A/N: I was so amazed at the response to that first chap! Thanks so so much for the reviews, I really hope everyone continues to like this. I freakin' can't wait till the new episodes on SUNDAY! Oh, and a used some lyrics from Christian Kane's song 'Whiskey in Mind'. lol. I couldn't help myself. Enjoy -pj

oooOOOooo

Chapter Two- The Reunion Job

Eliot snarled as he yanked his com out of his ear. He contemplated throwing it at the floorboards of his truck, sense won out and he shoved it into his jacket pocket instead.

He sat in the cab of his truck for a minute, parked down the road from Dubertech, glaring at headlights as they passed.

He wasn't pouting. That was for damn sure.

So what if the rest of the team basically got to party all night (the unfortunate encounter with an incompetent assassin notwithstanding) at a fake reunion, and he was stuck in some 1985 flashback, fighting a pair of surprisingly resilient members of the Vezerat? It wasn't like he gave a damn.

And if he went home and crashed on his couch with a beer and a football game, that would not count as pathetic or sulking.

Not by a long shot.

Eliot grit his teeth against a headache and closed his eyes, leaning against the headrest.

If he was totally honest with himself (and let's face it, he wasn't at the moment) his body was throbbing more than a little. Being rammed back into that trophy case had rung his bell a bit, and that older guy had gotten in a couple of good hits at his ribs and kidneys that he was definitely going to be feeling in the morning.

Still, he knew the whole beer and football thing wasn't going to be happening tonight even if he wanted it to (which he didn't because it was kind of pathetic and sulky-like). He was too wired from the job. Too irritated at the rest of the team for…something.

He cursed out loud just because he could and slammed his truck into gear, slamming the pedal to the metal as he pulled away from the curb.

oooOOOooo

An hour later found Eliot at a small, out of the way bar he hadn't been to before. It smelled of cigarettes and liquor inside, the kind of place where his long hair and lookin'-for-a-fight attitude wouldn't make him stand out, and he made himself at home.

He almost smiled when the husky black guy slammed his pool stick down on the table, making all the balls roll off their marks. Two more guys, equally big and dumb looking as the first flanked him and Eliot calmly finished his beer and looked up, a glint of amusement and danger in his eyes.

"What'd you say about my momma?" the man growled.

Eliot glanced casually at the two thugs with the black guy, both sporting bandannas and gaudy chains with crosses. He looked down and pretended to be more interested in chalking his stick and lining up his shot than any of them.

"It's not a big deal, man, okay? She just didn't seem to mind my technique last night when she was bent over my kitchen table while I-"

Eliot didn't get to finish the thought. His stomach unclenched in routine relaxation and he instinctively moved to block the clumsy knife attack, though he didn't hide the wince that crossed his face when he bumped a bruise forming on his shoulder.

The two other thugs hung back and Eliot was just a little disappointed. It was going to be too easy. He almost felt bad for intentionally provoking the other man.

"C'mon," he drawled, smirking as the black guy regained his footing and swung back around, ready to make another attack.

Suddenly, the scent of lilacs invaded his senses and a full head of hair brushed against his nose. Frowning, Eliot stepped back, automatically putting space between himself and the unexpected extra player.

"Back off Roscoe," the smooth, strong feminine voice demanded. "Or I'm gonna have to let Max know just how you treat his VIPs."

Eliot mapped the body in front of him from behind. She was shorter than he remembered, but when he glanced at her feet he saw she'd traded in the five inch platform stilettos for black, knee-high lace up boots. Tucked inside them were tight dark jeans that hugged her curves up to her waist, where a black halter top finished the look.

Still, it was the skin that finally made it all click. Smooth, tan skin that glowed all on its own and reminded him of caramel covered apples.

The thought made him lick his lips unconsciously and Eliot blinked when he realized he'd done it, glancing around to see if anyone had noticed.

"That asshole's got a beatin' comin' so you best move outta my way," 'Roscoe growled at the woman, but his eyes remained locked on the hitter. Eliot made no move toward him, afraid the woman would be caught in the middle, but still inviting the fight with his eyes, a small smile playing on his lips.

The woman lifted the hand resting on her cocked hips, the other holding a tray with three full drinks, and she rested it against his chest. She raised to her tip-toes to whisper something in his ear, her red lips trailing along his dark cheek.

There was no way Eliot could make out what was being said, but he watched the man's eyes narrow in suspicion, then widen in surprise and then glaze over with a lewd smirk as she stepped away.

"I'm gonna hold you to that, baby," he said, letting his eyes slide off Eliot and over to her. But when Roscoe reached out to wind an arm around her waist she stepped gracefully out of his reach with ease born of practice.

