Disclaimer: I don't own 'em, I just play with 'em and hand 'em back, none the worse for wear.

Author's Notes: A few notes on guns and wolves: I'm not exactly sure when the Sig-Sauer P-229 was actually released for sale to the public, I think it was closer to '95 than '97, so just consider it poetic license.
In addition, the dogs used to play Diefenbaker in the TV series were all only about half the size (or less) of a average Artic wolf, so I have tweaked Dief's size to correspond more accurately to what a crossbreed male 'Canis lupus arctos' would actually be; i.e., about 120 pounds and approximately five feet long from tip of nose to tip of tail.

Story Notes: Highlander/due South crossover, with a cameo here and there from Hellboy, and a few other cameos the sharp-eyed might spot. One character from Airwolf guest-starring this chapter!

SequelTo: Geometry: Chapter 14, Archangel Descending

Marina and Archangel walked back to the bullpen together, Michael ignoring his cane in favor of leaning on Mina's arm. Feeling oddly content and safe at Archangel's side, Marina felt the accusing and speculative glances of the 27th's cops slide off her harmlessly. Diefenbaker never left her side, sticking to her every step of the way.

Welsh must have been watching for their return, he came to the door of his office and watched, stone-faced, as Archangel beckoned to several of his agents. Archangel murmured a few words and the suits dispersed; one taking custody of Stella and one taking custody of Frannie as she left Welsh's office. Two more disappeared out the front doors, muttering low-voiced comments into cell phones.

Agent Bryce turned over Stella with thinly veiled scorn and walked across the bullpen to Marina, holding out her hands. As Frannie and Stella watched, feds standing at their sides in silent menace, Frannie shot Stella a positively hate-filled glare. Stella paid her no attention, occupied with watching everything Archangel was doing and saying.

"Mina," Bryce said simply, a smile lighting up her severe features and transmuting them into sudden, startling beauty.

"Ande," Marina replied, taking the outstretched hands and exchanging a warm cheek-kiss with the agent.

"We've missed you," Bryce said, her deep brown eyes warm with affection.

"I've missed you too." Mina shot Archangel an impish grin. "You been taking good care of our boy?"

"Trying," Ande Bryce sighed. "He doesn't make it easy. Sure you don't want the job back?"

Mina took a step back and held their joined hands out from their sides. "I can't even take care of myself these days," she admitted, glancing down ruefully.

"Yeah. I noticed." Ande assessed her, head to toe. "You look like shit," she said bluntly.

A half-laugh escaped Mina. "That does seem to be the general opinion."

Ande squeezed her hands, knowing how much reassurance physical connection gave her friend. "I'm sorry this has been so hard on you, Mina," she said softly. "Are you sure you don't want to come back with us? Just for a while?"

Marina looked over Ande's shoulder and some of the sadness hovering around her lifted as Ray and Fraser came through the bullpen doors and headed straight for her.

"No, things... have been getting better lately," she observed, nodding unobtrusively at the pair.

Ande followed her gaze. "Which one?" she murmured admiringly.

Mina just grinned and a faint blush highlighted her cheekbones.

"Both?" Ande gasped, grinning back in delighted realization. "What is it with you, girlfriend?"

Marina shrugged, merriment dancing in her eyes as Archangel rolled his, leaning on his cane with both hands as he listened. "Just the way I swing, I guess."

"How come guys like that never swing my way?" Ande whispered and both women burst into delighted, rosy-cheeked laughter. Even Archangel had trouble keeping a straight face and he pointedly looked away, trying to control his sardonically amused grin.

Ray's worry lightened up considerably at the sight of Marina laughing with Agent Bryce and he almost jerked to a stop at how different the tough, no-nonsense agent was with a mischievous smile lighting up her severe features. Bryce was really remarkably attractive with that angry glare off her face.

"You all right, babe?" Ray asked uncertainly, coming to a stop beside the group with Fraser standing at his shoulder wearing his best Mountie-mask. Ray wanted to fucking wrap his arms around Mina and not let go, screw what anybody thought. Watching her cry ripped him up, but finding out someone was trying to kill her... that was insane. He wanted to beat the shit out of Frannie and Stella for putting Marina in danger but as mad as Ray was he couldn't hit a woman.

