A/N: I'm finally back! I'm probably copping out with yet another flashback fantasy that relies on actual series episodes, but I have a reason for it: on November 25 Ricardo Montalbán would have been 89 years old, and this story is meant as a memorial tribute. Ten months may have elapsed since his death, but his fans don't miss him any the less for it. Enjoy!

§ § § -- April 6, 2006

"Well," said Roarke from the desk, sounding surprised, "this is an auspicious occasion indeed. I wonder why I didn't take note of it earlier?"

"You were probably too busy, whatever it was," Leslie suggested quizzically, looking up from the credenza where she was collecting several bills of lading before leaving to pick up assorted mundane supplies for the resort. "What was it, anyway?"

Roarke chuckled. "It's quite lightweight, but it has just occurred to me that this weekend, I will be granting my one-hundred-thousandth fantasy."

Astonished, Leslie slowly straightened up from her crouch; Christian, sitting on the loveseat sketching out a website design, stopped and stared at him. "Are you telling me you actually keep count?" he asked in disbelief.

Roarke burst out laughing. "Not intentionally so!" he assured his son-in-law, who grinned a little doubtfully. "But it did happen to occur to me to notice it, just now, when it was quiet in here. Even the children seem to be surprised." The triplets, catching the mood, had paused as well and were watching the adults.

"You'd think we ought to celebrate it with something," Leslie suggested. "Maybe a gift certificate to the fantasizer, or something like that."

"Seems to me you should be doing something more substantial than that," scoffed Christian, rolling his eyes. "A mere gift certificate hardly seems like an appropriate memento for such an incredible event."

"Party pooper," said Leslie dismissively. "I think we should do something."

"Perhaps you can help me decide," Roarke said, just as Julie came in through the French shutters, carrying her room list, with Rory trailing her.

"Decide what?" Julie asked.

Roarke told her, and Julie brightened. "How about a free return vacation, on the house?" she offered. "The guest can stay at my B&B."

Rory squinted at them and asked, "If Uncle Roarke's granted a hundred thousand fantasies, how come the visitor's getting all the prizes? We oughta get 'em because we're the ones who've been here so long." Rory was six, and though only a kindergartner, he was surprisingly intelligent for his age. Julie and Rogan maintained that it had to be the combination of MacNabb and Roarke magic he'd inherited.

"He's right," Leslie said and laughed. "Whoever the guest is with the fateful fantasy, I don't see any reason to reward that person for what was nothing more than pure sheer luck. We should have a private celebration, all the employees and their families, for your having been in business long enough to grant a hundred thousand fantasies. At the very least, close the place down for a day or so and have a big party to thank everyone for being part of the business that allows people to experience their wildest dreams."

"Oh, and there've been some doozies, too," Julie said with a grin, handing Roarke her room list and settling herself into one of the leather chairs. Rory perched in the other, his feet dangling several inches off the floor. "I wasn't here for a bunch of them, but I have some memories, let me tell you. And with Leslie having been in the business just about since she first stepped foot on this island, she's likely to have a headful."

Christian chuckled and laid his sketch pad on the tea table. "I sense a reminiscing session coming on," he said, "and I can't resist one of those. Mr. Roarke, do you suppose you can suspend preparations for a few hours and take enough of a break to provide some of your own recollections?"

Roarke studied the grandfather clock for a moment, then smiled and closed his date book. "Ah, well, perhaps I can spare a little time," he said, which made the others smile. It was a Thursday and usually fairly busy, but as it turned out, the fantasies themselves were rather pedestrian as far as Leslie was concerned. He eyed his daughter now, remarking with a wry smile, "After all, Leslie herself has commented more than once this week that the upcoming weekend is to be nothing exciting. Our hundred-thousandth fantasy is that of a young man who wants to be a film director, and its opposite number belongs to a family who wishes to know what it's like to be rich. So there are no special preparations needed for either of these."

"Awfully pedestrian for such a momentous occasion, isn't it," said Christian dryly, patting the seat beside him. "Come and make yourself comfortable over here, my Rose."

She grinned and settled down beside him, lifting Karina onto her lap when the little girl climbed to her feet and tried to hoist herself atop Leslie's legs the moment the latter sat down. "I see you don't want to miss a second of it, do you, sweetie?"

