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

Boring disclaimer stuff:  I'm only borrowing Duncan, Joe, Methos, Richie and this particular type of Immortal from copyright owners Davis/Panzer, Rysher, Gaumont Television, Greg Widen and anyone else that should be credited -- hey, the guys all followed me home, okay?  What was I supposed to do?  Anyway, I'm sending 'em back none the worse for wear.  Trust me.  I'm not making any money off of 'em, either.  Any other character,  especially Detective Monica, belongs to me, copyright 1997, as they came out of my head for the most part -- and she'll gut you with a fish knife if you try messing with her.  She's learned a little from every boyfriend she's had.  You can send this on to personal friends as much as you want, as long as you keep it intact, including these stupid disclaimers -- but you  don't have permission to put it up on any other web page, distribute to a mailing list, re-print in a fanzine, etc.  and so forth.  If you want to do that, please write [email protected] and ask my permission first.  If I'm gonna get famous, I'd like to know where.  Last, the episode  Archangel never happened in this particular  Highlander universe; this splits off somewhere after  End of Innocence.  Well, geeze, Det.  Monica turned up; that does have a tendency to change things!   However, aside from that -- really, no other departures from series canon.  Seriously.  I think.  Just additional people appearing, and a slightly skewed take on things.  [veg]

Thanks again to all my friends letting me use their online personas -- it's the same batch used in the first Det. Monica story, so you know them all.  And you've read that, 'cause if you haven't, the succeeding stories don't make much sense and you miss half the jokes.  :::evil snickers:::  (If you haven't, just use go read Story No. 1.  I sincerely hope you'll come back to this one after that . . .)   And more thanks to Grace for giving my stuff a home on her page.  (I haven't done anything with my page for almost a year, I've been too blasted busy.)

Any favorable reactions, chocolate, tall, dark-haired Scottish Immortals or twinkly-eyed ancient ones with a Nose and Toes (or, alternatively, gorgeous Mounties who own deaf wolves, and/or original volatile Chicago cops) can be sent to [email protected].  Also, remember, writers like a little ego-boo -- that's part of the fun, hearing what readers thought about our stuff.  What made you giggle, and what made you fall outta your chair.  It makes us write more.  (major hint there)  Any flames will be edited, checked for spelling, grammar and originality, and returned redlined for corrections needed before acceptance for the round file.

Ratings:  It originally appeared on an AOL board, so it's PG at the most.  And that's for occasional language, plus some violence (not more than on the show).

"Travel is So Broadening!"
(or:  "Paris is the Pits")

-- The Second Adventure of Det. Monica --

© 1997 Monica A. Schafer

Part One

Hey there!  We made it!

Yup, here we are, safe and sound in Paris.  Although after going through Customs, I was beginning to worry.  Geeze, no  wonder the French have a rep for being impolite!!  I mean, just because my talcum powder wasn't scented, and was in a regular ol' sugar-shaker instead of some fancy designer bottle . . . you'd think I was a drug smuggler or something!!  I oh-so-politely informed this officious Customs guy that I wasn't a mule, I was a Detective Second Class, for heaven's sake, and he just looked at me as if I'd said I was a cockroach!

Well, we got out of there eventually, although I thought Duncan was going to haul off and sock one of the guys who did the search of all the luggage, when the idiot picked up his sword like he'd found OJ's (alleged) knife and waggled it in Duncan's face accusingly. Fortunately Duncan can speak French.  (I can't, not yet; but I'm sure I'll pick it up fast.  I learned one phrase already, from all the words flying fast and furious when Duncan really got to yelling at one official . . . although it probably won't be very useful in, say, a high-class restaurant.  Or polite society.  Or- well, you get the idea.)  Anyway, Duncan got to yelling -- in French -- as I said, and eventually everyone got settled down and things went smoothly.  But ye  Gawd these people are excitable!!  And I'm sure our airport security in the U.S.  could teach them something about conducting body searches in a more comfortable way.  Oh well, something like that is a Learning Experience.  Although Duncan said he'd had that particular Learning Experience before and could do without any repetitions, thank you, he'd gotten the idea pretty fast the first time.

