Author's Notes: See the first several chapters for disclaimers. I love
reviews, so please be constructive. Also, I don't own "Les Miz", I just
think it's a really good show.

Paris Opera House
Thursday afternoon

"One, two, three, up, down, good, seven, eight. Smile, two, three, four, jump, six, seven,
spin, drop, two, up, four, run, run, run, stop!" The choreographer commanded, shouting
out instructions. All the dancers, dressed in various leotards of various colors, froze,
anticipating his next command. The music slowed. "Everyone turn, Shelly freeze,
dancers leave, Rochelle spin, snap, snap, jete. Up, down, three, four, five, six," His voice
slowed significantly. "And seven and split."

A male dancer walked out on stage and stood before her. In one fluid motion, she
collapsed into a heap at his feet; then raised her arms out, poised to take flight. The man
lifted her up by her underarms and she did seem to fly above his head as he moved across
stage. She arched her back and clasped her fingers behind his head. Gently, he lowered
her to the floor and she took him down with her. They rolled over and over until it
seemed they were about to roll into the orchestra pit when she suddenly stopped, forcing
the male dancer to roll the opposite way. Clasping hands, they pulled each other to a
standing position. As quickly as she knew how, Rochelle spun away from him. He
danced towards her and she snapped her hand out, freezing him where he stood. Then,
Shelly ran towards the man and jumped, seemingly over his head; but he caught her and
held her there, suspended. After a few moments, she moved into a handstand on his
shoulders, then, fell backward, seeming to drop, but falling gracefully to her feet, pressed
against the man. He cupped her jaw in one of his large hands and the music stopped; all
lights went out.

"Beautiful!" the director yelled. The lights came back on, and Rochelle was on the floor,
stretching. One of the other dancers tossed her a towel and she wiped her face, smiling
appreciatively. She removed her shoes and wiggled her toes. She looked up at the other
dancer, whose name was John-Mark. She said to him,

"That was incredible; you and Anna Lisa will do just fine." Anna Lisa was John-Mark's
real partner, but she was back at the embassy in bed with a hangover-too much good
French Bordeaux. But the boy still needed to practice and it had been Rochelle to the
rescue.

The director called everyone's attention and told them to "Take five, change your shoes;
we'll work on the musical next." They groaned, rather loudly, and dispersed. Shelly
gulped her water, and she felt her skin prickle, her senses coming alive; another Immortal
was near.

"Perfect timing," she murmured. She looked to stage left and saw that it wasn't Duncan,
nor was it Amanda. "Genova." she breathed. Rising slowly, Rochelle walked towards the
giant; a foot and a half taller than she, who was five-nine, bald as an eagle, twice her
weight and nearly twenty times as old. Samuel Genova stood, waiting, sneering.
Underneath his long coat, Shelly could see his scimitar, gleaming in the bright stage
lights. Gulping, defiantly she stepped up to him. "What do you want?" she hissed.

"You know my ultimate goal, baby girl," Genova sneered.
Rochelle shook her head, "He won't fight you; you should know that by now. You've
been after him for a century and you're both still alive; that should tell you something."
Genova caught her arm and held it tightly. "It tells me he's a coward; now getting back to
your question, I want your head mounted on my wall."

Rochelle's breath caught in her throat. Voices echoed from the backstage area and she
knew that there were way too many people here to risk a fight. "I bet you do. If it's a
fight you want, I'll give you one."

Genova bowed deeply at waist, "Thank you. Finally, after two years, you've stopped
running." Out of the corner of her eyes, Rochelle saw two people enter at the back of the
theatre. They were to far away to feel, but she knew all she had to do was stall a bit
longer. "Maybe I have. But not here; there are too many people."

The giant leaned in close to her face. "Then where? You know I don't like surprises, and
my patience is growing thin."

Shelly waved her hand in front of her face. "Apparently, you don't like brushing either."

Goliath lifted her up by her leotard, "Is that an insult little girl?"

Rochelle nodded factually, while inside, she was gathering all her nerve and composure
to keep from crying out or striking out. "You know," she said. "If you hurt me, my
friends will come after you."

Genova laughed. "What friends?" Then he felt it, they both did. Amanda and MacLeod
stepped out from behind a box of props, swords drawn.