"Her brother and sister appear to be less impressed," Roarke said humorously, noting Susanna and Tobias busily playing with their toys and barely glancing up at their elders. "I suspect that one day Karina will be begging to take part in the business, just as you once did, Leslie. And quite likely evincing some of the same reactions."

Leslie grinned. "I'm sure she'll be less bowled over than I was—after all, she's a native, and she's probably going to be about as blasé as they come. Me, well…my first year, everything astounded me. And I do mean everything—even stuff that seemed ordinary on the surface of it. Like the weekend of my fourteenth birthday, when Cornelius and Alphonse dropped in on us and took off with Tattoo."

Roarke laughed aloud. "That weekend merely went to prove that Tattoo had a full arsenal of tricks up his sleeve. He gave those two quite a run for their money, with a little help from his friends. And Leslie learned something in the process."

"Well, at least I was able to get some extra credit for that book report I wrote," she said, and laughed along with Roarke.

Christian snorted. "All fine and wonderful, but if you don't mind, I'd like to hear the story, rather than allusions to it."

"Me too," said Julie. "Don't forget, I was off-island for years after Mom and Dad died and Delphine became my guardian. Cough it up, you two."

"Okay, you asked for it," Leslie said and exchanged a merry glance with Roarke.

§ § § -- May 5, 1979

Tattoo had a car all his own, Leslie had learned, built especially for his smaller stature; and as it happened, he drove like a maniac. It was the screech of his tires in the dirt lane that awoke her not too long after dawn on the day before her fourteenth birthday. She leaped out of bed and dashed to the window, just in time to see the back of Tattoo's little car vanish down the lane in a cloud of dust.

"Ah, you're awake," Roarke's voice said from behind her, and she turned to face him. As always, he was fully dressed and impeccable; it was as if he never slept, though Leslie knew he did.

"Where's Tattoo going at this hour in such a hurry?" she wanted to know. "Someday he's going to run someone over, the way he drives."

Roarke chuckled ruefully. "I've told him the same thing," he said, "but it simply goes in one ear and out the other. He has an urgent matter to take care of before the balloon gets here—and this is the only time he can manage it. We will be extra busy this weekend, since we are granting four fantasies. So you'll be an invaluable help to me."

Leslie brightened. "I didn't even think about that till just now. This'll be an extra-special weekend, won't it? I can't wait to get started!"

Roarke laughed. "Good! Then I suggest we have breakfast now, and then we'll be on our way to pick up Cindy and meet the balloon before we return here and greet the regular guests. Cindy and the staff at the other end of the island should be able to keep the children's fantasies well in hand."

For the first time since arriving on the island, Leslie had reason to wear a dress; it was pale aqua in color and thus didn't match Roarke's and Tattoo's white suits. She mulled over this as she dressed and made her bed, wondering if Roarke would laugh at her if she asked for a white dress. She put the idea aside and hurried downstairs to meet Roarke for breakfast on the veranda.

By the time they finished, Roarke had already checked his gold pocket watch three times, frowning. "Tattoo should have been back by now," he observed, ushering Leslie along with him to the other end of the porch and down the steps.

Something caught her eye and she looked up. "Look, Mr. Roarke, there's a balloon up there. Is that ours?"

Roarke glanced overhead and nodded, prodding her down the steps and towards a car that was parked by the fountain. "Yes, it is. They're landing near the amusement park on the other side of the island, so we will have to meet them there…and Tattoo will simply have to get himself over there." He had just started the car when there came the sound of a small engine roaring and a horn beeping. Leslie and Roarke looked around and saw Tattoo's car careening down the lane in their direction, horn blasting, scattering shrieking natives to both sides of the road. He skidded to a noisy halt just short of the fountain and leaped out; Leslie giggled and Roarke watched in exasperation.

"Hurry, Tattoo, hurry," he urged. Tattoo clambered into the front seat that Leslie quickly vacated, and with that Roarke drove toward the other side of the island, turning from the Main House Lane onto the island's only paved road, which ran completely around the perimeter at the coastline and was called the Ring Road. After about ten minutes he took a small side road and pulled up next to a large cottage that would have looked at home in England; children petted assorted animals out front, supervised by an attractive blonde in her mid-twenties. This was Cindy.

A raven perched atop the canopy of a wooden swing in the yard grunted loudly, catching Cindy's attention and making her glance up to where the balloon was just drifting overhead. The car drew abreast of the yard, and the children greeted its occupants; Leslie didn't know any of them, as they were all younger than she was. She, Cindy, Roarke and Tattoo wished one another good morning, and Cindy put down a baby chimp she was holding, at the same time handing to one of the children a bottle from which a small goat was energetically drinking.