"Now run along, Roscoe, take your pit bulls with you," she motioned a hand toward the thugs Eliot had been keeping an eye on the other side of the table. Roscoe sent one last glare over her shoulder at Eliot and then jerked his chin at the other men and they all shuffled off to a table where two women and a couple fresh beers were waiting.

Eliot looked back over at the woman and found her staring at him with a finely plucked, arched eyebrow.

"I suppose a 'thank you' is in order," she said, repeating the first words she'd said to him more than a week ago when they met.

Eliot just glared, gesturing toward Roscoe and his boys. "I can handle my own fights."

The woman shrugged one shoulder, either not noticing or not intimidated by his unhappy growl. Probably the latter.

"I know you can," she acquiesced, and turned away to take her tray of drinks to a nearby table. Eliot sighed and grabbed a pool ball from the table, needing something to do with his hands. He tried not to watch her butt when she walked away and watched her eyes as she returned.

"And if you didn't look like you'd already been in a few today I might have let you," she continued and walked past him back toward the bar. Eliot turned and followed before it even occurred to him not to.

She walked around behind the bar, pulling out two glass tumblers and setting them on the smooth, lacquered wood counter. Eliot lingered a few feet away, watching her. The woman's brown eyes flashed up to him when she noticed him hesitating, and motioned meaningfully toward the closest stool.

"Have a seat, Cowboy."

Eliot threw one last glance over his shoulder at Roscoe, but the other man seemed to have completely forgotten his presence, thoroughly wrapped up in the woman straddling his lap.

He dropped onto the stool and leaned on the counter, tossing his hair out of his face.

"I was lookin' forward to beatin' the shit outta that guy," he grumbled, taking a few peanuts from the bowl on the counter. The woman rolled her eyes and Eliot noticed for the first time the understated purple eye shadow she wore, and that aside from black eyeliner and dark lipstick, that was the full extent of her makeup.

Her eyes moved back up to him, but if she noticed him studying her, she pretended not to.

"On the house," she said, sliding the tumbler of whiskey across the bar to him. She kept the second one near her and filled it with ice and then water.

Eliot crossed his arms on the bar and took a sip of the whiskey, sighing when it burned in all the right ways.

He nodded his approval, "how'd you know my brand?"

She smiled at him, pouring water over the ice in the second tumbler. He liked the way she smiled. Showed all her teeth. He got tired of girls who always looked like they were posing for a picture.

"You should know, Cowboy, there's certain things a woman can tell about a man." Her eyes flashed toward him and he tilted his head. There was a heat and challenge in them that made him shift on his chair and the way her eyes skittered away made him think he was probably not the only one feeling it. Whatever it was.

She produced a white cloth and dipped it in the ice water before holding it up to him. "May I?"

Eliot frowned, unsure of her intentions, but nodded his assent. Slowly, the woman leaned across the bar and Eliot wasn't sure if she was aware of how much her low-cut top was showing when she did so. She pressed the cool cloth against his hairline just above his eyebrow, dabbing a few times and he was surprised when some of the throbbing he hadn't really noticed subsided.

She pulled the cloth away and dipped it again, tainting the clear water with a rusty shade of red, and leaned out for another round. She glanced at Eliot and, noticing his gaze, she smirked, but made a pass at pulling her shirt up to cover herself a bit more.

"Like what you see, Cowboy?"

He blinked and returned her smile, "Eliot."

She paused, searching his blue eyes for several moments, and he couldn't explain the feeling of vindication he felt when her smirk softened into a genuine smile.

"Eliot," she repeated, "I like that."

"Thanks." Eliot allowed her to tend to his unnoticed cuts again, watching small beads of sweat form on her brow and the way her lips pursed just slightly in concentration when she gave extra care to a deeper gash along his jaw just behind his ear. She reached out to cup his chin gently to keep him from moving.

"You got a name?" He asked quietly, she was close enough she could have heard him if he whispered.

The woman's eyes slid toward him, considering.

"Candy."

Eliot pulled his chin out of her grasp and raised an eyebrow. "That's your stage name."

She nodded. "You've been to the club before."

Eliot nodded, but didn't allow her to change the subject. "What's your real name?"

She looked away, focusing on her ministrations for a moment. She returned both the cloth and the glass to the sink behind the bar and Eliot waited patiently, watching her produce a shot glass and fill it with the same brand of whiskey she'd given him.

She knocked back the entire thing before answering, her curly hair flopping around wildly.

"Tallahassee," she croaked, voice rough from the whiskey. She slapped the glass down on the bar with a satisfied sigh. "My friends call me Tali."

Eliot blinked, "like Florida?"