"Them," Rochelle said, pointing.
"Us." MacLeod said, waving his katana tauntingly. Amanda smiled slyly and waved.
Samuel dropped Rochelle, who, after landing with a grunt on her bottom, scurried to her
bag, retrieved her sword and stood between MacLeod and Amanda. The trio matched the
giant step for step, advancing towards him as he backed towards the stage door.
"This is against the Rules," he stammered.
MacLeod raised an eyebrow, "Is it?" He looked at the two women, who shrugged
innocently. Genova threw open the stage doors and said,
"This isn't the end." He ran out the door and into the Parisian snow storm.

Members of the troupe started running up the stairs from the dressing rooms behind the
stage; quickly, the three Immortals hid their swords.

"You okay?" Amanda asked. Shelly nodded and smiled gratefully. Satisfied, MacLeod
headed out the stage door. "Where are you going?" Amanda called worriedly.

"To find him."
Rochelle rolled her eyes. Now he's really acting like my teacher, she thought. "Mac,
don't; he'll kill you." He will anyway if I do not stop him, her mind added.
MacLeod smiled, "'I'm not a child; you don't-'"

Rochelle waved her hand, annoyed. "Yeah, yeah, but you still don't have to track him;
this is my fight, he is after me."

Mac countered, "And you're my student, I want you around long enough to teach." *I
want you around period.* His mind said. He couldn't deal with loosing another pupil, or
someone connected to Tessa. *MacLeod, you've got to let it go*. He scolded himself,
knowing he never would; he never did. He kissed Rochelle and Amanda on their cheeks
and headed out the door. After exchanging looks with Shelly, Amanda ran after him.

"I know you've set your mind to this, and nothing I say will make you change your it,
but," she positioned her body in his path to stop him from walking on. "She's your
student and she needs you around to teach her. Besides, I need you around. Who else will
bail me out of jail when I get the need to borrow something?"

He laughed. "I never bail you out of jail." MacLeod arched a brow and turned on his heel,
"Besides, there's always Nick."

Aggravated, Amanda placed her hands on her hips, "Shut up." She took his hands in her
own, "Stay. Please."

MacLeod thought about it, finally throwing his head back in defeat. "All right, I won't
go."

Amanda nodded, "Thank you." She pulled him back inside. The troupe was now stripped
of their leg warmers and sweat bands, some had pulled on sweat pants, ready for theatre,
not dance. Amanda and Duncan took their seats and settled back, watching as the actors
worked on Les Miserables. The actors did a dry, costume less run of the show, beginning
at, appropriately enough, the beginning. Duncan and Amanda settled down to watch,
wondering when Rochelle would appear. As it turned out, Rochelle was playing Fantine,
the poor French woman who ultimately sold herself into prostitution to pay for her
daughter's upbringing.

"Now life has killed the dream I dreamed," Rochelle sang at the end of her character's
song.

Amanda shook her head. "It's a frighteningly accurate representation of those women
back then," she hissed. "I knew some once." Years of thievery had saved Amanda from
such a life, but many women during the eighteenth century in Paris weren't as lucky as
the Immortal thief.

MacLeod replied, "Except none of them sang." He paused, "At least, none of the ones I
had the pleasure of...working with." He waited for a response.

Amanda huffed. After a few moments she whispered, "I guess you'll need your memories
to keep you warm tonight, Highlander."

"And tell Cosette I love her, and I'll see her when I wake" Rochelle finished the song,
slumping back onto the bed, supposedly dead. The two men on stage who were playing
Javert and Val Jean finished their part of the scene and waited for the light change to
signal a shift in scene. And they waited. And waited. And waited. As did Rochelle. After
a minute or so of no light change, she opened one eye. To enhance the fact her character
had died, they had thrown a harshly bright white light on her. And it was hot as hell.

"Is anyone going to fix this or are we just gonna sit here all day?" she asked, tired of
everyone waiting and doing nothing. The actor playing Javert let out a chuckle and the
rest of the cast, who were hidden in the wings, began to ripple with laughter.

MacLeod looked at her with a dumb expression on his face and mocked her with
applause. She glowered and jumped off the bed, which was damned uncomfortable and
no where close to an actual bed-it was little more than an old cot. "Ramón!" she yelled.

