A/N: THe Usual disclaimer, and once again, I find myself fudging with the events of the movie's timeline. It just worked better for my story...sorry about that.

While the summary may say complete, please do not panic! There is a definite sequel to this story. I left way too many loose ends and I'm not done with Xanny or Augusta yet. Or Seth. Ritchie, unfortunately, will be left behind at the Titty Twister. Ce' la vie. Sorry, a1iciaxoxo. (smiles sympathetically) Also, I am going on vacation for the next week. The next story, called Convergence II: Saving Seth, will be started the following week, after I return. See you then! And don't forget to review!

Nineteen: Reality Check

Most of the excitement had passed, but the adventure was not over. Xanny had a new situation she had to deal with now. She had a twin sister. She was one of the Baxton heirs. And there was definitely something going on with Marcos Ferarre, although she didn't remember much of her conversation with Augusta in the morning, just something about how Augusta was going to break it off with him, and how she suspected that Marcos liked her.

Xanny had been a student of human nature for a long time. Carl had refined her skills into a more detective-like zone. But for the love of her, she couldn't see what Augusta had been talking about.

Upon returning home to the very large and expensive home in Chicago, Augusta would hardly let her go. Xanny claimed she had an apartment, she would come by soon, but Augusta wouldn't hear of it. This was her home now, Augusta said. It was as much Xanny's as it had ever been hers, she didn't need anything else.

It took a few days before Xanny took a car to her old apartment, collected her few belongings, told the landlord she wasn't coming back, told the man to keep the deposit, and left.

Then there was the battle with Augusta---the war of the makeover, as Xanny called it for years to come. She was dragged to spas where she was massaged and manicured until she felt like a walking ball of clay. The only thing she wouldn't do was let them touch her hair. Sure, they could wash it, comb it, style it, but they were not going to touch the blue in her hair until she wanted it gone. They had to have taken at least five years off her face with all their fancy masks. Xanny was almost grateful she hadn't grown up in that kind of life, and when she left, she determined that she wouldn't go back for that kind of treatment again unless she was sure she wanted it. So far, she was trying to make Augusta happy.

Then there was the matter of clothes---an entirely new wardrobe had to be purchased. Augusta seemed to favor casual clothes on a day-to-day basis, but there were many occasions when things much more fancy were called for. Xanny had never put on so many expensive dresses in her life. In fact, she had never worn a single thing that had ever cost more than a hundred dollars. While in her youth she had been rather good at shoplifting, it was only to feed her face, not to clothe herself. Clothes were easy, food was a bit more difficult.

She personally made sure that Carl was well paid for all his troubles. Marco was as good as his word and had made no fuss over paying what he had promised, but Xanny, knowing her quitting was going to cause a temporary hole for him, and also since she felt she owed him so much, set him up with a considerable chunk of change as a way of saying thank you. At first, she was almost sure Carl was going to refuse her, the way his pride had a tendency to swell, but Carl was not stupid, and money was always the best gift, as he would say.

Then the worst of it was the reporters. The news swam with stories for days on end, at first on the front page, then in gossip columns, then in society reports. Xanny wanted to puke at the thought of becoming part of society. It was amazing, how someone with a criminal record could suddenly become a fad. The paparazzi seemed to chase her whenever she left the house, the rag magazines running story after story about her "rags to riches" tale. They dug out all her dirty laundry, and Augusta was disgusted, almost as much as Aunt Anette, who wouldn't even hear the word "prison" in her presence. To her surprise, Xanny didn't care much. She had been judged and condemned and imprisoned in the past, at least now she could deal with it in nicer surroundings. She thought maybe she'd be a recluse---but Augusta always managed to drag her out of the house for something or other. Life took on a new routine which required major adjustments, but for the most part, Xanny felt that the biggest hurdles had been jumped, and that maybe, just maybe, she could relax for a while.

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In truth, it wasn't Xanny who had the life-altering reality check. Sure, her physical world had changed, but Augusta knew that inside, Alexandra Wallace-Baxton would always bee who she was, to hell with what anyone thought.

It was herself who was really dealing with change.