"Hurry, Cindy," Tattoo said. "We don't want to be late for the balloon."

Cindy climbed into the car next to Leslie, and Roarke called out a farewell to the kids, who shouted back in response. Waving, he drove away toward the amusement park.

This wasn't very far away now, so they got there in less than five minutes, parked near a small hilly clearing and clambered out just as the balloon settled gracefully to the ground. Children holding leis and musical instruments streamed past them and lined up in two rows near the balloon while several young men tethered it to the ground and one pulled open the door of the basket. "Smiles, everyone, smiles!" Roarke reminded them all, and just as at the main plane dock, the band burst into the same welcoming tune their adult counterparts always played.

First to emerge from the balloon was a blonde woman somewhere in her late thirties or early forties, leading a boy and a girl by the hands. Cindy and Leslie glanced at each other, then at Tattoo, and Cindy grinned. "Make a guess, Tattoo," she suggested.

Tattoo regarded the woman thoughtfully. "I say she looks like a schoolteacher," he offered. "Like the one who almost failed me in the fifth grade."

The girls laughed and Roarke nodded, amused. "Well, that's very close! Miss Ruth Ewell has, for the past sixteen years, operated an orphanage near Cleveland, Ohio—a small orphanage which is now being phased out. Those children you see with her are Rebecca and Mark, her last two charges."

"What's their fantasy, boss?" Tattoo asked.

"One they got from Miss Ewell's," Roarke replied, "something she'd dreamed about when she was a child and also in an orphanage: just once, for the children to be able to help select their own parents, and not the other way around."

Leslie and Cindy, both of whom had had the experience of being orphaned, stared at each other in wonder; neither of them had ever thought such a thing might be possible. Tattoo was clearly as surprised as they. "Can we really do that, boss? Can we give them the parents they want?"

Roarke eyed him. "Within reason, Tattoo, within reason," he said, and Tattoo gave a thoughtful nod and regarded Ruth Ewell and the children again. The kids looked excited, peering around them and asking Miss Ewell eager questions.

Behind them, a tall man and a short one stepped out of the passenger basket, squinting in the bright sunshine. "Your turn to guess, Cindy," Tattoo prompted.

They all stared at the two men, and Cindy finally remarked, "Talk about the odd couple." She turned to Roarke and suggested, "Bad comedy act?"

Roarke shook his head, looking a bit pensive. "I'm afraid there is nothing comedic about those two, my friends," he said. "Cornelius Kelly worked for me here at the hotel on Fantasy Island until I discovered he was a petty chiseler and fired him." He indicated the tall man, who sported a small close-shaven beard on his chin and wore a beret atop his red hair. He looked rather natty, decked out in a dark-blue suit and a white tie. His companion was dressed a little more casually, in a yellow turtleneck with a navy-blue blazer and matching trousers. The shorter man ate an ice-cream sundae someone had handed him while Cornelius Kelly studied his surroundings with a frown.

"What are they doing back on Fantasy Island?" Tattoo wanted to know.

"Well, Cornelius claims to want a quiet vacation for his friend," Roarke told him, "but I know he has returned to fulfill a fantasy—to revenge himself on me for having discharged him years ago." Leslie felt butterflies fill her stomach at this statement.

"Couldn't that be dangerous?" she asked.

Roarke smiled knowingly at her, clearly armed with some secret. "Danger comes in many disguises, Leslie," he said cryptically, evoking an equally knowing smirk from Tattoo. Leslie sighed and decided, as Roarke toasted his new guests with an ice-cream soda, that she was just going to have to wait and see exactly what he meant by that.

‡ ‡ ‡

Leaving Cindy to show the new arrivals to their accommodations, Roarke, Leslie and Tattoo returned to the other side of the island just in time to meet the incoming plane, and spent the next two hours or so seeing these guests off into their fantasies. They then returned to the clearing where the balloon had landed, which now was set up with a large outdoor buffet, which was crowded, mostly with hungry children. Leslie did manage to steal a chunk or two of pineapple, her favorite fruit, but was forced to desist at Roarke's gently admonishing look. She shrugged good-naturedly and grinned at Cindy's wink.

