A little background:my timeline is a little off from actual air-dates - I missed a good deal of last season due to scheduling conflicts. Breathless begins just before Thanksgiving, however Amy and David have just "broken up" after she blew him off, having gotten caught up in a conversation with Bruce, after the lump scare. Maxine has not yet had her heart attack and Anthony Byrd is still missing.

My world is the world of 'what if' and an almost zany amount of cross-over. That said, this isn't a parody or even a comedy, it simply assumes certain facts. 1) In 1984 a ship full of alien slaves crash landed in Cafornia's Mojave desert. These Newcomers havebeen intergrated into American (and Canadian) society - inching their way eastwardover the last 20 years, really very slowly as they are not prone to wanderlust.2) The third season of Beauty and the Beast had a radically different outcome, mainly in that Catherine did not die; Vincent was aided not only by Elliot Burch (who survived), but by Joe Maxwell, his new buddy Odafin Tutuola and a "risen" fourteen year old murder victim, Kate Zito. Kate is an original character, but James O'Barr is the creator of the Crow and deserves the real credit (with a nod towards White Wolf games, for their Risen concept - basically, they took O'Barr's Crow and turned it into a game without breaking trademark laws.) 3) After Joel walked home, he was taken under wing by Dr. Peter Alcott - because Peter isn't getting any younger and after his adventures in Alaska, Joel is just the man to replace him as a Helper for those times when the Tunnel community needs more medical aid than Father can supply...

Suffice it to say, if I didn't create it,I don't own it and I'm not trying to step on toes by using it here.

On a personal note, this story came about becuase I never liked Stu and I'm not real fond of David either, so I wanted to throw someone new into Amy's path...

November, 2004

"No – no, no, no!" Amy Gray slammed her palm against the wheel of the dying car. Behind her horns blared, irritated, impatient sounds. "Yeah, well we all have places to go!" She hollered angrily, waving out the window for them to pass her. She hadn't wanted to drive to New York tonight – but she was trying to be the nice guy. Trying to do her ex a favour by dropping Lauren off instead of insisting he come and pick their daughter up for Thanksgiving. Like she wanted Lauren to be away for the holiday, especially since things with David had taken nose dive – not as if she was going to be alone for the holiday. Peter and Vincent had both moved back home…other drivers continued to honk their horns in irritation.

She turned the ignition – nothing. Dead. Amy pulled her cell out of her purse. Dead. "Just great – what a happy Thanksgiving this is turning out to be." Thanksgiving wasn't really until tomorrow – but right now, she wasn't sure how she was going to get home. Or what she was going to do with her car. Or if she really even wanted to go home – what she wouldn't give for a nice hot bubble bath…and a glass of wine. And quiet – peaceful, suburban Hartford quiet…yeah, there was a fantasy that would never happen…

David had just walked out on her – because she'd been having such a good time talking to Bruce that she blew him off and when she tried to apologize he just – walked away. Ok, so maybe it wasn't all his fault – damn, she missed him – but she was angry at him too. She needed him – she needed someone who understood her…and maybe that was the problem, David didn't really understand her. Then there was the family: Vincent had done nothing but mope around the house since moving back in. She'd tried talking to him – who the hell knew what was wrong with Vincent most of the time, anyway? And Jillian and Peter and their split – that had caught everyone off guard. At least it gave Peter and Vincent something to 'bond' over – they could mope together now. Lauren seemed to be spending more and more time with her father and Alicia…that grated on Amy's frayed nerves. Behind her horns continued to honk. "Yeah, yeah, like there's anything I can do about it!" she hollered back…like there was anything she could do about anything…it was like the whole universe was spinning out of control and taking her along for the ride… What was she doing with her life, except spinning her wheels… she was almost forty – what had she done with her life. While some might say that being a judge was an accomplishment – everyone knew that she only really had the job because no one else wanted it. And some days it just seemed as if all she was doing was spinning her wheels there, too – did she really do any good…? Or was it just that today had been a particularly bad day… yup, what a really terrific Thanksgiving. Can't wait for Christmas, Amy grumbled to herself.

So deep was her reverie, that Amy completely missed the well-dressed man's approach; he was tall, handsome with shoulder length brown hair that was just beginning to gray at the temples, and a neatly trimmed beard. He tapped lightly on her window. Any jumped out of her skin – and was annoyed by his obviously amused grin.

Unable to roll the window down – power windows – she opened the car door just a crack. "Just go around, ok? My battery is dead – there's nothing I can do. So – just go around."

