This is a crossover. In the most sybaritic, excessive sense of the word. You don't have to be too familiar with all the fandoms, but a little knowledge would help. Or you could just skip the parts you don't get. Warning: Character Assassination of the vilest sort! Disclaimer: Characters taken from Professionals/ Voyager/Highlander/The Sentinel/ Batman (DC)/ X-Files/Once a Thief, none of which I own. for feedback The Slashees' Sanctuary By Fortuita James Bodie answered the door. "Hello?" he said suspiciously to the dangerous looking stranger. To his intense surprise, the man's face crumpled and he looked in immediate danger of tears. "He...llo," he managed to get out, before sinking wearily into a chair in the hall. "I, I saw your brochure, and I didn't know where else to go. I just don't know what to do!" "Brochure?" He hesitantly held out a crumpled paper, and Bodie took it with a sinking feeling. < Feeling depressed? Feeling anxiety about your lover? Feeling jealous? Feeling inferior? Feeling indecisive? Feeling guilty? Feeling anything at all? We've felt it before. Visit the Hard Love Refuge for men who can't handle their homosexual love affairs.> And there was an address. An address! "Sit," he commanded, ignoring the fact that the man already was, and then stalked to the open doorway. "Raaaaay!" he hollered. Waited exactly one point two seconds, and hollered again. "Raaaaaaaaaay!" Fortunately, Doyle was nearby and made it to the hall after only one more piercing call. "What is it, Bodie?" he said mildly. "Explain this." A paper was thrust toward him, and a chin and a chest. All very belligerently. Doyle had a sinking feeling. He had recognised the paper immediately. "What about it, Bodie?" he kept his voice even. "The Hard Love Refuge?" "I think we can help..." but his justification was cut off. "What do you mean, we've felt them all? What do you mean, for men who can't handle their homosexual love affairs? We handle it fine." Doyle let out his breath in relief. Bodie only had personal objections to his ad. Those he could deal with. "Of course we do, lover. Now. But you must admit, we went over a few bumps," 'mountains' "when we first got together." Bodie gave him a hard stare, but finally had to admit the veracity of the statement. "Fine. So now we're going to 'help others'. What do I do with him?" He jerked a thumb over his shoulder the lean blond man collapsed in a chair. This was the first Doyle had seen of him, and he was immediately all sympathy. "Oh, someone's here." He walked over to him, saying 'hi' in a soft voice. The young man looked up at him, and tried to smile, though his lashes were wet. "I'm Ray." "I'm Tom," the man choked out, "and, and, I have a problem. Well, two problems. Well, three. Or maybe four..." Ray put a soothing hand on his shoulder, almost feeling Bodie's eyes boring into his back. "All in time, Tom, all in time." But soon, Ray found he didn't have much time at all. Bodie watched him rushing around, and finally, with a certain amused resignation, offered to help. "Oh, thanks. More have just come in today, a couple this time. Could you talk to them?" Bodie went to find the room they'd been put in, and found the two in an argument. Or rather, one was in an argument, and the other was staring out the window, jaw muscles twitching. "You know we can't. Can you imagine the consequences? I know I've said this before, but Jim, your job!" The other man continued to stare implacably out the window, but he had clearly noticed Bodie's presence in the sitting room, where his partner had not. "Yes?" "Ah. Good morning. I'm Bodie. I'm your host. Well, one of them." The man by the window didn't reply, but he did turn around. The other responded enthusiastically. He pumped Bodie's hand, and greeted him. "Yeah, I'm Blair. Look, I gotta get some information, you know? About coming out, and what happens. Stories, testimonials even. Stats, numbers, whatever. 