A/N: Just as a reminder to myself, the usual disclaimer—Roarke and Tattoo belong to Aaron Spelling, Leonard Goldberg and Gene Levitt; I am borrowing their characters solely for the sheer joy of writing about them. Thanks again to them. Also, thanks are due to my friend Chinatsu for the Japanese phrases; any errors with regard to the use of the translations are mine alone. Oh yeah…seems my in-joke in the previous story was a tad too subtle. Here's a hint: Mr. Roarke's alter ego always claimed he wasn't a singer! (If you can figure it out, post a review with the answer.)

§ § § -- August 31, 1995

It had been only six weeks since Tattoo's funeral and there was still a lurking sadness in Roarke's and Leslie's eyes, though the worst of their grief had worn itself out by now. It had helped that they had immediately set about building a small museum in Tattoo's memory, showcasing his paintings. After a lot of deliberation, they had set it about 500 yards down the Ring Road from the Japanese garden and teahouse. Once construction was under way, they had gone every day to check on its progress, and now the building was open to all visitors and had been dedicated just the previous day. Carved into the marble façade over the entrance were the words FANTASY ISLAND ART MUSEUM, and mounted just inside the doorway was a bronze plaque Roarke and Leslie had commissioned which bore a bas-relief portrait of Tattoo as he had looked when he was Roarke's assistant. Beneath the portrait was the following legend:

DEDICATED TO THE MEMORY OF TATTOO

VALUED ASSISTANT

EXTRAORDINARY ARTIST

CHERISHED FRIEND

Within the building was a display of works by Tattoo; Roarke and Leslie had collected all those that weren't on display in the main house and brought them here for all to see. This included the paintings that Russell St. Anthony had bequeathed to them almost four years before; all of the unsold works that had been in Tattoo's art gallery as of the day he had died; and the full contents of his glass-walled studio outside Paris. Solange had seen to the shipping of the latter two sets of works. Among those that had been in the studio was a nearly-finished canvas that Tattoo had been forced to abandon just days before his passing, depicting his three children playing in the backyard. Some of the background hadn't been filled in and Tattoo's signature was missing from the painting, but Roarke and Leslie had hung it anyway and seen to it that a small bronze plate was attached to the frame, stating simply, "Tattoo's Final Masterpiece."

With their memorial to Tattoo completed, Roarke and Leslie set about getting on with their own lives. "That," Roarke had told his daughter, "will be one of our best tributes to Tattoo: to go on living the fullest lives we can, even as we remember him." Leslie had agreed, understanding that she had managed to get on with her life after the losses of her grandmother, her mother and sisters, and Teppo, and that now she must do the same in the wake of Tattoo's death. However, Roarke had noticed that she'd become slightly clingy of late, and knew that only time would temper this tendency.

Now summer was nearing its unofficial end, and this Saturday morning Roarke had just sent Leslie to help get one of the fantasies under way when there came a knock on the door. Roarke hadn't been expecting anyone, but it wasn't at all unusual for guests to come calling if they had questions or problems. "Come in," he called without looking up from his date book, which showed the month of November.

The door opened and someone cleared his throat nervously; Roarke looked up and was very surprised indeed to see Hachiro Tokita, nicknamed "Toki", standing in the foyer. "Come in, Toki," he said. "What can I do for you?"

Toki stepped into the room, glancing questioningly around. "Is Leslie here?"

"No, she is attending to a fantasy," Roarke said, gesturing at a chair. "So you are back for a visit, then?"

"Sort of," Toki said, lowering himself into one of the chairs and meeting Roarke's gaze with a hesitancy that suggested he was carrying many secrets. "Actually…I'm here to see if you could grant me a fantasy."

Very curious, Roarke leaned forward. "What fantasy would that be?"

Toki hesitated again, started to speak and caught himself, glanced away and scratched the back of his neck in a nervous gesture. Finally he sighed, as if having decided to get it over with. "Can you make Leslie fall in love with me?"

Roarke stared at him. "Did I hear that correctly?" he asked at last.

Toki nodded. "Yeah, I know it's stupid," he said, "but you gotta understand something, Mr. Roarke. I've been half in love with Leslie almost ever since she first came to the island. It hit me like hell to find out she got married, and I thought when she was widowed and came back, maybe I'd have a chance."

Roarke's gaze grew stern. "Surely you realize that people's emotions cannot be controlled in such a fashion—not even by me."

Toki looked stunned. "Are you serious? But you can do anything!"

"I have my limits," Roarke said quietly. "However, even if I were capable of such a thing, I would never exercise the ability. It's an issue of ethics. Furthermore, Leslie knows her own mind and doesn't hesitate to make that very clear. And it's always been my understanding that you and she don't get along."

"That's my fault," Toki said, turning bright red. "I wasn't exactly the kind of guy she would've been attracted to, I suppose. But I'm free and she's free, and I just wanted one more chance to show her how I really feel about her. Please, Mr. Roarke…" He reached into his pocket, dug out his wallet and withdrew a folded check, which he pushed across the desk at Roarke. "If you want more, I'll pay it gladly, but I've been obsessed with this idea for a long time, and I just can't wait any longer."

Roarke ignored the check, focusing on Toki with a highly guarded expression. "This is not the kind of fantasy in which I can merely wave my hand, or tap you or my daughter with a magic wand, and decree that for one weekend she will be in love with you. Even fantasies have their limits, Toki. And I don't believe it's possible for me to grant this one."

Toki looked desperate. "There has to be a way," he insisted.

Roarke softened slightly, but there was pity in his dark eyes. He picked up the check and offered it to Toki. "Take this back," he said gently, "and take some time to think this over very carefully. I don't believe you fully realize what you are asking of me." He sat back and smiled a little. "Did you come directly here from the plane dock?"

Toki nodded and shrugged. "Yeah."

"Why don't you pay a visit to your family," Roarke suggested. "I'm sure they will be very happy to see you. If you still wish to go through with your request, then come back this afternoon around three…but I insist that you give some serious thought to exactly what it is you ask of me."

Toki picked up the check and slowly replaced it in his wallet, then stood up, looking at Roarke all the while with an expression of betrayal and bewilderment on his features. "I thought you could help me," he said, shaking his head.

"Think about it," Roarke reiterated and smiled apologetically. "If you'd excuse me, I'm afraid I have a great deal of work awaiting me."

Toki slowly shuffled out, a defeated aura about him, and Roarke watched him go with a slight frown. All through her teen years, Leslie had had problems with Toki Tokita and had made it very plain that she just didn't like him. She had good reason; Toki had often teased her in those days, and even now she avoided him at all costs. Roarke sensed that the young man still had quite a bit of maturing to do, and knew full well that if he sought out Leslie, there would be some very noisy fireworks.