One good thing, though; by the time things were straightened out, the traffic through the airport had calmed down a bit.  We got a taxi fast and I saw Paris for the first time at night, with all the lights shining and making everything very romantic.  I cuddled up to Duncan in the back seat of the cab -- well, I had to anyway, to keep from injuring myself, the cabby drove like a madman, it's a good thing Duncan held onto me tight -- and just stared out the window as we drove through the city.  And finally there was Notre Dame, looking like it was floating on the river or something, and we were at the moorage.

The barge looked kind of ominous at first -- it's painted black, of all things -- but once you get inside--!  All I can say is, if this is a barge, forget the yachts.  It's not decorated high style or anything, but it has a lovely big cabin, with a fat stove in the middle of it that heats everything up really nice . . . and the bed!!  Yeesh.  Duncan sure doesn't stint himself in the bed department, I swear  this one is a bit bigger than the one back in Seacouver!  Nice and firm, so you don't get buried in the mattress.  Really nice to sleep on, too; I've slept like a rock every night so far, once I've gotten a chance to get to sleep.

Anyway, it's like a real home . . . and the kitchen is arranged really nice, although Duncan hasn't let me get in there much yet.  Sometimes I wonder about that man.  He's just too domesticated for words!!  I mean, the guy's a gourmet cook, practically, and he knows women's clothes, he washes  his clothes instead of sending 'em to a laundry, and . . . well, you know.  With all the drinking and skirt-chasing and working (or working out, in Duncan's case), and other hazards of bachelor life, where does a guy find the time to learn to cook?!  There's another picture of that blonde here in the barge, too, although I've been smart and still haven't asked about her.  That's one question I'll save for a long, long time from now.  If I need to ask it by then . . .

All we did the first night was dump the luggage, check to make sure everything was operating, then hop in the car and go out to dinner.  It was a cute little hole-in-the-wall restaurant run by a friend of Duncan's, this round little guy name Maurice.  He is  so funny!!  A born con man, too; I spotted it at once, as soon as he let out a cry of joy and bustled up to grab Duncan and kiss him on both cheeks, like they do in France.  Shrewd character; he looked me up and down and grabbed my hand and kissed it, then declared I must be his very good friend MacLeod's new lady friend. Well, that was pretty obvious, sure.  But  then he said he had a friend in the clothing business and I must let him steer me to the best places for the best bargains.  Even before Duncan started laughing I knew what that meant!  I wonder how much of a cut Maurice gets from his friend?

Well, the food was great -- naturally -- and the wine even better, and I'm thinking, wow, and this is just a little cafe??  Imagine what the food would be like in a four-star restaurant!  Of course,  no one was worrying about eating healthy.  You should have  seen what some of the customers were packing in!!!  Fortunately I didn't have to try escargot or anything.  (And I don't plan to. The garlic is fine; ditto the butter sauce; but snails??  Forget it.  Only if I'm in a wilderness survival situation.  I don't care  what they gussy 'em up with, they're still slugs with a shell!  Boy, I'll bet the French would go ape over the banana slugs we have up in the NW.  Two would make an entire meal!)

We were awfully tired, of course, after the long trip; but still managed to test out the mattress.  As I said before, it's a good firm one; I didn't sink in so far that I disappeared under -- uh, yeah.  You know.  It was a good night.

We spent the next few days settling in, and Duncan trotted me around giving me the lay of the land.  You know, where the nearest stores were, which shop had the best meat, which was the best bakery, blah blah blah.  (See what I mean?  Suspicious.)  Oh, and he taught me some French.  Like how to give directions to a taxi to get back to the barge!  Really basic stuff; I picked it up in no time and he was looking at me funny again.  I just smiled and repeated what I'd told him before; so I'm good with languages and accents, this is a big deal?  I'm good at a lot of things!  He just gave me that gorgeous smile again.