'Cos he," he jerked a thumb at his silent partner, "is totally into it, and it's such a bad idea." He shook his head in emphasis. "Such a bad, bad idea." Bodie was not equipped for this. Did Ray have that kind of information? He must. This was his party. "Right," he soothed. "I'll see what I can do for you." And he fled, knowing that before long his lover would have him hooked up with some other hapless man, trying to help. Mulder mooched around outside, lackadaisically kicking at pebbles. He noticed someone else was in the shadowed garden. It was such an ideal spot for brooding. He was about to pass the man by without a word, but he spoke. "Hi." "Hi." Mulder didn't feel inclined to chat, and doubted the other man was looking for conversation anyway. Probably just trying to be polite. But he spoke again. "I'm Duncan MacLeod," he offered. "Mulder," said Mulder. "What're you in for?" That appealed to Mulder. Prison. Exactly. He half-smiled, but it faded. Crime just reminded him of his problem. "I don't know what's wrong with me. I'm a sick fuck." "Yeah?" Duncan looked interested for just a second, but Mulder continued before he could get into that theme. "It's my guy. He's, he's, no you wouldn't believe me." "Try me." "He's not a good person." Duncan looked startled, and felt it. Methos hadn't been catting around on him, had he? "Really? Sounds familiar." "No, I mean really not a good person. Killer, criminal, person of generally ambiguous morality. And I," he rolled his eyes heavenward. "I'm in law enforcement." Duncan was intrigued despite himself. "Someone you arrested?" "Probably, a couple of times." That was just confusing. He reverted to an earlier issue. "You're in love with a bad guy, and you can't understand how you got there. I understand." Mulder looked sceptical, but Duncan decided not to prove his point with a litany of his lover's crimes. It was not a pretty story. "So what are you here for?" "I'm looking for my bad guy. He would come to a place like this, just because he thinks I wouldn't." "Yeah? So, is he here." "Not yet. But I'll wait a while." 'Mostly because I've looked nearly everywhere else.' Tom was still on the edge. He'd been here a while. He had, in fact, been here the longest. And he wasn't anywhere nearer to solving his problem(s). Chakotay... Harry... Insecurity... Low sense of self worth... Rape trauma... Reputation... Lies... And, really, a hell of a lot of fear. Terror, even. Alex checked the number on the gate from the shadows, and then vaulted over it. He moved immediately left, keeping the possibility of being spotted from the house to a minimum. Alex slipped around the corner and was gathered rapidly into strong arms. "You're here!" He heard. The voice sounded disgustingly happy. "You came after me!" The words were similar to the ones he wanted to hear, but the voice definitely was not. The body, however, had possibilities. He rubbed against it. It rubbed back, until the arms tightened and felt the space where his arm used to be. "Victor! Baby! What happened?" The tall fair-haired man looked absolutely stunned and devastated. Alex most emphatically did not want to deal with misplaced sympathy and pain. "I'm sure your Victor is perfectly fine, *baby*." The man pulled back further, and looked at him critically. "You really aren't him," he said in a voice of dawning wonder. "Nope," Alex said cheerfully. He quickly assessed his chances of getting some with this man, calculated them at slim to nil, and slipped away. Mac just looked sadly at his feet. Victor hadn't come after him after all. Maybe he didn't really love him. Maybe he was just saying that. Maybe he was still in love with LiAnn. Maybe it was punishment. Maybe Mac was just convenient and easy. Certain of his solitude, he let his face fall, and all his insecurity show in his eyes. Ray's plan was to provide an accepting, warm atmosphere for the injured souls who came to the refuge. And he and Bodie were an ideal example of the possibility of a future, of an enduring home, even for those who found love in the strangest places. The plan was not going well. Some of the men had found a degree of peace while they were there, but none had really found resolution. Ray thought this might have something to do with the fact that he couldn't talk to all parties involved in each situation. Tom needed affirmation of a type that Ray couldn't provide, and then he had the whole other problem of working out who he really wanted. Mulder didn't understand himself, and couldn't, without understanding the man he loved. Mac was a quivering bundle of insecurity, all wrapped up in a scrappy and too vulnerable appearing exterior. He was seriously in need of some encouragement and positive reinforcement, but Ray had no idea what kind of man his Victor