September 10, 2001, 830 PM (to about 1130), Seacouver, Washington

"So, you have DSL now?" Marius asked. It was late Monday evening, and he had stopped in for dinner, bringing a bottle of wine with him to celebrate Fiona's first week in Washington. "When did this happen?"

"Yesterday afternoon," she shrugged, pouring pasta sauce into a saucepan to heat over the stove. She tasted it, frowning, pulling some pepper and basil from the shelves to add.

"I thought they didn't work on Sundays?"

"What can I say? I have connections."

"This doesn't involve dating the DSL guy too, does it?"

"No," giggled Fiona, casting him a bemused look over her shoulder. "And, that was only one date. We agreed on the promise of a second date, we haven't gone on it yet."

"A minor technicality," he teased. "Don't ruin the sauce."

Fiona spun around on her heels, a mock expression of seriousness on her face. "I'll have you know, I was alive when the Italians invented the sauce, *child*. I am incapable of ruining it."

To which, Marius laughed, pouring Fiona her first glass of wine. "Yes, old woman," he said lightly, trailing a hand along her back when she stuck her tongue out at him. "Or, child as well."

"Bloody git," she grinned, wiping her hands across her jeans upon hearing the phone ring. "Hello?" she answered. "Bella!. . . how am I? Oh, you know me, I'm fine. Got home from work about an hour ago, in process of cooking dinner. . . yes, I am eating healthfully. . . pasta, sauce, wine. . . yes, and vegetables. . . because I am legal, Bella," to this Fiona smirked, Marius quietly chuckling, guessing as to what Bella must have said, "Yes, I promise, no more than two glasses. . . yes, but how are you?. . . uh-huh, uh-huh. . . well, do give James my love. . . for Thanksgiving. I refuse to miss your homemade chocolate pecan pie because I was in Seacouver. . . you too. Bye."

Fiona clicked her cell phone closed, tasting the sauce again, watching Marius' quirking mouth and face over the counter. "Yes?" she raised her eyebrow.

"Oh, nothing. Should I pour you more wine? Or, is one glass enough for you?"

"Stuff it," she laughed, and she reached over to turn the heat under the sauce off.

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When Marius left two hours later, having apologized for not being able to spend the full night, but that he had an early business meeting, and wanted to verify he slept the night, to which Fiona mockingly punched his shoulder, Fiona flopped on her couch, to watch the news before bed.

But she was still wound from Marius' visit, and the news did little to hold her attention. "I feel like I'm back in my graduate days," she mumbled, grabbing her keys, throwing a light jacket over her clothes, pulling her shoes on only once she was in her car. The streets were nearly empty.

There was only one other customer in the bar, and Fiona sighed, before taking a deep breath, and pushing the door open. "Hey, Joe," she greeted. "Place still open to the public?"

"Sure is. Haven't seen you since that time you and Adam came in together. How are things?"

"Oh, you know, things," she shrugged, perching herself on one of the barstools. "A rum and coke please. More soda than alcohol."

"Coming up."

Fiona looked to the other customer, noticing he looked vaguely familiar. "Do I know you?"

"Doubt it." He drained the last drops of his beer. "I'll be seeing you, Joe," he called, pushing himself away from the counter to hop again to the floor. "Night."

"Good night, Rich," the old bartender responded, turning to give Fiona her drink. "Here you go," he said over the slam of the door.

"Thanks. His name was Rich?"

"Is."

"Heh, I think he helped to move my furniture in."

"Possible, he mentioned he was working odd jobs currently."

"Odd jobs?"

But Joe had already turned, no longer asking her questions. Fiona sighed, numbly sipping her drink, when she heard the door slam. She glanced over to notice Methos strolling nonchalantly in; she frowned, noticing he looked surprised to see her. He nodded in his direction, sitting himself in his regular barstool, and called out a greeting to Joe.

"Hello to you too, stranger," greeted Joe, sliding a beer across the counter.

Methos drained half his beer before re-setting the mug on the counter, and he looked again to Fiona. She smiled shakily to him, and he frowned. "So, I got a call from Day this afternoon."

"Oh, yeah. He say anything about Mac?"

"Apparently, our favorite boy scout is in Scotland currently. He told his cousin Rachel everything. And, I mean *everything*."

"Everything?"

"Everything," repeated Methos, sipping more of his beer. "She apparently took it rather well. No screams, no fainting. And, if Day's report is to be trusted, she actually slapped him after he finished for scaring her. Seems she thought he was in actual danger, and he instead tells her what she at first thought were bogus stories."

"Tough woman, she is," Joe agreed, idly wiping down the counter.

"Rachel Eisenstein?" interrupted Fiona, looking confusedly between the two men. "Isn't she still in New York."

"Different Rachel," Joe explained.

"Oh," she nodded. "And Mac would be. . .?"

"Duncan MacLeod," the former watcher added. "Good friend of ours. Currently on vacation."

"That's one way of putting it," Methos mumbled. "Look," he turned to face Fiona, and for the first time since coming in, she noticed the utter defeat in his eyes, "basically he skipped town several months ago, and no one has heard much from him since. This Rachel is his cousin, also a MacLeod."

"Oh. Is he the one Amanda meant?"

Methos' expression shifted to startlement, realizing just what Amanda could have said. He nodded, "Yes."

"I'm sorry, then."

"Thank you."

"You know Amanda?" demanded Joe, having seen and heard every word of the exchange between them, curious as to the amount of information Methos had just revealed to this seemingly stranger. "What did you say your last name was?"

"Kessler. Fiona Kessler," she responded, refusing to look him in the eye. "Yes, I know Amanda. I met her six years ago. She and Nick Wolfe are both good friends of mine. As is Rachel Eisenstien, before you ask, and her everything, Connor MacLeod."

"Surprised the elder MacLeod never mentioned his kin then," Joe sighed, looking pointedly at this young looking girl. "Just how do you know them? Dylan's mentioned you over the months I've known him, but I got the impression of you being his sister. If that night was any indication, you two are definitely not siblings."

"I just know them." She shrugged, only realizing after several seconds that Dylan was Marius' current pseudonym. "How do you know Me-Adam?" she quickly corrected herself, realizing too late her mistake.

Joe raised an eyebrow, and Methos sighed. "Relax, Joe. She knows who I am. She's known for two millennia."

"You mean, you are--?"

"Surprise?" she frowned, not understanding how Joe Dawson knew of Immortals, when he was not one himself. She sighed, and she tossed her head in Methos' general direction . "This one here, was, in many ways, my first teacher. As he said, we've known one another for over two millennia."

"Oh, god, why me?" mumbled Joe. "What am I? Immortal Central?" He looked from Methos to Fiona. From the way his eyebrows raised, Fiona guessed he must be asking the oldest immortal a silent question, and from Methos' head shaking, he must have understood and answered. Joe nodded.

"Fiona, wait!" Methos called.

She had left the bar not long after the confession, heading to her car, suddenly feeling tired, and wanting to be home. She stopped her walking at the sound of his voice, not turning to him, but not leaving to move again either.

"About what you said in there," he paused, looking to his feet, "thanks."

"Don't think this means I've forgiven you, because I haven't, not fully," she responded.

"But you are warming to me?" The hopefulness in his voice did not escape her.

"Maybe," she shrugged. "See you at work tomorrow. Night."

"Night," he farewelled, stuffing his hands into his pockets, feeling a smile quirk the corners of his face. Now, if only he could get Duncan to come home.