Marina reached out and Ray took her hand willingly. Then abruptly decided he didn't give a shit what anyone thought, pulled her right into his arms and held on tight.

"Jesus, baby," Ray muttered, still reeling from everything Bryce told them, everything he and Fraser overheard.

"Yeah," Mina murmured, wondering how it felt to Ray and Ben to get hit with all of this at once, right out of the blue. "Sorry I couldn't tell you," she apologized in a soft whisper, feeling she owed it to them both to say that right away.

"Fergit that," Ray muttered, his Chicago accent sharpening in his agitation, and held her tighter. "I'm sorry... Frannie an' Stella... who'd'a thought... fuck, I'm sorry, babe..."

"Hey," Mina chided gently. "That's not your fault, it's not." She tipped her head back so she could meet Ray's worried, hellishly tormented eyes. "Besides, I'm counting on you to watch my back."

"Always," Ray muttered thickly. At least she wasn't leaving, that would have torn his heart in half right down the middle. He'd take any risk, screw the danger, to keep this strange, wonderful... thing they'd found together.

"Always," Fraser repeated, his voice as grave as his expression, putting one big, warm hand on her shoulder in silent reassurance. But the unshakeable determination in his tone jerked Welsh and the Duck Boys -who were eavesdropping shamelessly- up short; they'd all heard that flinty resolve before. Anyone coming after Marina would have to go through Fraser first and when the Mountie got in this mood, he was all but impossible to take down.

Archangel was watching all this with an indecipherable expression, but he turned and snapped his fingers at one of the hovering feds, who was holding a brown briefcase. The man snapped upright and set the briefcase on Huey's desk, the nearest to where Archangel, Bryce, Marina, Ray and Fraser were standing.

"I knew you wouldn't leave, my dear," Archangel said calmly, leaning on his cane. "So I brought you a present. If you please, Agent Rice?"

Rice laid the briefcase on its side and snapped the catches open; flipped it open and laid it out. Twin handguns were encased on cutout foam in the lower half the briefcase, the upper held extra clips, a dual shoulder holster and several boxes of ammunition.

"Prototype Sig-Sauer P-229's," Rice said crisply, picking up one of the pistols and displaying it. "Still in development, not available for sale to the public. Aluminum frame, stainless steel slide, takes a standard .40 caliber Smith & Wesson round, twelve in the magazine and one in the chamber. Double and single-action semi-automatic, trigger pull for double action is twelve pounds; single action is four and a half. Features an automatic firing pin safety, the handgrips on these two pistols were custom redesigned to fit your palm and finger size according to your records on file with the Agency, and modified to absorb additional recoil to allow for firing both guns simultaneously one-handed. The right grip panel on both pistols contains a high-brightness sighting laser powered by two lithium batteries, spares included."

He handed the pistol to Marina, who turned it over curiously. Engraved on the side of the barrel was a halo-and-wings insignia she knew, and her eyes widened. It was an old recognition code from way back when she and Michael were, well, spies. There was no one left alive but her and Michael who would recognize it, and it touched her to the heart Archangel would have put this symbol of their old alliance on a gift intended to protect her.

Rice tapped a small pack of batteries packed in the foam, adding, "The laser sight is pressure-activated by the button on the front grip of each panel, allowing it to be used right or left-handed."

Marina whistled, impressed in spite of herself; slapped an empty magazine into the Sig and sighted along the barrel. "It's beautiful."

Rice eyed Marina's slender wrists a little dubiously. "The Agency was unaware of your... less than optimum physical status, Doctor MacLeod. I would suggest several rounds of test-firing each type of ammunition to acclimate yourself to the individual recoil levels. Also included are four additional magazines per pistol to allow for rapid changes of ammunition type in a combat situation, and two double-stack magazine loaders for faster reload."

Agent Rice pointed to the first ammunition box. "Standard hollow points, four boxes; full metal jacket, four boxes; Teflon-jacketed, four boxes; explosive-tip, four boxes; tracking rounds, two boxes with the standard Agency handheld tracking unit; and..."

Rice picked an unmarked, plain brown cardboard box out of the foam casing and held it up. "Courtesy of your friends over at the Bureau, two boxes of H-specials, custom-made for this caliber handgun." Rice grinned at Mina. "Garlic, holy water, cloverleaf, silver shavings and white oak. Only ones on the planet not fitted for the Samaritan... with the big guy's love. He made 'em personally for you last night."

