He'd seen her drunk just twice before. The first time was champagne-induced silliness, at the precinct Christmas party hosted by Janette at Raven. That memory always made him smile. Dancing, then flying, then making love in front of the fireplace. The second time was darker, when he'd fed her a double shot of Jack the day after her friend Christopher was murdered, hoping to dissuade her from going to work. Both times the effects seemed to burn off quickly; whether or not it was because of her unusual chemistry was something he'd considered but soon forgot to ask. Tonight she was feeding herself the bourbon, and he doubted she'd get off so easily as before.

They were sitting at one of the clusters of pushed-together cocktail tables at the far end of the bar as the d.j. (Mike, who was taking a night off from tending bar) took a break. Sherry, Doug, Angie who happened to be Doug's girlfriend, Christopher the other video store employee(who, Nick was relieved to see, was both short and blond and didn't resemble the Other Christopher in the slightest), Robin the blonde who'd been at the bar that first night, and her husband Bobby were leaning in various postures around the tables. Maura was mixing pretty well with the others, and unlike her introduction to Nick's Toronto friends this group asked only the most casual sorts of questions. Of course, these people weren't motivated by the presumed intimacy of previous acquaintance with either one of them. Right now Bobby was offering to buy another round.

"Uh-uh, right here!" Maura exclaimed, pointing at Nick, "he'll buy it. Money is not his problem, but we'll both be glad when he finds a new job." She rolled her head to one side to look at him. "Anything but police work, thank you."

"How are you at excavation?" Doug cracked. The balding Red Sox fan Nick met on his first night at the bar did well work, road grading, all manner of earth moving.

"I've been known to dig for clues," Nick offered with a grin.

"Among other things," Maura snickered into her latest empty glass.

"Now that you mention it, there's a couple of pieces of equipment in our barn. A small bucket loader, and something else. I haven't looked too closely at them but they're covered up pretty carefully so I think they might be persuaded to run." He grinned and slid his chair up closer to Maura's. "What do you think, Sweet, maybe I should try my hand at fighting topography instead of crime."

"You really know how to drive those things?" Sherry asked. "What does a cop know about road grading?"

The drinks had arrived, on Nick's tab, and Maura grabbed her fourth glass of bourbon, her second neat, in the hour and a half since they'd arrived. "Hell, Nick's done all kinds of things, his résumé would strike you blind." He slipped his arm around her and gave her shoulder a squeeze.

"Let's not bore them with my whole history," he addressed their companions but the comment was intended for Maura. She was getting a little bit too loose for his comfort. When she shot him an impatient look and leaned away he reached a hand out to slow the progress of her latest full glass. "And maybe you'd better pace yourself, you're a little out of practice." He was smiling, but she didn't miss the warning in his eyes.

"Ooooh, let's not get into drinking habits, darling…"

Nick, who had politely declined all offers, hastened to explain, "My allergies limit my options. It can be a challenge." Maura was smiling wickedly.

"But we do all right at home, I assure you," Maura drawled, her eyes on him. It was obvious to everyone she was enjoying his discomfort, though they read it as good natured (and drunken) teasing. Nick leaned his head close to hers and kissed her cheek, but at the same time whispered, "Sois sage, ne s'oublies."

"Oh, jamais," she muttered in response, almost bitterly.

Suddenly wondering how many of their new acquaintances might understand French (being so close to the Quebec border) Nick was relieved to hear the d.j. announce his return by asking for requests.

"I'll be right back," he told everyone, but Maura grabbed him by the collar.

"If you ask for that fucking BeeGees song again I'll kill you."

Another kiss to camouflage a rather sharp, "You wouldn't be the first," and Nick was off to speak quietly to the d.j.

"Hey honey, you okay?" Sherry asked. "He's right, you're really knocking 'em back. Maybe you need to get back in training before you try to play with these party animals," she indicated Bob and Doug. Robin and Angie had been sticking to a couple of beers each even though everyone lived within walking distance.

"Relax, Sherry, it's my annual bender." She wasn't trying to be a bitch, and didn't want to piss off their new neighbors. But her mood had been growing edgier all night. Well maybe not all night, just since… since the phone rang that last time. Though she'd thought having a few belts might mellow her mood, Maura realized (in a very distant and hazy way) that the booze was instead focusing some issues she'd long shoved aside for the sake of being reasonable. Christ, she was sick of being "reasonable".

Maura watched as Nick returned to the table, and she thought of how every woman in the place probably was mourning his unavailability. He'd always had that affect on women, even without the magic whammy. He seemed not to notice, and she actually believed he didn't. She wouldn't have worried if he did. The one and only woman who worried her was hundreds of miles away, and he'd never pretended not to notice what she'd always wanted from him. He just pretended it didn't matter. Suddenly Maura missed Vachon so painfully it struck her like a tidal wave. He'd always been able to calm her down when her various demons got the better of her. It didn't take much, not from him, just a pair of raised eyebrows, a shake of his head, and a "Luna, will you get a grip?" Then, in very few absurdly simple sentences, he'd tell her exactly why whatever was twisting her in knots wasn't really a problem at all. And she always had to say "duh", and wonder why she hadn't thought of it herself.

But Vachon was gone now, and the only other who knew her that well was Nick. He'd never had Vachon's knack of cutting to the bone of whatever she was struggling with. He knew it, too, and Maura knew he'd been grateful that she had Vachon to turn to when the noise in her head got to be too much. Some kinds of love, like hers and Nick's, got in the way of reason. Hers and Vachon's never did. Stop. She managed to gulp down the last of her drink as Nick reached for the glass.

"Pffflllt," she announced, mostly for the amusement of their companions.

"Desperate times call for desperate measures," Nick told them, then took Maura's hand and helped her to her feet.

"Viens á danser, mon ange," he invited with his most persuasive smile. In spite of the darkness she'd been harboring, a crowd of butterflies burst into flight in her stomach. Damn that smile, that voice.

"He's French," she explained to the others as she followed him to the dance floor, "he can't help it." Her phrasing was beginning to take on the pained precision induced by four double shots of bourbon (two neat).

Angie whacked Doug on the arm. "Why can't you be like that?" she accused him.

"Ow! I flunked French, remember?" and everyone cracked up, just before heading to the dance floor themselves. All but Sherry, who joined her brother Eric who was barbacking for Mike's stand-in tonight. He'd maintained a careful distance from the others or, more precisely, from Nick and Maura. They stood close together, and spoke in low murmurs.

"Are you sure?" Sherry asked him.

Eric nodded. "He is, for sure. But her…" he looked his sister in the eye, and she could see the surprise on his face. No, more than surprise.

"What about her?"

"She's like me."

Her eyes snapped wider. "You're sure? How can you tell?"

"How can I tell about him? I don't know how I know, I just do."

Sherry shook her head in wonder as she watched Nick and Maura dancing. He was offering her considerably more support than the other men needed to give their dance partners.

"How could they be…" she turned back to Eric and told him nervously, "whatever you do, keep your distance. I mean, he seems fine as can be with the rest of us, who knows why, but just to be safe…"

Eric gathered some glasses on a tray and headed for the back room. "You don't have to tell me twice."

Translation from French:

Sois sage, ne s'oublies: Be careful, don't forget yourself

Jamais: never

Viens á danser, mon ange: come dance, sweetheart