"So I see," his bright eyes twinkled with mirth, "I have no problem going around – but I thought I might offer you a push – at least get you over to the curb before a riot ensues. This isn't a good spot to be holding up traffic."

Amy blinked. An offer of help? She wondered what he wanted…but he was right about her fellow motorists. It seemed they'd rather yell at her than just go around. "Thanks – I'll get out and help."

"You just steer," he told her. "Just over to the curb there." And with that, he was behind the car, pushing – and just as glad she wasn't driving anything bigger than a sedan!

Amy guided the car to the curb, managing to get it mostly lined up, before putting it into park. She got out, crossing her arms in front her body, and leaned against her dead car – and realized that her rescuer was wearing a tux under his long, black wool coat. "Oh – my – thank you – I hope you're on your way home at least," she noticed the mud on his shoes. "I mean – not that getting dirt all over you is good either way – but at least if you're on your way home it won't ruin your evening – well, thank you," she realized just how flustered she was, unable to make a coherent thought come out. It was the way he kept smiling at her, like he realized she was a moron but was content to listen to her babble anyway.

"No harm done – the mud was there before I came across your dilemma. Elliot Burch," he held out his hand.

"Amy Gray. And – thanks again – I didn't think there were any nice people left in this city."

"We're a dying breed," Elliot smiled. "May I call you a cab?"

"No – I'll be fine," she lied. Then, "No – no I won't be fine. My cell phone is dead. My car is dead. My boyfriend just dumped me and I just dropped my daughter off with my ex husband for Thanksgiving," she was on the verge of tears and wasn't even sure how to make the not come. She really was a moron…

"All I can really offer is my phone," Elliot pulled it out of his coat's inner pocket, "I'm afraid I don't have much of a cure for the rest."

"Oh – God – I'm sorry, I really didn't mean to sound that pathetic. I just really hate New York."

"It reminds you of your ex?"

She laughed, despite herself, "Yes. I know that's pretty childish," Amy accepted the phone from his outstretched hand. "Thanks – I'm just going to call Triple A."

He shrugged, "Take your time," Elliot wandered a little ways off to give her privacy. They were just on the edge of the park – he'd come from the Tunnel entrance – the children had given a concert tonight – a marvelous performance. They had all worked so hard – Jeremy Callahan had played his fiddle, Jayne sang Green Sleeves and Luke, Pascal's son, played a duet with on the cello with Caroline on her violin. Even Jake had brought out his flute – something he didn't do so much any more, preferring to pursue more 'macho' pursuits. (Elliot wasn't sure he remembered what it felt like to be fourteen…)

"Here, thanks," Amy returned the phone to her rescuer, still holding her arms protectively around herself as much as possible. She wasn't even aware of the posture or what it said about her.

"How long did they say they'd be?" Elliot asked, aware of her wariness. Well, it was New York, and right by Central Park…
"Two hours."

"Two hours?"

"Holidays and all," she shrugged, repeating what the less than helpful operator had told her. "But what else can I do? Thanks again."

"Look – have you eaten yet? Why don't you let me buy you dinner?"

"No – I really don't think –"

"I know a little place not to far from here," he coaxed.

"No – thanks but – I don't think that's such a good idea," Amy backed up, just a little.

Elliot almost laughed, but decided that it might get him into trouble. "I'm not trying to get you into a car – I walked here."

"On foot?" She looked at his outfit.

"That's how people usually walk," Elliot grinned.

"But – who walks after dark? Who walks anywhere?" except bums – and this guy didn't look like a bum…his cell was one of those top of the line models with all the bells and whistles – the rest of him was pretty top of the line too…

"As you can clearly see, driving in this city is hell. I try to walk or use the subway whenever I can."

"But – you just said you were at a concert," she eyed him, suspiciously. There wasn't anything anywhere around that looked even remotely like a concert hall.

"A children's concert."

"In a tux?"

"Who says you only wear a tux when Sophie Mutter is in town?"

Amy laughed despite her natural fear and suspicion.

"I hope you won't think me forward if I tell you that you have an amazing laugh."

She laughed a little more – when was the last time someone had said something like that? "Well – I suppose it is a little forward, but thank you."

"So – dinner? I swear, it's walking distance and I'll walk at arm's length the entire way."

