Disclaimers:  Original characters and concept of  Highlander and  Highlander: The Series are property of a host of people, none of whom,  unfortunately, are  me.  The character of Kathryn de Sousa and the story herein, however,  are exclusively mine and cannot be used or posted without my permission.  Thanks.
Author's Note:  This story takes place somewhere in the fourth season or so of  Highlander: The Series.
Rating:  Roughly PG.

The Perils of
Professional Watching

© 1996, Grace Macy

"I'm telling you, Joe, she does it on purpose!"

Joe Dawson looked at me with a suspicious twinkle in his eyes.  "Come on, Katie.  You have to admit it was funny."

"Dawson. . ."  I tried to sound threatening, but I just couldn't manage it.  I tried to tell myself it was because Joe was too good a friend, but deep inside I knew it was because he was right.  Damn.  "Well, it wasn't funny at the time!"

"I don't doubt it, Katie," Joe agreed, his brown eyes twinkling in an infuriatingly charming way.  "But you know she didn't actually mean any harm."

I glared at him and he laughed.  "Maybe not, but she is making my life  miserable!"

Joseph Dawson and I have been friends for eighteen years and he is the  only person who can get away with calling me 'Katie'.  Everyone else calls me 'Kathryn' or 'de Sousa'.  Well, except my ex-husband; what  he calls me isn't printable.  In case you hadn't guessed it by now, I'm a Watcher.  I'm also in my thirties (I'm not putting a more exact number on paper, sorry, doll, no way), single and sexually frustrated beyond belief . . . but that's probably more than you wanted to know, huh?  Sorry.  Okay, how about 5'8", brunette and green-eyed?  Thought so.

Joe looked over my shoulder to the club's doors and I followed his gaze in time to see Duncan MacLeod walk in, flashing a smile in our direction.  I gave an appreciative sigh as he passed the bar.  Whatever else can be said about the man, MacLeod has a  very nice. . . .  Sorry.  I haven't been on a date in  way too long.  "Now why couldn't  he have been my next assignment?" I wondered plaintively.

Joe laughed.  "They were probably afraid you'd corrupt him."

I shook my head.  "If Amanda couldn't do it in two hundred years. . . ."

Joe smiled, a wicked twinkle in his eyes.  "Katie, Amanda has got  nothing on you."

MacLeod had found a seat at a table and looked like he was waiting for someone.  No one had to wonder for long, but I for one wasn't particularly surprised when Amanda walked in.  Chagrined, dismayed, irritated, but not surprised.  I'm her Watcher.  Yippee.

One word can describe Amanda Darieux: Trouble.  Yes, capital T.  Oh, yes, and 'Aggravating'.  Capital A.  For all of you reading this who like Amanda, you never had the dubious honor of being her Watcher  after she found out about the Organization.  Why do think I capitalized 'trouble' and 'aggravating'?  I once had to spend the night in my rental car -- which was an Accord, not precisely made for sleeping -- because she called ahead to every hotel in a ten-block radius and booked every room for a "convention."  The hotels weren't too happy about it when the convention canceled the next day and I had a crick in my neck for days.  And that was before the itching powder incident.  To make a long story short, my credit card and my patience were maxed out  quite a while ago.

As Amanda walked past the bar, giving Joe a megawatt smile and me a definite smirk, I tried not to growl too loudly.  What can I say?  The only thing she  hasn't done is break into my hotel room while I'm out and take the mint off my pillow.  Not that I was about to say that out loud, even to Joe -- it might give her ideas.

Joe looked from me to her and back again and sighed.  "Katie. . . ."

"Joe. . . ." I said in the same tone.

He laughed.  "How about I officially introduce you?"

I glanced over at the table where the Immortals were making puppy eyes at each other and looked back to Joe.  "No thanks."  I started to say more, but I noticed MacLeod looking towards the door with a strange look on his face.  It wasn't from the buzz of any nearby Immortal; I've seen that look before and this wasn't it.  I followed his gaze and felt my heart drop somewhere into the vicinity of my boots.

Four men had walked in, and just from the way they walked I could tell they were trouble.  That and the purposefully nondescript look they had put on were a dead give-away that something was up.  So, of course, I did what any sensible person would do: I looked at Amanda.  She looked genuinely surprised, without a hint of "Who me?" on her face.  It made me feel marginally better.  They moved to three different positions around the thankfully near-empty club and I looked at Joe.  "Ah, I hate to tell you this," I said quietly, "but I think you're about to get robbed."