Sure, she put up a good front for a while. Long enough to polish Xanny up for her new life, get her adjusted. Marcos stayed at arm's length, coming in close enough only to make sure Xanny wasn't ready to fly the coop. After a while, when the distance between Augusta and Marcos became noticeable, she knew it was time to talk.

He was at the house the day she picked, in the study he'd been using, her father's old study, and he was collecting things that he'd brought over, as if preparing to move out. He had been there less and less, and reasoned that some of this stuff was important, that he needed to have it within his immediate grasp. She went into the study, closed the door behind her---it was the click that got his attention?

"What is it?" he asked, his tone gentle, but a look on his face that seemed to anticipate what she wanted to say. He was wearing a simple white, collarless, button-down shirt and black pants---it was a smart look for him, although at moments, if she looked at him too fast or out of the corner of her eye, he looked like a minister. He had trimmed his hair, causing the usual waves to fall more straight along his crown and upper neck, but not losing the full thickness of his hair in the process. He was a handsome man, she had to admit that. It had to be the reason she'd delayed this so long. It was so much harder when they were pretty. She would dare say he was much prettier than Seth, especially with those cheekbones. Seth had had a dirty ruggedness to him...well, she had more immediate concerns at the moment than comparing him to Seth, didn't she?

She came closer, her hands behind her back, a nervous gesture she was using more and more lately. He raised one eyebrow at her, and his look became more and more guarded, until she finally let out her breath.

"We need to talk."

"Famous last words," he said with a tiny grin in the corner of his mouth. He set down the book he was holding, walked around the desk to the chairs set in front of it, and waited.

"You want to sit down?" she said.

"Do you want me to sit? I mean, what will make this easier for you?"

"Easier for me?"

"Easier for you to break up with me." His large brown eyes were so honest at that moment, reminding her of a puppy dog who knew it deserved a punishment, but was going to try to cute its way out of it, anyway, and do it successfully.

She folded her arms. "It isn't like that."

"Yes it is." He didn't seem mad at all. He sighed, deeply. "I'm relieved, actually."

"You are?"

He nodded. "Things have been the same since you...came back."

"Since Xanny," she said knowingly.

"Since Xanny," he said in that cool, unaffected, businessman-manner of his. He shoved his hands into his pockets. A sign of discomfort. "Of course, before that, it wasn't a big treat, anyway. You never let me in, you know."

"I know," she said softly.

"What happened...changed you. I can read you more easily now. What bugs me is that you don't want me to. It didn't bother me before, though..." He seemed puzzled by this himself.

She had planned, all long, to point out to him his obvious feelings for Xanny, developed in her absence, and probably dismissed as transference. She hadn't planned to do it in such a cut-throat way, though. "Because of the way she is," Augusta pointed out. "Xanny is a lot more direct than I am. She's more...humble. Honest. Real."

Marcos gave a tiny little shrug. "True. I like her a lot-"

"You like her a whole lot," Augusta said.

He frowned. "Is this why you're breaking up with me?"

She shook her head. "No, you and I, we just aren't right together. I mean, we're good together, but we both know there's something better."

"Something better," he echoed, and she could see it rising into his face.

"No," she said, "don't go there. Please. This isn't about me and my problems. I mean, it is, but I really am doing this for you. You deserve to be happy. And I'll always care about you. Considering you'll probably end up as family anyway."

He almost blushed. "Xanny...she's wonderful, but she doesn't need me thrust at her. I mean, she's got enough things going on right now. Besides, I don't even know how she feels about me."

"Well, if I told you, I'd be betraying a sisterly-bond," Augusta said in a light-hearted way, "but if I were you, I wouldn't worry about that."

Marcos backed away. Went around the desk. Looked at her, back out the window, toward the books, the gears of his mind turning, clicking, whirling.

"What's wrong?" Augusta asked.

"Well, you did just break up with me."

"Oh, for heaven's sake...you're not upset about it and you know it."

He flinched. "I am, sort of."

"Why?" She hesitated, wondering if she should inquire as to the extent of his feelings for her, but had been pretty sure, for a bit now, that he didn't love her.

"Well..." and now there was guilt on his face. "I mean, Xanny...she's...you know..."