So there we were, romantic Paris and all that, and I sort of began wondering why the heck we'd come here.  Yeah, it was great -- no complaints about that -- but Duncan certainly didn't seem to have any  reason to come to Paris.  We didn't do much more during the first week than wander around while he showed me the sights. (And boy, does he know about this city -- you'd think he'd been here for years and years!  He even knew the history of a lot of the  buildings!!) He did say he stayed here every year . . . but why?  Just because he liked Paris a lot?  Ok, that's fine; still, if that was it, why did he like Paris so much?  You'd think he was on some sort of schedule, the way we'd kited out of Seacouver!  Of course I didn't get that nosy with him directly.  But I did decide I'd better keep my eyes and ears open and see what, if anything, was going on.  Just in case.  Detectives are like the Scouts, y'know; always prepared.

Meanwhile, nothing much  has been going on.  I've seen l'Arc Triomphe and la Tour Eiffel and Notre Dame and umpteen other tourist traps -- and very nice they were, too, most of 'em.  Simply reeking with history and atmosphere.  Especially the ones in the older sections of the city.  I don't think they've cleaned out the sewers for centuries.  Then there are those open-air, uh, restrooms that the men use (I  refuse to use that name!!) . . . gave a new twist on seeing a side of the country you don't expect . . . not to mention kinda changed my opinion on the elegance of Frenchmen!  And do they give us women equal time??  Nope.  If you haven't had the smarts to go before you left the house, forget it; you could die before you'd find a public restroom!

I've learned a lot more than I ever thought I would about older architecture, among other things.  We're going to the Louvre tomorrow, and maybe Versailles in a couple of days.  Fortunately Duncan's an old hand at museums -- he warned me about the Louvre, I'll be wearing rubber-soled shoes!  I let you know how it went!

****

Boy, those old philosophers who said beware of what you wish for, you might get it, weren't kidding!  Although I wasn't really  wishing for anything to happen, you know -- I was just keeping an eye out, in  case something was happening.  No sense getting caught by surprise, is there?

Yeah, well, we had a surprise yesterday!

The Louvre is everything you've ever heard it is -- and fascinating. I was staring raptly at the Mona Lisa, not even really paying attention to what Duncan was telling me about it -- too engrossed in actually seeing it -- when he suddenly stopped and stiffened like a bird dog going on point.  Well, naturally this got my attention. So I look up, and he's veeeerrryyyy casually surveying the room, with this kind of mask over his normal expression.

Odd, no?  I mean, he looked like me noticing something is off!  Only more obvious.  So I started putting out my own little feelers, equally casually -- only with a better expression.  I mean, how often does a girl scan a guy to see how close he's checking her out?  We get  lots more practice at hiding our expressions while still looking absolutely normal, as if we had no  idea that the blond guy over in the corner is practically drooling over us and we're busily deciding if he's a Hunk or Ax Murderer.

Turns out there's this dishy-looking guy thoughtfully contemplating a painting over by one of the entrances to another room.  And I do mean dishy; he was in profile, and I swear, he had these absolutely classic features, the kind you see on Greek statues.  As tall as Duncan, just as elegantly-but-casually dressed, and wearing an almost identical lightweight duster!  He sure filled out the shoulders of the coat nicely, and it didn't look like he needed shoulder pads to help, if you know what I mean.  Plus this gorgeous cinnamon-colored skin, short black wavy hair, and the most incredible amber eyes I've ever seen, slightly tilted like a cat's eyes.  Not to mention those long, long eyelashes . . . Whoo!

Yeah, he came over to us; how else do you think I saw those eyes?  Duncan was staring at him by now, and the guy turned real casual -- just like Duncan had been acting -- and looked right at us.  Then glided on over.  (Well, c'mon -- that's the way he moved!)

When he got to us, he gave me a flick of a glance then concentrated on Duncan.  Well, normally I would've been a bit miffed; after all, I was wearing a kind of fishnet sweater over my tightest jeans, and with no bra -- but when I saw his expression I was  glad he didn't pay me much attention.  Those beautiful eyes were utterly cold, like a snake's.  Gave me a shudder, I'll tell ya!

I looked up at Duncan -- he'd gone kind of stiff, I was holding onto his arm and all of a sudden all his muscles tightened up (and he's got a lot of muscle to tighten) -- and he was clenching his jaw like he does when he's angry.  He didn't say anything, though; just stared at Mr. Amber Eyes with that little muscle in his cheek twitching.  (A dead giveaway, he should watch that.)  And  his eyes weren't cold at all, I could've sworn they had a red glow!  Duncan looked seriously ticked, in other words.