Cornelius Kelly and his friend wandered along the tables, glancing at the contents with little interest; the shorter man carried a picnic basket, but seemed to be searching the tables for food items anyway. Cornelius merely looked impatient. Roarke approached them with Tattoo, Leslie and Cindy in tow, and smiled when Cornelius turned around to watch them. "Well, Cornelius, how does it feel to be back on Fantasy Island?" Roarke greeted him warmly.

Cornelius' smile was thin, but his voice carried a warmth that matched Roarke's all the same. "Delightful, as usual, Mr. Roarke," he said, while Tattoo and Cornelius' friend studied each other with mutual suspicion. "I do hope our past difficulties can be forgotten. I'd like nothing better than to think that we could be friends again."

Roarke smiled. "As you know, one of my cardinal rules is always to try to forgive and forget. If I were to have any doubts as to which way to choose, your sincerity has certainly convinced me." Leslie, who wasn't very sure if Cornelius was as sincere as Roarke seemed to believe, eyed her guardian dubiously; she noticed also that Cindy wore a pleasant but reserved expression and found herself hoping Roarke wouldn't let himself be taken in by a big act. Cornelius dipped his head in acknowledgement of Roarke's words.

Roarke then turned and made introductions. "My trusted assistant, Tattoo."

Cornelius shifted his attention and brightened. "Oh yes…I've heard quite a lot about your friend Tattoo." He shook hands with Tattoo. "It's an honor to meet you."

"Charmed," Tattoo replied with a smile.

"My young ward, Leslie Hamilton, who will be fourteen tomorrow," Roarke went on, watching with a slight smile while Leslie reluctantly shook Cornelius' hand. "And this is Cindy, who helps me on this side of the island."

Cornelius seemed to be a little taken with Cindy and gazed at her with interest. "The pleasure is all mine, my child." He lifted Cindy's hand and kissed it, old-world-style; Leslie shot Roarke a glance, wondering if he or Tattoo was as revolted by his sudden drippy formality as she was. Cindy, though, appeared thoroughly composed.

"If there's anything I can do for you or your friend, please—" she began.

Cornelius interrupted eagerly. "Yes, there is, Cindy, there is something you can do. I've always told Alphonse here about the beautiful interior of this island." He indicated his shorter companion, who stood there regarding his hosts with a smirk, then gestured toward their surroundings. "I'd like to take him on a little picnic to show him. But I've been away so long, and all the island has changed so much, I wouldn't know where to begin."

"Well, I'm sure Tattoo would be happy to direct you to a pleasant spot, won't you, Tattoo," Roarke offered. Tattoo shot him a protesting look or two, clearly not at all happy to do so, but he had no chance to object. "Cindy and Leslie and I have other guests to attend to. Bon appetit. Girls?" He accompanied Leslie and Cindy away, leaving Tattoo with Cornelius and Alphonse. Leslie peeked back over her shoulder and saw Tattoo start to speak, then cut himself off, as if realizing Roarke wouldn't pay attention anyway. She waggled a few fingers at him and mouthed Good luck at him, feeling a little sorry for him, but mainly relieved that Roarke hadn't put her in charge of entertaining those two guys.

After getting the Ewell fantasy started and leaving Cindy in charge, he took Leslie back to their own side of the island, with the intent to prod along one of the fantasies. They had a wheelchair-bound former model, Sandy Larson, this weekend, who was about to meet her prisoner pen pal, Michael Banning, for the first time, thanks to Sandy's sister Linda. Banning balked at the whole idea, till Roarke casually mentioned that the plane trouble that had (fortuitously—or not, Leslie thought) forced Banning's prison-transport plane to land on the island could be more easily fixed than anyone had suspected. Banning finally gave in, and Leslie followed him and Roarke out, watching him meeting Sandy Larson and then quietly retreating to the main house so Roarke could clear away some paperwork.

As they walked in, followed by two of Cindy's animal charges who had become friends with Tattoo, the phone rang. Chester, a mischievous chimpanzee, and Pepper, a large and very intelligent parrot, took perches on the same chair while Roarke rounded the desk and picked up the phone. "Yes," he said tersely, while Leslie paused in front of the extra chair Roarke kept beside the desk for her to sit in when he was speaking with guests.

A smug and very familiar voice greeted him with, "We've got your sidekick."

Roarke stared at the wall in disbelief. "You what?" Leslie stiffened and stared at him; it was very rare indeed for him to sound like that.