She eyed him – clean, well dressed (slightly better than well dressed) – ok, so he looked legit – almost too good to be true. Then again, she hadn't eaten yet…and if they said two hours, it was more likely to be three… "Ok, dinner," Amy agreed. She was glad she'd worn something nicer than jeans and a sweat shirt – even if she'd done it because she knew she'd run into Alicia and hadn't wanted to look like the older, dumpier, ex wife. She knew when she'd bought the blouse that she was wasting her time – she shouldn't be competing with her ex husband's second wife – but sometimes it was so hard to get past petty jealousy.

Elliot smiled, "This way then," he gestured and, true to his word, walked a good arm's length from her.

After walking about a block, Amy looked over at him – he was looking at her, smiling. She couldn't think of the last time David had looked at her like that – oh, that wasn't true. When they'd started dating, he'd looked at her like that…maybe he was just using her blowing him off as an excuse…it was too hurtful to really think about. "So – Elliot, what do you do when you're not rescuing damsels in distress?"

"Business. It's pretty boring," Elliot confided, secretly grateful that she'd never heard of him. Things weren't as bad as they'd been ten years ago – or even five years ago. But his name was still known in some circles – and some people still hated him for his past – a couple of scandals in the nineties hadn't helped his reputation either, even if he knew he'd been trying to do the right thing at the time. "What about you?"

"I'm a judge."

Elliot almost laughed – ten years ago…ten years ago it might have been almost dangerous for a judge to be rescued by him. Still, "Oh? Where?"

"Hartford Family court."

"Connecticut?"

"That's the only Hartford around here as far as I know. Why?" she asked; his tone had sounded – cautious might be a good word for it. "You have some bad history with a judge?"

"Not exactly. Let's just say that in my youthful zeal and greed I made some mistakes. Painful – stupid mistakes."

"Illegal ones?"

"Mostly just this side of illegal," he confided. "I stood in front of a couple of judges, but never ended up convicted of anything. Most of what I was accused of wasn't true – business can be ugly."

"But you're still in – what sort of business exactly?"

"The business of building buildings," he told her grandly. "And rescuing pretty ladies."

Amy smiled. "So – are you still doing things only this side of legal?"
"Don't worry – you're not going to get in any trouble if you're seen with me," Elliot stopped in front of the little Bistro – he opened the door for her.

"Oh – my." Amy looked around – it didn't look like much on the outside – but once inside, she felt suddenly out of her element.

"Mr. Burch – how nice to see you this evening!"

"Hello, Gary – do you think you could squeeze us in somewhere?"

"For you? Anything."

Amy gave him an inquisitive look – before he could answer, the matre'd had returned to guide them back to a small, secluded table well away from the hub of the crowded restaurant. Amy was startled as Elliot pulled out her chair for her – she defiantly couldn't remember the last time she'd had a man do that. "Just what kind of anything did he mean?" she whispered after the matre'd had left them to peruse the menu.

Elliot smiled, "I know the owner. Nothing shady," he added. "I lent him some money a while back – just one guy lending money to another. He paid me back – no interest and no broken knee caps."

"I'm being silly, aren't I?"

"Just a little – but I won't hold it against you."

"Mr. Burch?" A tall, lanky young man in a suit approached the table, holding a bottle of wine. "If this meets with your approval?"

"I don't know, Carson – ask the lady if she likes it," Elliot told the boy.

"Ummm – I don't know that much about wine," Amy admitted. "Aren't you supposed to drink red with meat and white with fish or something like that?"

"A myth. The true wine connoisseur drinks what he likes, not what someone else tells him to drink." Elliot smiled. "What have you brought out for us?"

"Caro 2001 Cabernet Sauvignon/Malbec, from Argentina."

"Wow. That sounds – exotic," Amy felt completely out of her depth.

"It's medium dry, with a good mix of earthiness and fruit aromas."

Elliot shrugged, "I guess the only way to know for sure is to uncork it and have a taste – Carson?"

The boy nodded and began uncorking the wine.

"So what happens if you don't like it?" Amy asked.

"Well, if we don't like it, I guess we just have to try something else," Elliot smiled back at her.

"That was amazing," Amy said as the waiter cleared their plates. Amazing and expensive – at least on a judge's salary.

"The food here is pretty good," Elliot agreed.

"Not just the food, everything – but especially the company." she blushed, just a little, realizing that the wine had gone to her head. "I guess it's my turn to be forward."

"I don't mind," Elliot told her. They'd talked all through dinner – little things, family, job, movies, books – she was an incredible woman with an amazing family, a terrific sense of humour and a beautiful laugh.