Marina laughed in delight as Ray, Fraser and everyone else listening just stared.

"What th' hell did ya useta fight?" Ray asked incredulously, staring at the case. There was probably close to twenty thousand dollars' worth of weaponry laid out right there!

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you," Mina said ruefully, picking up the second pistol and fitting another empty magazine in; then picked up the first pistol again and held both out at arm's length, aiming for a wanted poster thumbtacked to the opposite wall and trying out the laser sights. Twin red lights appeared on the target, one red light centered on each eye.

"Try me," Ray said flatly, jerking a thumb at Fraser. "I hang around with him. Seven impossible things before breakfast is normal."

Archangel snorted a muffled laugh. "No wonder you get along," he muttered to Marina under his breath, amused.

Fraser shot Ray a faintly injured look. "Honestly, Ray, I fail to see what relevance that has to the current situation."

"You would," Ray kidded, feeling his world reorient and steady with the familiarity of his and Fraser's back-and-forth teasing.

Marina sighed and lowered the pistols, spinning them forward and back on her forefingers to get a feel for the balance; following through with a standard cross-draw reholster before fitting them back into the foam cutouts in the briefcase.

"Ownership and registration papers are under the foam padding together with a federally-issued concealed-carry license valid in all fifty states and US territories," Rice said in conclusion, inclined his head and stepped back. "Also one dual-carry quick-release shoulder holster fitted to your size." Rice eyed her thin wrists and the way her hipbones stood out between the bottom of her crop sweater and the waistband of her lowrider jeans. "You might need to take the straps in a little," he said awkwardly.

He straightened at Archangel's direct stare and finished, "Compliments of the United States government in deep appreciation for your years of loyal service, ma'am."

"Consider it a farewell gift," Archangel said softly. He put a hand on Mina's shoulder, leaned forward and kissed her cheek. "Be careful, my dear."

"I will," Mina whispered, leaning into the kiss. "Thank you, Michael. They're wonderful, and I love them all the more because they're from you."

Archangel's grip tightened on her shoulder before he straightened up and regarded Ray and Fraser levelly.

"I'm counting on you to watch over her," Archangel said calmly, but there was no mistaking the implicit warning -and threat- there.

Ray nodded grimly, accepting both the warning and the silent plea hiding behind it. Fraser returned Archangel's stare with a single jerk of his chin in acknowledgement.

Archangel turned and regarded Stella and Frannie and his lip curled in barely-concealed disgust.

"I require a word with you, ladies." He gestured towards the hallway. "If you please." The agents flanking Stella and Frannie grasped their elbows and firmly steered them towards the empty interview room.

Archangel turned to Lieutenant Welsh and met his gaze squarely. "We'll be out of your station within the hour, Lieutenant. I apologize for the inconvenience, but I trust you'll forgive my loyalty -and concern- for one of my own. I stand behind my agents, past and present."

Welsh nodded once. "You did what you had to," he said curtly. His gaze shifted over to Frannie and Stella and his mouth tightened in a grim line. "I'll do the same."

Archangel inclined his head in silent understanding. Welsh went back into his office and sank heavily into his desk chair, staring out his office door with his bleak face betraying nothing of his thoughts.

Agent Bryce gave Mina a fast, hard hug in silent farewell and followed Archangel as he limped out of the bullpen. The rest of the federal agents cleared out almost immediately, four taking up stations outside the room Archangel was in while the rest disappeared out the front doors.

The tension level in the bullpen relaxed noticeably but the 27th's staff still watched Marina, Ray and Fraser surreptitiously.

"I have to go," Marina sighed, laying the pistols back in the briefcase and closing it. "I can't teach at the University anymore, I'd be putting my students in danger. I'll have to inform the college administration I'm withdrawing and clean out my office. Today. Quickly." She flipped the briefcase catches shut and leaned on the desk, her head hanging down.

"I liked teaching," she whispered. "It felt worthwhile. Theresa, Lotus, Zack, Cody... watching them soak up what I could teach them was wonderful. Watching them grow..." She stared down at the briefcase. "It was only a temporary position. I knew it was only for a year... I didn't think it would feel like this to have to stop."