was. Jim and Blair. Well, they were in the midst of making a potentially disastrous decision, and Ray had a feeling they'd just have to work it out for themselves. He didn't feel qualified to nudge them in one direction or another. Then there was the dark-haired, dark-faced man who wouldn't even give a name, and certainly no other personal information. He thought Bodie and he should have been able to get something out of the man, but frankly, Ray was a bit... scared. At least *Duncan* seemed to have no obvious wounds. Ray was beginning to think the whole idea might not have been a very good one. He withdrew his advertising, but he couldn't make his current guests leave. He didn't really want to, if it came to that. Alex found himself thrust rapidly from strong arms. "You're here?" The incredulous tone was definitely not as flattering at the stranger's had been. "You came after me?" He almost winced at the cutting astonishment in that one. Mulder had been *really* doubtful that he'd be followed. "Of course I'm here. I wouldn't want you falling in with a bad crowd," he said smoothly. Mulder sighed, finally succumbing to the inevitable. He pulled Alex back into his arms, perfectly content with the space at his left side. "I think it's too late for that. You want to go?" "Mmm." Two men in very similar outfits appeared in the hall one day. Literally appeared. Bodie, feeling domestic, was languidly running a vacuum cleaner around and saw them appear out of mid-air. He raised an eyebrow, not feeling energetic enough for a more enthusiastic display of surprise. So many strange things had been happening around here lately anyway... The older one, the one with an air of authority, spoke first. "We're looking for Paris." The younger one nodded enthusiastically. "Tom Paris." Tidbits Ray had let drop about their original guest crystallised in Bodie's mind. "You must be Chakotay." He received a nod, and a smile, but the other man looked a little crestfallen. Bodie remembered the name and mission of the establishment he was currently running, and mentally whacked himself. 'Way to make the kid jealous,' he reprimanded. "And Harry?" he quickly rectified his mistake. The man brightened up, and nodded. "Tom's through there," he directed carelessly. Another of Ray's snippets of information popped into his head. He stopped them. "You'll be nice to him, won't you?" They nodded simultaneously. Just before Bodie turned back to his vacuum, he caught them looking lasciviously at the man who had just emerged from behind door number one. Bodie withdrew himself from the scene with all haste. He didn't need to know. Not in that much detail. Ray opened the door, and looked out. An exhausted looking figure looked back at him. "This place still running?" "Not really," Ray admitted. The man automatically began to turn, and he looked somehow defeated. Ray amended his statement. "You can come in anyway." The man turned back and walked in. He got about three metres into the hall and froze. "Who else is staying here?" he asked in an urgent voice. "Their names, quick." Ray responded automatically to the command. "Someone I don't know," he said, and when his guest started moving, added the others' names in the hopes he could alleviate that tension. "Mac." "Mac?" "Mac Ramsay." He started moving again. "And Jim, and Blair, and Duncan." All the tension drained out of those shoulders, and the stranger stopped moving. "Duncan?" he whispered. "Duncan," Ray confirmed. And on that, the end door opened, and both half of Duncan's face and a flash of silver showed around its edge. The silver disappeared, and Duncan rapidly fully appeared. He trod the couple of steps to the stranger very quickly. Methos was enveloped. "You're okay," he heard, and took it as an assurance. He let the words run through his body, taking the pain and weariness with them. "I'm okay." He smiled humourlessly. "Just a bit more torture and rape. But I'm back now, and they're not." Ray tried not to listen. Duncan held him tighter. "You're here, Duncan," he observed. "You're here." "Yes. I...you mentioned this place. A bolt hole. Sacred ground." *That* caught Doyle's attention. "Nobody to suspect." Methos rest his head against the Highlander's neck. "Now I want to go home." "We can go home." And Duncan's mystery was solved. "Jiiiim," Bodie yelled. "For you." Then he got away