"Got a record?" Augusta said in a whisper. "Yeah, the press has already been all over that one. It won't pass over soon, but they're more like sympathizing with her than anything, the way she turned over a new leaf---I never understood that expression. Do we have leaves inside of us that turn over when we make a change? I don't get it."

"I know but I don't remember right now," he said, distracted.

"Marcos, you're a billionare. That isn't going to change. You're not going to go bankrupt if you get involved with a former criminal. And that's what you need to remember here, she's a former criminal. Not a current one."

"No, I didn't mean I thought she would steal from me," Marcos said quickly.

Augusta shook her head. "No, Marcos, but you did think she'd be bad for business. Didn't you? You didn't think about it on the road when you were looking for me because you got all caught up in the moment, but the second you came back to reality, you realized that your feelings wouldn't work, because the combination was bad." Her voice had turned hard, and then suddenly cracked. "Trust me, I know exactly where you're coming from. I'm there myself."

He looked at her, eyes slightly wide. "Seth?" he whispered.

She nodded. "It's so stupid...Stockholm syndrome," she suddenly said with a snap of her fingers. "I've been trying to think of that one for days now!"

"The syndrome where hostages sympathize with their captors? You think you had that?"

"I never sympathized with Seth or Ritchie. I shot that guy who tried to kill them because...well, because I got caught up in the moment. And I got attached to Seth because...well, because I'm an idiot," she confessed. "But I never thought they were right in what they were doing."

"Doesn't always mean you side with them. Just that you get emotionally attached to them."

"So maybe it is Stockholm," she sighed. "Look, it's over, I'll deal with it. You been watching the news? They're currently terrorizing Texas. Those Rangers are going to eat them alive if they don't watch it."

Marcos just smirked at her.

"Sorry," she said. "Anyway, the point is you. So you're not going to get together with Xanny because she's a liability. Okay, fine, nice knowing you, Marcos."

"No!" Marcos said, a bit too loudly. "No, that isn't it. I just know that there are going to for me, and maybe for her. Come on, Augusta, you know how we live. The local society is always watching us, what we do. We've never been in a movie or sang a hit song, but they treat us like stars, it's annoying. Is she going to be able to deal with the paparazzi that are going to swarm over us? Is she going to try and push me away because she thinks I'm making a mistake? I mean, the possibilities for chaos are---"

"Getting way ahead of yourself, Marcos," Augusta said. "Look, don't move out of this study yet. Nobody is using it, and I like to think of it as yours. Why don't you and Xanny just take it slow? Nice and easy?"

"If there is such a thing," Marcos said. He looked at her. "What about you?"

"Me?" she said with a smirk. "I don't know. I'm thinking of getting away...going traveling. I need time with my brain, need to clear it out. I'd love Xanny to go with me, but in light of the circumstances I'm just as happy if she stays here."

"She'll want to go with you, most likely," Marcos pointed out.

"We'll work it out. All of us. Okay?" She gave him a slight smile, then walked around the desk. She hugged him, probably more warmly than she ever had in the years they'd been dating. As she pulled away, she took off the diamond engagement ring. "Here, I should give this back to you."

"Oh, you got it back from the jewelers," he said. "What did you say you did to it again?"

"I lied to you," she admitted. "I punched a purse-snatcher in the face."

He looked up at her quickly, wide-eyed. "You what?"

"I guess Xanny and I are related after all," she said with a slightly embarrassed laugh.

He took the ring. "I don't really feel right about this," he said. "It's been yours for so long."

"It wouldn't be right for me to keep it," she said. "Of course, it wouldn't be right for you to give it to Xanny, either."

"What was that before about getting ahead of yourself?" Marcos gasped. He chuckled, looked down at the ring. "Maybe I'll get the stones reset. That would be nice."

"Yeah, that's an idea." She backed away from him, towards the door. "Don't be a stranger," she said.

"Don't worry," he replied as she left the room.

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The first time Seth and Ritchie had been in Texas had been in 1988. It had been their very first bank job, right before Xanny came along. They weren't quite comfortable with their routine yet, had been stupid and made mistakes. Texas had tried to catch them then, but they'd fled the state before they could make another mistake, and when they came back, they had it much more together, and Xanny was a part of their team.

