A/N: I still own nothing, except Morgana and the Ciafatellis. Also, snaps to those of you who catch the Die Hard reference. Did I just say snaps? Oh well.

Aging is inevitable. Maturing is optional. Natalie Cook was a perfect example.

This girl had to be on a steady diet of raw sugar. She was wearing khaki hip-huggers, pink converse, and an equally pink Care Bear babydoll T-shirt. Her lips were pink, her nails were pink. And she was touching up her left index finger, that she said she smudged closing the car door.

Gag me, begged Morgana silently, Gag me with a spoon.

Natalie was humming "Take My Breath Away." Gag me with a fork for all I care, Morgana thought, Yeah, I'll take your breath away.

"What are you doing?"

"Fixing a nail," said Natalie, resuming her song.

"Why did you paint them in the first place?"

"So they'll look pretty."

Morgana looked down at her hands. Her nails were clean. Obsessively clean. You couldn't expect any more or any less from an assassin. She kept her nails trimmed so that they barely stuck out over her skin. Natalie's were talons. It had to be hard to punch someone with the fingernails in the way.

"Of course, I wouldn't expect you to understand that," then she murmured, "Cross-dresser."

"You want to say that a little louder, Blondie?" warned Morgana.

"No."

"I'm not a cross-dresser."

"Please," groaned Natalie, pointing at her emsenble with a fingernail file, "John Philips, London."

Morgana smirked. "My brother has one. I have two, myself. The rest of mine are Italian. Is identifying brand names your only skill, or do you have other uses? Oh yes, I forgot," the smirk widened, "You're good at...serving..." Servicing, she thought.

"Just because I have a body to show doesn't mean you have to take it out on me."

That made no sense. "Or perhaps it's the fact that I can go through life comfortably and achieve my goals without having to flaunt myself. Try wearing a pants suit sometime. You might like it."

"I'll stick to hip huggers, thanks," Natalie glowered.

"You obviously don't have any idea how ridiculous you look doing martial arts in a tube top and stilettos," Morgana pulled out her cigarette holder, and slipped in, "And why would you, a woman so capable of having any man she wants, be so concerned about Bosley's romantic tendencies?"

Natalie opened her mouth, but Bosley came in. Morgana lit the cigarette smugly and began to breathe in. Natalie watched as she brought it to her lips with her first two fingers, then took it away with her thumb and forefinger. Then she would roll her middle finger around again until she had the cigarette in its original hold. Her lips, around it, were savoring and caressing, almost sensual.

Natalie cleared her throat and Bosley looked up. Her eyes darted to Morgana repeatedly. "Oh!" he exclaimed, then, surprisingly, pulled an ashtray out of a desk drawer and set in front of the smoking woman. "Thanks," she said, deliberately coy. Bosley felt an odd sensation in the base of his spine.

"I guess I better call the others," he said. The clock loomed close to nine and Alex, Dylan, and Anthony weren't there yet. He picked up the phone to dial, but seemed to forget what he was doing as he looked at the back of Morgana's head.

It's just the back of her head, he told himself, Snap out of it.

A/N: Short chapter, but I wanted to keep the Natalie/Morgana spat separate. More coming, and thanks for all the great reviews!