Joe stared at me, then his gaze went automatically to the table behind me.  First Amanda,  then MacLeod.  Nice to know I'm not the only one; if the situation hadn't been what it was, I would have smirked.  MacLeod, I noticed through the mirror at the bar, was quietly getting up, as if to order a drink.  He was probably hoping to warn Joe before the men started anything, but he was too late.

One of the men, I nicknamed him Number One in my mind, dropped the coat he had been carrying and hefted a sawed-off shotgun.  Inwardly I cringed.  If he got off even one round with that thing, someone was going to get hurt and odds were it wasn't going to be an Immortal.

"Everyone stay where you are," One shouted over the music, "this is a robbery!" There were a few short screams from the women (no, I was not among them) as the other three men pulled out their guns as well.  "Now, if everyone does as we say, no one will get hurt."

My eyebrows rose slowly.  It's not easy to find articulate, grammatically correct thieves these days.  Something else was going on here and my gaze went to Amanda again.  This time, she caught me looking and shook her head.  We "knew" each other well enough that she knew what I was asking and I knew her answer was sincere.  Damn.  It would have made things easier if it wasn't.

"Drop your wallets and jewelry in the bag," One continued as a second man came forward with a black garbage bag.  He was carrying a large revolver in his other hand and stuck it in each person's face as he approached them.

Everyone complied wordlessly, for which I was grateful.  I have no disillusions about "action hero" rescues during a heist: if someone's got a gun on you and you, or people around you, can die permanently, you do  not fool around.  Apparently, MacLeod knew that too, because he stayed where he was, but one look at his eyes told me he wasn't happy about it.

Number Two eventually came to the bar and thrust the bag at me.  Moving slowly, I opened my jacket and took out my wallet, then undid the fastening of my watch and dropped that into the bag as well.  I watched his eyes as I did it.  A thief, when working in conjunction with others, will usually relax a little, trusting the others to watch his back and keep the victims in line, and consequently will have eyes only for his current victim.  This guy kept glancing over at MacLeod, Amanda, and Joe.

My heart clenched.  I didn't need to look at his wrist to know there was a tattoo there similar to mine.

Two thrust the bag at Joe, and I definitely did not like the gleam in his eyes.  "Open the register and put the cash in the bag."

Joe obliged, but there wasn't much there and we both knew it.  So, I suspected, did the would-be thieves.  It was the excuse they were waiting for, the clincher to make a perfect cover.  The only way anyone, especially Joe, was getting out of this was to give the thieves something else to think about.  So I developed a sudden case of epilepsy.

It's even harder than it sounds: you have to let your body go completely limp so you don't injure yourself when you hit the ground and then not wince if you do hurt yourself.  And then of course, you have to have convincing seizures.  I had pulled this once before, so it was easier, but I still hit my wrist hard against my stool's leg as I shook.  The thieves fell into confusion.

"What the hell--?"  That was Two.

"What's wrong with her?!"  That, surprisingly enough, was Amanda and to my immense satisfaction, I didn't think the alarm in her voice was faked.

"She's an epileptic!  She needs her medication!" I heard Joe answer and had to fight a smile.  One thing about Joe Dawson -- the man caught on quick.

"Well, where is it?" That was One and I sincerely hoped he didn't get too upset and shoot someone.  But he did sound closer, which was good.  I opened my eyes long enough to get a position on everyone and saw that there were definitely three pairs of shoes around me now.

"I don't know!" Joe answered, sounding frantic.  Did I mention he's also a great actor?  "It must be in her jacket somewhere."

I resisted the urge to ask him what the hell he thought he was doing until I heard One tell Two to give someone else his gun and search me.  There was a shuffle of feet that proved my theory once and for all.  Thieves do not get that worried about their victims; given a situation like this, they'll get out of there before it gets more complicated, but these guys were trying to  help.  Soft-hearted bunch of SOBs.

"Do something!" Joe continued.  "She'll swallow her tongue!"

"Put your fingers in her mouth," an unfamiliar voice, Number Four, I think, suggested.

I felt someone grab my jaw and jam their fingers into my mouth.  I bit him quite happily.  He swore loudly and pulled his injured fingers out quickly.  "Bitch!  . . . You!  Hold her down!"