Now, Seth didn't want to think about anybody with blue or blonde hair, especially not with that face. Now, he could run roughshod over those Rangers and anybody else stupid enough to get in their way. The months passed, he and Ritchie went through periods of having so much money with them, they had to burn it. They would go through gallons of liquor and pay two or three whores at once, sometimes get robbed of the little cash they had left when they woke up---the ones with Seth, anyway. The ones with Ritchie were rarely seen again.

Seth didn't mind. It was all part of the glorious criminal system. He and Ritchie would go rip off another bank. But as the few months passed and Seth's rage finally began to ebb, they started to get lax.

Sloppy.

Careless.

Seth got caught.

It was a very stupid move. Ritchie was off doing whatever he did when he was alone, Seth preferred not to think about it, and Seth was headed for a bar, just to kick back for the evening, go through a few bottles of whiskey, get laid a half-dozen times. He didn't notice that there was an undercover cop in the bar. He didn't notice that the undercover cop kept watching him. He didn't notice when the undercover cop called for back-up, and when, at three in the morning, the trashy bar was surrounded by squad cars with their lights off, men with guns ready to take him in. The only reason he hadn't been shot on sight was because one of the prostitutes had stolen his gun to sell if for drugs, and he was unarmed. There were also still two prostitutes hanging onto him, so they police had a qualm about shooting what were technically "civilians." So Seth was handcuffed and led away. The arrest was surprisingly low key.

Seth felt humiliated to be taken in so easily. He had escaped law enforcement for years upon end, occasionally doing brief stints in county jails but nothing ever stuck to him. He called himself Mr. Slick at times, when he was particularly drunk. This time, though, he was fucked. They matched him up to the robbery back in 1988, and since he and Ritchie had killed two law enforcement officers, it was technically a murder charge, and there was no statute of limitations. He was held without bail because of the brutality of his crimes, and also because the District Attorney said she had some evidence that Seth might be linked to a similar string of bank robberies that had occurred rather recently. It was weak, but the court took it, mostly because if they hadn't, Seth might have been gunned down by the Texas Rangers, who wanted his blood.

And then, one day, Ritchie came to his rescue.

He'd been in stir for a month, awaiting trial. It was coming up soon, and they were anxious to give him the death penalty. He had a local public defender who tried to do his job, but kept scrunching his nose in disdain every time Seth came into the small room to discuss the case. Seth had little to say to him. The best chance they had was a case of mistaken identity. It was unlikely, because the defender wasn't slick enough to suggest anybody else who could have possibly committed these crimes. Plus, Seth's tattoo was a major strike against him---it was way too identifiable. It made the witnesses against him too confident. Apparently, Texans had little fear of a skinny white man who liked to rob banks. Even though every single one of them carried a gun, to actually use it was an unforgivable crime, especially against the innocent. The public was unforgiving. He was going to die.

Ritchie was a psychopath, to be sure, and that day Seth saw it for sure. He didn't have a solid plan, he just had a getaway car and a few guns with lots of bullets. He broke into the lock-up, shot a few people---although he didn't kill them, much to his own aggravation---and the rest went screaming and ducking for cover. Anybody who was stupid enough to pull their piece on him got shot somewhere they didn't want to be shot. The ER was quite full that afternoon.

Finally, Ritchie got a hostage---a young girl, no more than thirteen, the daughter of one of the officers working at the jail. Unwilling to let any harm come to his girl, the man did whatever Ritchie said. He would have given him a blow job if he'd asked for it. Thanks to Seth, the girl was returned to her father unharmed, but not before they'd managed to grab a bank teller, a woman Seth vaguely recognized as having been at the business end of his gun before, probably coming down to do another identification at the Prosecutor's request. She was plump, sweet-faced, with rolls of fat over her eyes that gave her a very meek appearance. Ritchie tied her wrists with duct-tape, threw her into their trunk, and they tore off, running over someone in the process---they didn't know who until later, some schoolteacher walking home from work.

Once again, the Gecko brothers were out, loose, and ready for action. But this time Seth knew he couldn't be stupid again. He got lucky with Ritchie busting him out. He doubted that luck would last.

"Head for the border, Ritchie," Seth said. "We're going to Mexico, for real this time."