"What time is it?"

He glanced at his watch, "Just about time to head back. Why don't you call again, to see if they've actually headed out to your car? If not, maybe we can squeeze in desert."

"Squeeze is right," Amy took the phone from him, "I don't know if I could eat another bite."

Elliot smiled, watching her – she wasn't typically beautiful, but she was certainly stunning with long, curly red hair and big bright eyes. It was her smile that really got him, though – she had an honest, unafraid smile.

Amy dialed – and made her inquiry. And listened to the answer. "What do you mean, no one can get to me until tomorrow morning! What do I pay you people for?"

Calmly, Elliot took the phone from her. "Hello – do I understand correctly that you won't be able to get to Judge Gray's car until tomorrow?"

"I'm sorry, sir – but we're completely swamped right now."

"I understand, it's the holiday," he said calmly – Amy looked fit to be tied. He held his hand up, to silence her objections. "Can you arrange to have her car towed to her house tomorrow and charge the battery there?"

"Her coverage doesn't include that kind of towing."

"That wasn't what I asked. I'll pay for it."

"Elliot –" Amy began to object – but he motioned for her to hush. She fumed. How was she going to get home?

"I suppose," the operator began.

"Good. I'll give you my credit card number – you can charge me." He was already fishing a card out of his wallet. Several moments later, he hung up to face an irate red head.

"If you're trying to impress me by waving plastic around –"

"I am doing nothing of the sort," Elliot explained patiently. "It's just in my nature to fix a problem when I see one that I can fix."

"That's well and good – but just how am I going to get home?"

"If you will allow me, I'll have a car take you."

"A car?"

"I told you – I don't like to drive in the city. When I can't walk or take the subway, I there's a car service that I use. They're very professional. I can call and have them send someone to pick you up and take you home."

"To Hartford?"

"To Hartford."

"What's the catch?"

"Only one – well, maybe two, if I can get you to agree to the second one."

"And that would be?"

"The first one is that you call me when you get home. I know it's a professional car service, but I still want to make sure you get there ok."

"And number two?"

"I'm hoping that maybe you'll let me take you out to dinner again. I don't mind coming out to Hartford," he added.

"Can I think about number two?"

"If you'll let me make sure you get home ok."

"I guess you have a deal, Mr. Burch."

"Well, your honour, if you'll give me one moment, I'll call for your chariot."

Amy laughed.

"Good evening Sir."

"Good evening – I don't believe we've met."

"I'm Gordon – I'm new," the young man replied, cordially.

"All right, Gordon. I'd like you to do me a favour – would you please show this lady – her name is JUDGE Gray – your chauffeur's license?"

"Eliot – that really isn't necessary – I believe that he's a chauffeur."

"I wouldn't want you to have any doubts," Elliot grinned. "I want you to know that everything is on the level so you can enjoy your ride home."

"Here you go, ma'am," the young man had pulled out his license.

"Gordon – when addressing a judge, it's your honour," Elliot pointed out.

"Gosh, I'm sorry – I didn't realize that, your honour!"

"That's only necessary in court," Amy said to the blushing young man; she gave Elliot a look – he was genuinely enjoying himself – only she kept getting the feeling that it was her he was teasing, not the young man.

"Just make sure she gets home safely," he said, in a more somber tone.

"Yes, Sir." Gordon started to open the door – Elliot took it from him.

"Call me?" Elliot handed her a business card; onto the back he'd penned his cell phone number.

"As soon as I get home. Promise."

"Good night, then, Judge Gray."

"Good night – and – thank you. I had a remarkable evening."

"Remarkable – I think I like the sound of that – gives me hope that you might let me take you out again."

"We'll see," she gave him a coy smile before disappearing into the depths of the opulent town car. "Wow."

"Would you like to listen to music, Judge Gray?" The young man asked. "We have Satellite Radio – pretty much anything you could want."

"Sure – something classic rock maybe?"

"You got it!"

"Amy – where on earth have you been? It's nearly dawn!" Maxine demanded as her daughter walked in the front door.

"I met a guy. A really nice guy," Amy smiled, dreamily.

"I was worried sick about you."

"I know. I'm sorry. But I got – caught up. I met a guy!"

"Yes, we've established that. Does this 'guy' have a name?"

"Elliot."

"As in E.T. phone home?"

"Ma!" Amy laughed. "He's sweet, funny – honest. Good looking."

"All that, from one date? And I thought you were only going there to drop Lauren off at her father's?"