"There's no need for dramatics, Mr. Roarke," Cornelius said. "We are desperate men, and we mean what we say. Unless you pay the ransom we ask, you'll never see Tattoo again." Roarke switched the call to a speakerphone so that Leslie, who looked more and more anxious every second, could hear.

Slowly he sat down. "Are you saying that you've kidnapped Tattoo?" He turned to Leslie at hearing her gasp, and took her hand for reassurance.

"You really fell for that old buddy-buddy line hook, line and sinker, didn'tcha?" Cornelius taunted through the speaker. "You better believe we kidnapped Tattoo, and we mean what we say!" Leslie's eyes filled with tears at that point.

"Easy, child," Roarke murmured soothingly to her. To Cornelius, he warned coldly, "You must not harm him! Now, what do you want?"

"The deed to Fantasy Island," said Cornelius.

Roarke's dark eyes widened. "The deed to Fantasy Island?" he exclaimed. Leslie canted forward in disbelief, eyes popping, her tears surprised away.

"Do I hear an echo?" Cornelius retorted mockingly. Roarke frowned, then shifted his attention back to the speaker.

"But how do I know that Tattoo is alive at this moment?" he countered.

They heard Cornelius order, "Untie him and bring him to the phone," in a muffled but still distinct voice. Leslie supposed he had put a hand over the receiver but without preventing transmission of his voice, and a few seconds later he must have removed it entirely, for he came through very clearly when he said, "Hubba hubba." Leslie screwed up her face in perplexity at the strange phrase, and Roarke smiled, as if in remembrance. They both listened, through a startlingly sharp and sensitive pickup, while Alphonse grunted and talked himself through loosening Tattoo's bonds.

"There we go," they heard, "just about untied…" This was immediately followed by a series of grunts and the occasional "hey!"

Leslie stared at Roarke. "What do you think they're doing over there?"

Roarke grinned. "I couldn't tell you," he admitted.

Just then they heard Cornelius again: "All right, all right, I—OOF!!!" At this they both grinned; in fact, Leslie had to put a hand over her mouth to muffle her giggle.

"Wish we could've seen what made him do that," she said gleefully. Roarke chuckled in agreement.

Once more they heard Cornelius, sounding remarkably recovered from whatever had made him bellow a moment before. "Speak!" he ordered, but there was silence, and they realized he must have Tattoo at the phone but couldn't get him to utter a sound.

"I'll make him talk," Alphonse offered with a growl.

"Speak," repeated Cornelius' voice, and when Tattoo remained silent, he snapped, "I said talk!"

With that, a loud raspberry blasted through the speaker. Roarke's eyebrows instantly zipped north, and Leslie blurted out another giggle.

"That's Tattoo all right!" she said, delighted. Maybe Tattoo wasn't in as much danger as she'd thought, if he felt confident enough to do something like that.

Amused, Roarke spoke into the phone. "Is that you, Tattoo? How are things in…Red Chief?" Leslie cast him a puzzled glance but put off asking about the reference for the moment.

"I couldn't get him to speak," Cornelius confessed disgustedly into the phone, "but perhaps you recognize the raspberry?"

Roarke smiled again and winked at Leslie. "To give you the ownership of Fantasy Island is an incredible price, Cornelius! I'll have to look into methods of liquidating my holdings and transferring ownership stock. It will be complex and, uh…time-consuming." The last phrase came out with a deliberate emphasis, aimed at Leslie.

"Take your time, Mr. Roarke," Cornelius said. "We'll call you back in two hours."

Roarke scowled incredulously. "Two hours won't be sufficient!"

"I'm sorry," Cornelius replied in a mocking singsong, "that's all the time we can spare. I'm sure you'll make the most of it—particularly since your friend's life is hanging in the balance. Heh heh. Have a nice day, Mr. Roarke!" And, having delivered this little piece of insulting irony, he signed off with a raspberry of his own before the phone went dead.

Leslie looked at Roarke doubtfully. "Sounded pretty final."

Roarke sat back in the chair and regarded her, then Chester, then Pepper, perching on the back of the club chair in which the chimp sat. Chester grunted insistently at Roarke and began to hop up and down in the chair seat. But Roarke lifted a finger and said, "Don't worry, Chester. There are three sides to every triangle." He glanced at Leslie and grinned, and in spite of herself she grinned back. Roarke clearly knew something that she—and probably Cornelius and Alphonse—didn't!