Soooo, after about a minute of the silent treatment on both sides, the guy comes out with this spiel in some language or other --  I have no idea -- and Duncan grits his teeth a bit and spits back an answer, in the same language . . . Yeah, fascinating, I know. This goes on for another few minutes, with both of 'em getting madder and madder, but keeping their voices low.  By this time I'm getting the idea I'm unneeded here . . . so I slip my arm out of Duncan's and back up a little bit to give 'em some privacy. Of course, I can't understand a thing they're saying, but still. You know, you like to at least give the impression you're being polite.

Anyway, after a few more minutes of hissing back and forth at each other -- it sounded like a snake convention -- suddenly Duncan's back by me and grabbing my arm again.  He says "Let's go" in this growly kind of voice and we hightail it outta there, with me almost running to keep up.  Which Duncan doesn't seem to notice at all.  Of course, I didn't point this out -- at that pace?  Yeah, right; gimme a break, I couldn't  breathe!!!  How many times do I have to tell you, I'm not the most fleet of foot???  Especially trying to keep up with a 6-footer in a major twitch!

Well, so much for the Louvre.  Duncan headed us for the main entrance, then to the car, and took off like a bat outta hell.  Definitely in A Mood!!  I didn't say anything; I was too busy panting.  By the time I caught my breath, we were back at the barge.  I wasn't going to say anything even then, but after nearly flying through the windshield when we stopped, my own temper was getting a wee bit bent.  So I ups and says, "What the heck about that guy got you so pissed?"

And you know what the big lunk says?  "I'm not pissed!" In this snarly voice; then he dives out of the car, snatches my door open and hauls me out and up the gangplank.

With all this, naturally, I'm beginning to feel like the Lone Stranger.  Or a package he's absentmindedly lugging around, out of habit, y'know?  I mean,  he obviously knows what's going on -- Amber Eyes knows what's up -- but I'm out in the cold.  Now, how can you help your guy figure out what to do if he won't tell you anything about a problem?  You can't, of course.  But it didn't seem like Duncan was quite in the mood for sharing his concerns at the moment.  He'd gone to the liquor cabinet and poured a drink as soon as we got inside, while I was still hanging up my coat. Now he was plopped down in the couch, staring moodily at his drink.

I must say, he does look gorgeous even when he's mad -- or pouting -- but this was getting a bit much.  So I ignored it.  I went on into the kitchen and started putting a little something together, kind of enjoying having free run of the fridge for a change.  I swear, you'd think Duncan was afraid of me poisoning him or something, the way he's been about the cooking!  And you know me, I love to cook -- it's the cleaning I hate -- and believe me, I took advantage of having the kitchen all to myself.

It was great!  Not that I did anything fancy, oh no.  Just good ol' plain American cooking.  It's kinda hard to ruin steaks and twice-baked potatoes with butter and sour cream and gratinee, plus the au jus from the steaks and sautéed fresh mushrooms and good French bread . . . well, hey, the markets over here are fantastic!!  I actually got some morels without having to pay more than an arm and a leg.  At home a lot of the wild mushrooms are shipped off to Japan, and you want to get them local, you'd think they were  gold or something!  Fortunately, as I've mentioned before, Duncan doesn't seem to have any troubles in the money department.  I  still dunno how he makes it, but I'm sure it's not illegal.  At least . . . oh, never mind.

Well, I puttered around happily and let him think, then got everything dished up and peeked out into the main cabin.  Duncan was still sitting there frowning into nothing, and I realized stronger medicine might be indicated.  Which made me glad I'd opened a nice little bottle of red earlier to let it breathe -- well, actually, I'd used some on the steak, but only a splash or two.  I poured two generous glasses and headed on out to the table.