"I was. My car broke down. He's having it towed to the house in the morning."

"So he drove you home, but didn't stop in to say hello?"

"No – he had his car service drive me home."

"Oh, excuse me," Maxine remarked, almost snidely.

"He's a nice guy."

"So you keep saying."

"Oh – and I promised to call him when I got home!" Amy got to the phone, fished out the card and dialed.

"At this hour?" Maxine was saying…

"Good morning, Judge Gray," Elliot answered on the second ring.

"How did you know it was me?"

"I had the service call me when you were dropped off – just in case you forgot to call, I wanted to make sure."

"You were checking up on me – you wanted to make sure I'd call!" She accused – it felt – like Jr. High all over again, her stomach fluttering strangely for reasons no rational mind could explain.

"Maybe. Have you given any thought to dinner?"

"You are very persistent."

"You have no idea."

"All right. Prove it."

"Is that a challenge?" Elliot queried.

"Maybe. You say you're persistent – show me. Prove you really want to take me to dinner."

"Consider that gauntlet picked up," he grinned. "Good night." Before she could say a word, Elliot hung up.

"I don't believe him – he hung up on me!" Amy faced her mother.

"Some how you don't look too upset by that."

"I – he hung up on me! No one's ever done that before!"

"Who in the world could that be?" Maxine said aloud; they'd just sat down to dinner when the doorbell rang. All were present and accounted for – Peter and Jillian, separated but more together than they'd been in years, Ned and Walt, Vincent, divorced and miserable, Amy. And the doorbell.

"I got it," Vincent got up. A few moments later he returned, carrying a florist's box. "Amy – for you."

"Looks like your 'nice guy' is serious," Maxine muttered under her breath.

"What nice guy?" Peter wanted to know.

"I met this guy, that's all," Amy took the box from her younger brother and opened it. Six pink roses and a note:

Dearest Damsel, hopefully no longer in distress,

Though I could not in good conscience ask a favor for the service of helping you home, I can and do most sincerely hope that you will consider doing me the honor of allowing me to escort you to dinner at a restaurant of your choice, perhaps next week? I will be in touch.

Your faithful servant,
Elliot Burch

"Oh my gosh," Amy breathed.

"You're blushing!" Peter exclaimed.

Vincent was reading over her shoulder, "'Your faithful servant'? What kind of guy signs a card 'your faithful servant'?"

"Oh my," Jillian intoned.

"All right – all of you – enough," she went to find a vase in the kitchen. "Ma! Where's a vase?"

"Try the potting shed."

"The potting shed?" Amy poked her head back into the dining room.

Maxine shrugged, "It seemed like a good place to put them at the time. Vases are for flowers aren't they?"

An hour later there was another knock at the door. "Amy?" Peter had been the one to answer; he came into the living room carrying another florist's box. "If this is from the same guy, I think you're nuts to go out with him."

"It couldn't be," Amy took the box from her older brother. Inside were another six pink roses.

My dearest Damsel,

I hope you have a big vase.

Faithfully yours,
Elliot.

Amy laughed, putting these with the first six.

An hour later there was another knock on the door.

Maxine just looked at her daughter, "Apparently it's for you."

"No – it can't be," Amy got up – on the other side of the door was a florist's delivery guy. "Yes?"

"Judge Gray?"

"Yes?"

"For you, Ma'am." He handed her a box. It was another six pink roses.

Dearest Damsel,

A very big vase.

Ever in your service,

Elliot

An hour went by; there was a knock on the door.

"Amy – are you sure this guy isn't stalking you?" Peter asked, coming back from the front door.

"With what, flowers?" She opened the box. Six more pink roses.

Dearest Damsel,

A VERY, very big vase.

Faithfully yours,
Elliot.

Despite glowers from the entire family, Amy laughed.

By the end of the night, Amy had four dozen roses. And a specially delivered hand-blown glass vase that was big enough to hold them.

Dearest Damsel,

After I left the florist shop, it occurred to me that you might not have a very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very big vase. So here's a very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very big vase.

Faithfully,

Elliot

p.s. – did I mention that I was persistent? I hope you like scones.

"'I hope you like scones?'" Vincent queried.

Amy shrugged.

"Amy," Jillian was looking over the vase, "Do you have any idea how much something like this costs?"

"Not really, no."

Jillian opened her mouth. Then shut it again. "Maybe you don't want to."

Amy blinked. That would be a first – Jillian NOT saying something…