It was pure luck that he stumbled upon her. Luck on his part, not so much her's. He had been in London, only for a day or so. The job didn't take that long. The man never saw him coming. It was easy. It was shear luck that he saw her, passing by an outdoor ballet production. The music caught his attention more than anything. As he passed by the thought to keep walking occurred to him, but the music stopped him.

The rhythm, the melody. It floated to his ears and he found his feet moving towards the open field where a small stage was set up. The sun was high in the clear sky, a rarity for London. She was advertised as one of the best dancers in the UK. He saw her maker her way onto the stage. Graceful, flawless. He knew instantly, he could almost taste it. She was special, different. He turned his head slightly to the right, regarding the young woman next to him. "Who is she," he asked, his silky voice floated over the sound of the music.

"Fiona Gillespie. She's a dancer from Glasgow." The woman glanced at him, but only for a moment before her eyes returned to the stage. "She's unreal, I've never seen anything like it. They really got somethin' special with her."

His lips curled into a smirk that, had anyone known him, would have been more sadistic than admiring. "Yes they have."

He had become an expert in the last few months in… surveillance. The show finished. As luck would have it, though he preferred to think of it as fate, it was her last show in London, and she was to return home to Glasgow in the morning. The task seemed almost too easy. All the pieces fell into place perfectly. He decided he would wait… wait a few hours after she was due to leave, before he checked out of his hotel. By that evening he had arrived and checked into a hotel in Glasgow.

He was unsure what it was exactly, that gave her the ability to move like that, but he knew it was more than just years of practice. Before leaving London he had asked around, done some research on this Fiona Gillespie. According to fans of the dancer, and the little amount of information he could dig up on her, she had been dancing since early childhood, but just recently she was thrust into the spotlight. Whatever it was, he was sure he could find some usefulness in being able to move like that.

He anticipated more trouble in locating her in Glasgow. That was not the case though. It was fate, it had to have been. He stopped at a pub for a drink and there she was. She sat at the other end of the bar, two people next to her. They did not appear to be friends though, more like fans. She's here alone, he thought. The bartended handed him the bottle of beer he ordered. His eyes drifted towards the girl as he brought the cold bottle to his lips. Her dark brown hair was tied back. Her dress was simple, somehow he imagined her being more sophisticated. He held her gaze until she looked away. He took a slow drink of the beer and smirked. He caught her movement out of the corner of his eyes as she stood. She gave the man behind the bar a kiss on the cheek and headed towards the door. His eyes followed her as she walked behind him, her arm brushing against his back lightly as she passed. His dark eyes followed her out the door. Patience, he told himself.

He knew that if he rushed into the matter, the simplicity of it all would crumble. She would become suspicious, and he may actually be forced to do some work. As it was at the moment, everything seemed to be falling right into his lap.

"I wouldn't count on her Romeo," a large man with a thick Scottish accent spoke.

He turned towards the man and smirked. "Why's that?"

"Fiona's a firecracker, a heartbreaker. She's just teasin' ya boy."

"Who said I was interested?"

"I don't know how they do things in pubs in America, but I've been runnin' this place longer than you've been alive. Everyone stares at that girl."

"She seems to stand out in a place like this."

"Aye. I'm tellin' ya now son, watch your step with her."

He nodded to the man and flashed a cordial smile. "I don't mean to over step my bounds here, but you seem a bit overprotective."

"Yeah, boy, you are over steppin' your bounds. That's my daughter."

For a second he looked as though he had been punched in the face. That was indeed an unexpected twist, something he should have seen coming. "You are a lucky father then she's quite talented," he said simply. He nodded and with that he paid for his beer and left.

"Did he say anything," she asked, sitting on the bar, leaning against the back wall. Her father was cleaning up the bar, just after closing. "Dad, did he say anythin'?"

"Who, Fiona?"

"The boy. The one that was sittin' over there last night," she asked pointing to a barstool a few yards in front of her. "Did he say anythin'?"

"Oh Fiona, leave the boy alone. He's American, a tourist. Leave him be."

"But did he say anythin'?"

"Don't you have somewhere you need to be?"

She looked up at the clock on the wall behind her father. "Oh shit." She pushed herself off the bar and grabbed her jacket. "I'll be back tonight," she shouted to her father before running out of the bar. She turned down the street and took off sprinting. Fiona Gillespie was twenty minutes late for the first dance lesson that she was in charge of teaching. As she sped down the street her shoulder slammed into someone. "Sorry," she shouted, barely registering out of the corner of her eye that it was the same man from the pub the night before.