from the phone as fast as possible. He didn't want to be involved in another crisis. Jim and Blair trooped down the stairs, and Jim picked up the phone. "Hello?" Jim said, and Blair started at the sound of his voice. There'd been a strained silence between them all day. "You did?" "You don't?" "Okay, we'll be there." Jim looked happy now. Much less strained. "That was Simon," he announced. Blair felt sick. "He tracked us down." Blair started to panic. "He doesn't care, as long as we get back to Cascade, stat." Blair felt all of the anguish of their long-running 'discussion' like a punch in the gut. "He doesn't care?" he whispered. "He wasn't just being PC?" "No, Chief, he really doesn't care. And he was the only one I really cared about anyway, you know?" Blair leant his forehead against his Sentinel. "Oh Jim. He doesn't care." Jim put a gentle hand on his guide's shoulder. "You ready to pack?" Victor slipped around a corner. He had no idea what sort of place this was, and why the hell was Mac here, anyway? He rather thought they'd been handling their affair rather well. He felt someone take a firm grip on his left arm. Then his left hand was rapidly tasted, and one warm finger sucked into a mouth. "Mac," he squeaked, "what are you doing?" "Vic," Mac said in satisfaction, as if that said it all. Then, "You're here!" After all, he justified to himself; there had been nothing essentially wrong with that earlier dialogue. It had been one of the relevant participants that was wrong. This time, Victor was contributing very satisfactorily. He had two hands on Mac's waist. "I came after you," he said. "Were you worried?" he said archly. "I was very worried. I don't want you to leave me like that." "But you do want me to leave you?" he prodded poutily. Victor recognised a stroking cue when he heard one. "I never want you to leave me, gorgeous. I adore you." "Just me?" he said anxiously. "Just you," Vic confirmed. "Not LiAnn?" "Nope," he said cheerfully, perfectly happy to reassure his lover, if he had been less than happy to chase him around. "Not LiAnn. Just like I hope you love me, not LiAnn." Mac looked at him gravely. "I love you." Bruce was beginning to feel like a bug under a microscope. He was the last one left, so he had the total attention of his erstwhile hosts. It made him distinctly uncomfortable. He didn't like to be seen, let alone watched. And it was that, finally, that pushed him into making the call. "Dick?" "Bruce?!" "Yes. There's something I want to find out. I'm at," he rattled off the address. "Can you meet me here?" He knew Dick would probably be reluctant, but curiosity would bring him. "Okay." "And Dick? Be yourself." Dick understood, but he sounded even more mystified when he repeated his assent. Bruce hung up. Bodie came up behind his lover, and wrapped his arms around him. They both solemnly regarded the scene taking place in the driveway. A young man in jeans and leathers had pulled up and pulled his helmet off. Just as he swung off the bike, their last and most mysterious guest walked out their front door. The new arrival half reached out a hand and then pulled it back, a questioning look on his face. They couldn't see the older man's face, but they saw him shake his head. He held himself absolutely still, but it was obvious he was speaking, because of the reactions of the other. Understanding, and with it, pleasure, began to come to him. He nodded vigorously, spoke briefly, and finished the gesture he had previously aborted. Instead of landing on his shoulder, the hand continued around to the back of his neck. Bodie and Doyle witnessed the quick but deep kiss. The younger man said something else, and shook an admonitory finger, before pulling his helmet back on and restarting the bike. Their guest came back inside to collect his bags. He sought them out. "Thankyou. You have been...most helpful." "We haven't done anything," Ray pointed out reasonably. "Nevertheless." And he was gone, their last sight of him a nondescript grey car pulling out of their drive. "No more refuges, or refugees, Ray?" "I don't think so, lover." "Why don't you get a job to keep you entertained?" Doyle smiled sunnily. "Right-o." He made his escape while Bodie was looking stunned. Bodie recovered, and smiling grimly, started after him. The End Please don't hurt me, but if you feel you must, hurt me at