She rolled her eyes, pouring herself another shot. "Yeah, okay? Like the city in Florida." She shrugged, nodding to a signal someone sent her behind him and pulled out two more glasses and a beer, mixing various liquors mindlessly, pouring a bit of this and a bit of that into each glass while she talked. "It's where my Dad met my Mom. They didn't really think about the reality of calling a child such a thing." She finished with the drinks and set them on the tray, "I'll be right back."

Eliot just nodded, smiling, and he turned around to rest his elbows on the bar while she delivered the drinks to a table. 'Ring of Fire' started playing from the radio and he hummed along softly, watching her return. She sat down on the stool beside him and rested her chin in her hand, watching the bar patrons go about their night.

"So which side do you get the accent from?"

Her eyes whipped to his and he smiled, remaining relaxed to counter the way she suddenly got tense.

"What accent?"

"The one that slipped out when you started in on my face," he tilted his head, "Dominican Republic?"

She looked toward the door, as if checking her exits and her spine straightened slightly. It was the first time he'd seen her display anything other than confidence and sex appeal. This emotion seemed honest though, and maybe even a bit vulnerable, if he ventured to say it.

"Yeah, I'm from the DR. Lived there until I was ten," she said, dragging her eyes back over to him, "my mom came here illegally. My Dad was in the Marines, stationed in Florida. They fell in love, got married. He adopted me." She smiled finally, reaching over to take and finish off his drink. "I can't believe you got me so relaxed. I'm usually better at hiding it."

Eliot's brow furrowed and he propped one booted foot up onto her stool, causing him to shift minutely toward her. Far enough not to be threatening but close enough that they were both aware of it. Her eyes flashed with that I-know-and-you-know-I-know glint again and she pushed a few unruly curls out of her face.

"Why would you want to hide it?" Eliot asked, and added with a smile, "it's sexy."

Tali nodded. "That's why." At Eliot's confused look she shook her head, putting her own booted feet up on his stool. Their legs brushed against one another, almost entwined.

"Makes me stand out. Makes me memorable. At the club. Here," she shrugged, gesturing vaguely around the quiet, darkened bar. "Guys start coming in asking for the girl with the 'sexy accent'. They get attached." She drew her eyes back to his, dark and honest. "I do not need to do the stalker thing again."

Eliot raised his eyebrows, secretly glad she wasn't trying to hide the Spanish accent anymore. It was subtle and only tinged a few of her words, but he found himself straining to hear it every time she opened her mouth.

"Again?"

Tali nodded, smiling and shaking her head. "Yeah. Tucker. Another guy who didn't know how what to do with the word 'no'."

"You seem to have a problem with that a lot."

Tali smiled at him, watching the way he raked a hand through his hair and saw the small silver hoops in his ears for the first time.

"I think I'll take that as a compliment." She looked over at the pool tables, where another game had started up. "Anyway, that's why I hide it," she sighed, "without the accent I'm just another nameless, faceless, but amazing lay. Love 'em and leave 'em. Better for everyone that way."

Eliot furrowed his brow, staring at her. He didn't miss the far off look in her eye or the distinct lack of bitterness in her tone. She didn't sound jaded about her lot in life. Wasn't looking for pity or to be saved.

"You don't mind." It wasn't a question.

She looked at him, the corner of her red lips kicking up. "It's what I do."

oooOOOooo

"You like to dance?"

Tali looked up from where she was cleaning glasses behind the bar.

He'd been content to sit there for a while after she went back to working. Watched her sling drinks, argued with her about the game on tv and tilted his head when she fell into deep conversation with another patron, a young brunette crying over her cheating boyfriend. He'd followed her outside on her smoke break, sharing a cigarette and listening when she confirmed that the lighter had been her father's, but hadn't pushed when she didn't elaborate on the subject.

It had been almost an hour, though, and the energy he hadn't been able to burn off with a good bar fight was starting to look for another outlet.

His foot bounced rapidly on the floor and he chased his shot with a beer.

"You mean the kind where I don't take my clothes off?" Tali asked with a slight smile.

Eliot flushed slightly, a bit more emotive after three shots and two beers, when he realized his mistake, "um. Yeah. That."

She shrugged, replacing the glasses and lining up a few of the top shelf liquors so the labels were showing.

"Yeah. I like to dance. Don't get much chance though. I work late and," she turned around, tossing the towel over her shoulder, "well who wants to dance alone?"

"Go with me then." He offered immediately.

Tali raised her eyebrows, "what?"

"Let's go. You and me. Tonight."

She looked at him thoughtfully for several seconds. "I don't get off till late. Almost two."

Eliot polished off his beer. "Two it is."

He hesitated again and then nodded, "Okay."

This time when Tali smiled at him he didn't fight the urge to return it.

And suddenly, the night was looking up.

TBC - Next parts will be up after the episodes air on Sunday. Would love to hear what you thought!