He looked a bit startled when I suddenly appeared in front of him with a glass of wine, but he came back from wherever he was, which was the point of it, after all.  He gave me a smile when he took the glass, then his nose kind of twitched and he got this carnivorous gleam in his eye -- you know, the one guys get when all of a sudden they realize they've missed a meal or two and are starving.  Then he says a little incredulously, "You cooked dinner?"

Well,  duh, MacLeod!  No, I had it delivered -- from the States!  I mean, honestly, why guys get the impression that you can't cook or do anything domestic, just because you're young and built like a brick- uh, have a great figure, I mean . . . It's stupid, but for some reason they tend to think that's all you are, your bra size. Even the unusually good ones, like Duncan, can make that mistake on occasion.  Well, sheesh.  I wouldn't have gone into investigation if I didn't have a brain or two.  And what, did he think I ate only TV dinners or something when I was home alone?  Yeah, right!

Of course I only smiled sweetly and kind of shooed him towards the table . . . and boy, did he scarf it up!  You'd think the poor guy hadn't eaten decent food since we'd got here.  Now I  know that wasn't true; we'd been eating at fantastic restaurants or he'd been cooking equally fantastic meals; but heck, guess he'd suddenly realized he'd missed plain, ordinary cooking or something. You should have heard what he said about it, you'd think I'd invented it!  Which was all very flattering, but a bit much; not to mention that he'd totally avoided the subject of Mr. Amber Eyes.

Well, I knew better than to bring that up until after he'd eaten; no sense getting him all riled on an empty stomach, now that would be stupid, wouldn't it?  So I laughed and yacked and we had a nice dinner, with most of the bottle of wine, and things got very relaxed and happy.  Then I let slip an innocent little question, like was the guy at the Louvre another person he'd have to take care of, like Prof. Karoly?

It's really amazing how dumfounded people can look when their mouths fall open like that.  The last time I'd seen Duncan look like that was when my head popped up out of the ACME Sekrit Undercover Trenchcoat after he'd grabbed me and shoved me up against those crates in the warehouse.  (Well, almost.  There have been a few  other occasions, but those were private.  Very private.  Let's just say that while Duncan has been giving  me that expression quite frequently during private times, I've managed to startle the hell out of him a couple of times, too.)  Rather annoying, as a matter of fact; I mean, here I'd thought I'd manage to rearrange his preconceptions about my intelligence (or lack thereof) a little by now.  However, it looked like that had slipped to the back of his mind with all the other stuff I'd been startling him with.  Or he'd just been paying attention to my looks lately. Which  is nice, but there is a brain inside my skull, it's not just a great base for all that hair I've got!!

I frowned a little at him and said, well, it was rather obvious, Duncan dear, that this guy is seriously persona non grata in your personal space.  An idiot could have figured that out.  So are you going to have to do something about him, as he seems rather the pushy sort?  Or are you going to hope the police find something convenient to stick on him and put him away for a while?

Duncan sort of gulped, gave me this wary look, and told me it was nothing to worry about.  The guy was merely an old rival in the antique business; and every time they met he was always sniping at him about something or other that Duncan had managed to one-up him on.

Uh-huh.  Sure, honey.  Right.  And when you see guys you have a tit-for-tat feud with, you tense up all over as if you're preparing for them to attack.  Yeah, merely a business type rivalry, nothing like life and death.

Antique dealing is obviously a lot more intense than I'd thought!

Since he was a little nervous, I changed the subject and started yacking about innocent things -- you know, clothes and so forth. That got him relaxed, and he ended up describing all the great shops we could go visit.  It sounded like fun, and he started teasing me about the styles I'd choose . . . Hah!  Just you wait, Mr. Man -- I'll betcha I surprise him about  that, too!!  But it ended up with him promising to take me shopping the next day -- the man is amazing.  Totally unnatural, he sounded like he was looking  forward to see me try on clothes all day!  Then, of course, he suggested we get an early start.  Well, I'm not totally dense -- I immediately yawned and said I thought it was a great idea. It was, too; we didn't get to sleep until around three in the morning.  Amazing, phooey -- he's  incredible!

And then, the next day -- wups, gotta go.  Sorry, but Duncan needs some help with something.  Tomorrow, I promise!

Continued

(Read this one already?
Go on to the third story in the series.)

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