The director replied from the call box, "Yeah?"

"We doing Act One songs?"

"Yeah."

"So I'm done, then."

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

*"Yes."*

*"No."*

"Louis," Rochelle called.

"Yes, Shelly?" a man answered from the front row.

"Do I have any more songs in Act One?"

"No."

Shelly grabbed her things, "I'm going to go now Ramón. My major commitments over
and I am not critical to the rest of the show. Please." She used the same charm on him as
she had used on the butler the previous night at the embassy, although today, it was
funnier to watch.

From the call box came, "Go Picaut, now, before I change my mind."

Rochelle saluted him with an elaborate bow and said, "*Merci*!" She grabbed her bags
and jumped off the edge of the stage, narrowly missing the corner of the orchestra pit.
She plopped down in a seat a row in front of MacLeod and Amanda and began pulling on
her sneakers. "Well," she asked. "What did you think?"

Amanda looked at Duncan through the corner of her eyes and smiled sweetly at Rochelle,
"Not bad. He says your interpretation is pretty accurate."

MacLeod grunted and began to slide down his seat.

Rochelle took a long-sleeved T-shirt from her bag and pulled it over her head, messing up
her hair. She yanked the scrunchie form her long mane and let it tumble over her
shoulders, making her appear extremely disheveled. "Ohmigod!" she exclaimed in
aggravation at the two of them. "You're acting like two immature high school
sweethearts. Thank God high school was not invented when you two met up. Now get
over it, spank your inner child, locate your karma, do whatever you have to do, but *grow
up*." She shook her head and rose to her feet, "Christ, your relationship appears to have
the substance of that of mating yaks." She stormed out of the row of seats and up the aisle
towards the entrance of the theatre. At the back, she leaned against the door, waiting for
Itchy and Scratchy to catch up. She watched the action on the stage and saw that they
were running the "Castle on a Cloud" number, with the younger girl who was playing
the younger version of her character's daughter.

In his seat, MacLeod sighed. He looked at Amanda and said, "Sorry."

"Yeah, me too," she said hesitantly.

They were silent for a few minutes.

"Good enough; let's go," Mac said and jumped to his feet.

"Yeah," Amanda agreed and followed him out. The found Rochelle standing in the main
lobby of the historic Opera house. She smiled and said,

"Are we better now?"

Amanda looked at MacLeod and rolled her eyes. He shrugged and said, "We've got to set
a few rules."

Rochelle raised a brow, "'There can be only one'?" MacLeod frowned and she smiled,
"Okay, okay, um, let me guess: I'm the student, you're the boss; it's gonna hurt, but don't
complain; it's either this or my head; concentration is key; I must focus...yada yada
yada" She folded her arms, "Did I get it?"

Amanda laughed, "You forgot 'I keep my mouth shut and do as I'm told.'"

Rochelle frowned and began to turn. Deadpan, she said, "If that's a rule, then you can
forget this whole training thing; I'll take my chances."

MacLeod shook his head. "I'm surrounded," he murmured to himself. To Rochelle he
said, "When you train with me, it's all business; understand?"

Rochelle made a sweeping bow despite her pounds of baggage, "Yes sir."

"Good." He smiled and winked at Amanda. They walked with Rochelle to the entrance of
the theatre. He pointed out his car, which was parked nearly a block away. "Race you."

"You're on." She took off, barreling out the door and onto the sidewalk. She once again
found MacLeod and began sprinting for it. She had no more than gone ten feet when
MacLeod and Amanda overtook her. As he passed, MacLeod grabbed Rochelle's waist
and threw her to the ground, scattering her bags all over the snow-covered ground. By the
time she had recovered all her things, brushed herself off, and made it to his car with
some dignity still in tact, Mac and Amanda were lounging impatiently. Shelly stood and
glowered until he popped his trunk.

"Water?" he offered, after she'd dumped her bags in the back of the jeep. She snatched
the bottle from him angrily and jumped in the back seat. As they pulled away from the
curb, MacLeod looked at her in the rear view mirror, "Thus endeth lesson number one:
Immortals cheat, just like everyone else."

"Hell, I knew that," Rochelle threw the now empty bottle at the back of his head.