Five classes later (two Jazz, and three ballet) she turned the lights out in the studio. Lessons were done for the day. Fiona grabbed her bag and made her way to the apartment above the studio. She threw her bag on the couch, along with her shoes and headed into the bathroom, to wash away the stress of that day. It was her first day as a dance instructor, and Fiona had been stressing about it for weeks. She spent the last week in London trying to relax, working on a small production at the time. It had been helpful, but returning home, only brought the stress with it.

Now that the first day was over, and a resounding success, or so her students told her, she was ready to be rid of it. She turned on the shower and shed her clothes. The hot water relaxed her muscles. She never needed it though. Fiona was special in that way. The way she moved, the things she could do. She had no answers for it, but it made her an incredible dancer. From the age of four she always wanted to be like her mother, a great dancer. After showering she wrapped a towel around herself and went into her room to change. Fiona pulled her dark brown hair back and slipped a white long sleeved t-shirt on, over that she put on a black Guns n Roses t-shirt. She pulled on a pair of worn black jeans that hugged her hips tightly, a pair of socks and her shoes. She grabbed her black denim jacket and her bag before heading down the stairs.

As she left the studio and locked the door, she noticed him again. Standing down the street, it was just a silhouette but she recognized him. Ignoring the man that seemed to be following her, Fiona made her way back to her father's pub. She walked in the door and everyone cheered. "Happy Birthday," her father told her and gave her a hug. She smiled and grabbed a beer from behind the bar. Music start blasting through the speakers once more and Fiona took her seat at the end of the bar. Over the next few hours she was bombarded with birthday wishes. Most of the people were friends of her father. For every bit that Fiona was outgoing and talented, she had very few friends.

"You didn't have to do this dad," she yelled over the music.

"Its your birthday Fiona. You should spend it with friends."

She forced a smile onto her face and nodded. Her father had done this every year for as long as she could remember, in an attempt to broaden the girl's social life. Fiona was independent, and she wished her father could just understand that she was happy with the life she had. Her eyes scanned the room, the many faces that were familiar, but not known. She could only name a handful of people that were there. As she looked over the room her blue eyes found him. Sitting in the same seat he had been in the night before.

She was alone, at her own birthday party. It seemed sad, and yet he could relate on some level. He glanced to where she had been sitting only to find she was no longer there. "If I didn't know better, I'd say you were stalking me." Her voice floated over the music to his ear. He smiled and spun around on the barstool, leaning back against the bar.

"Really? What makes you say that?"

"Well, either that your you actually lack the confidence to speak to me."

He watched her cross her arms in front of her chest and leaned back. "What makes you think I lack confidence?"

"I didn't say you did, I said you were stalkin' me."

He smiled and set his beer down on the bar. He pushed himself away from the bar and stood straight. His six foot two form towered over her. As he opened his mouth to speak he was interrupted.

"Fiona!" She looked passed him at her father and rolled her eyes before leaving. His eyes followed her as she walked away. Instead of taking a seat where he had been, he grabbed his beer and took a seat in the corner where Fiona had been sitting. After watching the girl put back on the spot once more. Her father was making a speech, the music had died down.

"You all know my daughter." There was a loud applause. He saw the girl's face turn red. She was embarrassed, it brought a smile to his face. "She's just got back from London yesterday and had her first classes today!" Fiona smiled as her father turned to her. "Your mother would be so proud of you." She gave her father a hug and happily disappeared into the crowd as the music played once more. "For your mother." She smiled at her father as Eric Carmen's "Hungry Eyes" began to play.

"I was sittin' there."

"I know." He lifted his eyes to look at her, his head still facing the bottle of beer in his hand on the bar. "Seat was open." He smirked and stood once more, then leaned down, next to her ear. "Nobody puts Baby in a corner. Dance with me," he spoke into her ear.

His words were met by her laughter. "Sweetheart, you're gorgeous and all." She put her hands on his face and smiled. "But you're no Patrick Swayze. Besides, you're the one in the corner, I'm the dancer. Looks like your Baby."

"Fair enough." He took hold of both her wrists, lowering her hands slowly. He spun her around and brought his arms down over her. "Dance with me."

"Looks like I don't have much of a choice." She led him out onto the dance floor. He stood behind her with his arms around her waist. She turned around in his arms, putting hers around his neck, her fingers playing with his hair. "So what's your name Romeo," she asked with a smile.

He stalled, staring down at her for a moment. The music changed, but she didn't seem to notice. "Ian… Ian Anderson."

Again she laughed. "Bullshit."

"Excuse me?"

"You stalled," she said with a laugh. "Do you know how many men have come in here, thinkin' up good names to impress me? I can see it. Besides, Ian Anderson's the lead singer of Jethro Tull." She glanced up at the speakers to indicate what was playing. "Nice try though." She laughed and moved back to the bar, grabbing a beer. He followed. "So what's your real name, Baby?"

"Gabriel Sylar."