There was a click of heels and I realized Amanda was coming to my rescue.  Hands pushed down on my shoulders and I bucked again, with a kick this time that connected with something soft.  Number two's voice turned into a squeak.  Apparently, I had left him with a limp.  Unfortunately, the jerk wasn't so soft-hearted after all and decided he had had enough.  His kick hit me in the side and I curled up around it, then lashed out in anger.  I had had enough of the charade, too.  Thankfully, so had MacLeod.

I opened my eyes into slits, aimed, and used my position on the floor to send the kick right into Two's jaw.  At the same time, I saw MacLeod launch a blow at the man who was closest to him.  The guy flew back from the Immortal and MacLeod grabbed his gun as he went, then spun and kicked Three in the stomach.  As that one doubled up, MacLeod whipped his fist down into the side of the man's jaw.  He went down and One raised his shotgun, but, out of nowhere, it seemed, the black bag, weighted down with various wallets and jewelry, swung up and knocked it out of his hands.  Before he could do more, Amanda decked him.  I stared, blinked, but there was nothing wrong with my vision.  She had honest-to-God  decked him.

I sat up gingerly, kicking Two's gun out of the way as I did so, but he didn't look like he was going to use it.  He was lying on his back, staring dazedly at the ceiling.  I shook my head and willed my heart to slow down.  Then I looked up at Amanda, she looked down at me, and for the first time since she had spotted me as her Watcher, we exchanged a smile.

Joe leaned over the counter and looked down at me.  "I see you got your medication."

I grinned up at him and, much to my own surprise, accepted Amanda's hand when she offered it.  "Guess I forgot to tell you," I said, "they're time-release."

Joe grinned back and looked over at MacLeod.  "Are they out?"

MacLeod nodded and straightened his shirt.  "They're out," he confirmed.  Then he looked at me and smiled.  "Duncan MacLeod."

I smiled back.  "Kathryn de Sousa.  Nice to meet you."

"You too."  He looked at Joe, then around the room.  "Is everyone all right?"

There was a flurry of muted affirmatives, then someone called out, hesitantly.  "Should we call the police?"

I exchanged a look with Joe and shook my head.  "No," I answered.  "I'll take care of them."

"We'll take care of them," Amanda corrected me.  I raised an eyebrow at her and she smiled.  MacLeod looked worried.  I couldn't blame him.

*

"And that takes care of that," Amanda said with a pleased smile.

I looked over my shoulder at the squirming forms in front of the Organization's Seacouver HQ.  I had called ahead, explained the situation, and then my cohort and I had dropped the renegades off in front of the building.  Sans clothing.  Paul Jacobs, the new Director and an old friend, had agreed to wait five minutes before bringing them in.  After all, what was a little added humiliation when you were going to go to Trial for treason and attempted murder?

I settled back into the passenger seat and looked over at Amanda.  "So," I said finally, a little wary.  "Does this mean no more itching powder or dentist conventions?"

She glanced at me and smiled.  "What conventions?" she asked innocently.  I glared at her, but my heart wasn't in it and I found myself smiling again.  Amanda chuckled.  "Okay.  We'll call a truce."

"Thank God," I muttered fervently.  "If I had to spend another night in my car. . . ."

Amanda grinned.  "It's your own fault for renting a compact."

I just stared at her.  "What? do you think we get  paid for Watching?!  We have expense accounts, honey -- and after the  last fiasco you put me through, a compact was all I could  afford."

Amanda stared at me for so long she almost ran us off the road.  "Are you kidding?"

I shook my head and she started laughing.  "You're not starting this truce off on the right foot," I warned her.

Amanda spluttered a little more, then regained her composure and gasped out an apology.  I shook my head, shifted to ease the pain in my side, and she looked at me with a frown of concern.  "Still hurts?"  I nodded.  "I'll buy you some aspirin."  She looked thoughtful for a moment and then said softly, "They would have killed Joe if you hadn't . . . ."

"I know."  The thought had been going through my head too.  We were silent until we reached my hotel.  I got out and paused, frowning, before I closed the car door.  "How did you know where I was staying?"

Amanda got that "innocent" look again and smiled.  "Oh, that.  I followed you."  She reached into her pockets and pulled something out.  "That reminds me.  Sweet dreams."

I looked at the object she had handed me as she drove away, and growled.  It was my pillow-mint.

end

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