a sword and been training me, right?  Right?  I want to believe that, I really do; but at times, after a session, I've caught Duncan looking at me with this serious, sad expression, like he's thinking of a day when he'll have to say good-bye.  I'm  sure he's thinking he might lose his head, but -- oh, dammit, he'd better not try to send me off to someplace safe just to keep me out of his dangerous life!  If he tries that, he's gonna have more of a fight than he did with the renegades!  I  refuse to leave him!  I don't care, I'd rather lose my life a hundred times beside him than live away from him.  And if he thinks he can make me leave, he's got another think coming.

But so far that look is only in evidence when we've been practicing, thank God.  The rest of the time things are back to -- well, normal, more or less.  Rose and the guys come over every so often, or we go out with them; Rose and I have gotten quite friendly, and I even tease her about her tattoo.  It's hilarious; she has a  really low pain threshold, and had been putting off having it done.  Then she hooked up with Adam -- and as he's an Immortal, a tattoo won't  take on him.  So guess what he uses?  Yup; fake tattoos!!!  And now Rose is using 'em!!  With permission from her higher-ups, yet!  Oh, this is hilarious. . .apparently she keeps switching locations, too, she flashed Richie one day with one around her belly-button.  You should have  seen the blush on that guy!  It's a running joke with us now, where Rose is gonna put it next.  Aside from the official one on her wrist.  [g]

Meanwhile, Duncan and I practice swordsmanship and take care of Jeremy; go for walks and out at night or spend relaxing days at home; talk about living through history; quarrel and make up, visit Jean-Pierre at the Hog Heaven, tour more of France; and spend lots of time making love and getting to know each other better and better.  The sweetheart comes up with the most wonderful ideas of how to spend time, and I'm having a ball.  He appears to be too; other than that little shadow during practices, he seems to be totally cheerful most of the time.  I keep falling more and more in love with him every day.  I can't even bring myself to really worry about Draxen and his Hunters.  Let him go home to his fishy lady and scrape scales out of his slippers, or something.

I'm having the time of my life, with a man I'm so in love with that it's scary.  But I can't be scared with Duncan around.  I try, really I do; at least to stay wary, like I should be doing.  I know these Hunter characters are crazy, they don't think any Immortals should survive.  But somehow I can't stay afraid, not with feeling Duncan so close to me at night, all hard and strong and warm.  And sweet and laughing and happy and loving during the day.  I've never felt so safe and so loved in my entire life.  Heck, you can get killed crossing a street.  He's worth any nervousness and the occasional adventure.

And you never know when one may come our way again.  Apparently encounters with other Immortals are very random.  He could go months without having a challenge, then have several in a couple of weeks.  Just have to play it by ear.

Well, it's not like I'm  not used to that -- I mean, look at Weasel, for heaven's sake!  And 'sides, we still have good contact with Jean-Pierre's gang, too.  More protection.  I think he's still keeping an eye on us, there's a lot more choppers rambling around our general neighborhood than there used to be.

Jeremy is settling in nicely, and Duncan actually allows him inside the barge a lot.  He's got his own little cushioned box Duncan built for him -- !!!  - and he'll come in on nasty days and curl up there and then trot over to beg for goodies when I cook something.  He and Duncan seem to have acquired respect for each other, thank goodness.  I was beginning to feel like a juicy bone between two dogs!

So things are back to normal, and I'm looking forward to a nice, quiet holiday season.  It's already late October -- my how time flies!  - and I've got to start finding out how to get traditional Thanksgiving goodies over here in France.  I want a turkey with all the trimmings, dangit, not a goose!  Duncan keeps teasing, but I swear, if I have to have it flown in from the U.S., I'm gonna have one.  A big one, too; I love leftovers.  He still won't stop teasing.  Now, normally I take it all in good part; but when he suggested (with a straight face) a large haggis as being a fine substitute, that was when I had to whap him again.  Haggis, indeed!

Speaking of which, I'm thinking of trying to track down the ingredients, though, just for fun; and seeing if Duncan would actually eat one if I made it.  [veg] That might be fun.  Maybe as a celebration dinner for the envelope I found stuck under the door to the barge when I was muzzily padding around in the icy a.m.  hours a few days ago.  (Duncan had had a rather large evening with Adam, and had forgotten to throw some logs on the stove when he came home so late.) On my way back to bed I saw one of those familiar envelopes.  Naturally, I woke up at once, and rather gingerly opened it when I saw that it was addressed to me.

Well, lo and behold!  I didn't know  they could do this!  Or pull the strings to have it done.  But then I pulled out the heavy parchment paper, with the impressive red seal and hanging ribbons, plus a nice leather holder for a good, solid badge (I nearly dropped it, but managed to grab it as it fell out).  So I had the sense enough to sit down on the steps and read it right away.  And whaddya know, it's a certificate/diploma from an independent law enforcement study school, advancing my grade level, and taking into consideration my recent experience -- promoting me to Detective  First Class!  And registrations and licenses for me to not only operate out of Seacouver, but most of the larger cities in the U.S., too!  Talk about fantastic!  Now I'm a  real pro!

I just sat there in a happy dream for a bit, stroking the leather of the badge case, and looking in awe at my diploma that guaranteed I could get work all over the U.S.  Then I looked up and saw Duncan sitting up in bed watching me, this big, smug grin on his face.

"You knew about this?" I gasped.

He nodded, that grin widening.

"All this time?"

"As soon as Rose and the guys came over the day after the Draxen incident," he solemnly confirmed.

I sputtered, not sure quite how to react.  Duncan just gave me one of those devastating smiles, leaned down to the edge of the bed and grabbed me, pulling me towards the bed despite my squeaks of "be careful, don't crumple the damned thing!" and various references to splinters in my butt.  He didn't pay any attention at all!

Oh well.  A diploma doesn't guarantee kisses.  Wearing nothing but a falling-open robe, now that guarantees kisses.  Not to mention a good checkover for splinters, just in case.  Which I didn't mind in the least, of course.  Although it does tickle when someone tries to remove any with their teeth.  Not, I hasten to add, that I actually  had any splinters, but you know, if there had been any, well, they. . .uh, never mind.

Did I say Duncan's been extremely cheerful of late?  The man is positively effervescent!  So much so that I thought up a new, exciting thing for us to do.  I'm not sure how he'll react, but hey, they've been getting along  so well, and it's a great chance for advertising when we get back to the States -- and you need to advertise a stud, you really do; plus a few opportunities here in France could mean big bucks back home.  And as I've said before, a girl's gotta have her own fallback, you know?  It's not like we need a  big vehicle and trailer and everything, just a little cart and a few other odds and ends.  And don't you think it would be so cute?  Harness classes at the big, fancy horse shows?  Jeremy trotting around pulling a little cart in a show ring, with Duncan driving?  I can hardly wait to tell them both!

The End

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