Ray's heart twisted. She sounded so lost, so remote, another piece of her life ruthlessly stripped away.

"Ya... want us to go with ya?" Ray asked uncertainly, reaching out and placing a hand on the small of her back. It felt cold and Ray wished he had a jacket to give her.

Marina took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. No sense in crying over spilt milk. "No, you've got work to do on the case. But if you could give me a ride back to the wharf so I could get my car that'd be good."

"Vecchio!" Welsh called gruffly out his office door.

Ray looked up. "Yeah, Lieu?"

"Get a couple of uniforms to give the Doctor a ride to the University and an escort home."

A sardonic grin tugged at the corner of Ray's mouth. So Welsh was feeling a pang or two of guilt too, huh?

"Yeah, okay, Lieu."

Fraser cleared his throat. "I trust you won't object if Diefenbaker accompanies you, Marina?"

Marina smiled down at the wolf; who hadn't moved an inch away from her since they walked into the precinct house. "I doubt you could get him to leave my side."

Diefenbaker growled a sharp agreement. He liked none of this. If his mate was threatened then he would protect her- that was the way of the pack.

Ray cocked his head at Fraser.

"Diefenbaker says he will protect her," Fraser translated, shifting back into parade rest in an attempt to rein in his anger. Diefenbaker was right. Marina was pack, and now her life was in danger. An irrational wave of rage was building inside Fraser; that anyone would threaten the woman he'd come to love, the one who showed him how much Ray loved him, the one who made their small pack complete. Even his stoic Mountie reserve was having a hard time containing it.

"C'mon," Ray said, sliding an arm around Marina's waist as she picked up the briefcase. "Let's get ya a ride."

They had to walk down the hallway past the interview rooms to get to the desk sergeant, and Frannie was sitting on the bench opposite the interview room two where Archangel was closeted with Stella.

"Fraser," Frannie said, jumping to her feet as they walked by and reaching out for Fraser's sleeve. Her face was still red and blotchy but she'd stopped crying. "Don't be mad at me, Fraser, I didn't..."

Diefenbaker snarled, loud, vicious and angry; he leaped forward and his fangs clashed together a bare inch from Frannie's outstretched hand. Frannie gasped and shrank back as the feds standing guard outside the door jerked in surprise. Fur bristling and fangs bared Diefenbaker growled in his throat, standing stiff-legged and tall as he stood protectively in front of Ray, Fraser and Marina.

"I would suggest you stay away from Diefenbaker from now on, Ms. Vecchio," Fraser said with coolly formal courtesy as he escorted Ray and Marina by. "He seems to have taken a dislike to you."

Ten minutes later Ray arranged for a couple of uniforms he trusted to give Marina and the wolf a lift and as they were leaving, Marina's still somber mien made him yell impulsively after her.

"Hey, Mina!"

About to walk down the front steps, she turned around. "Yeah?"

"Remember, it's Monday!"

A quizzical look flickered over her face.

"It's your turn to cook dinner," Ray smarted off, grinning impudently.

He managed to surprise a laugh out of Marina.

"Don't be late!" she called back. "Or you get leftovers and like it!"

"Like the wolf ever leaves leftovers!" Ray yelled.

* * *

After resigning from the University and collecting her few belongings from her faculty office and the labs, Marina let the two cops take her home.

Her hovering police escort seemed to convince the University chancellor she was actually in some kind of danger, he accepted her resignation without a fuss and even expressed what sounded like sincere regrets she had to leave so abruptly.

Officers Jenkins and Halloway escorted Marina right to her apartment door; Halloway even carried the box of her files and office stuff up and set it on her hallway table while Jenkins swept her apartment to make sure it was empty.

Smiling, she thanked them for the ride and the escort.

"No prob," Jenkins told her. "Vecchio'd kick us in the head if we let anythin' happen to ya." A tall, lanky black man with a Chicago street accent as sharp as Ray's, he towered over Marina and looked like he might have run with the Rolling 22's when he was younger. He had a sixth sense about gang violence and the climate of the street, and Ray trusted his judgment implicitly.

"Be careful, ma'am," Halloway cautioned. "We'll have the guys on this beat check your building a couple times each shift but call the precinct if anything seems off. We'll send someone down to check it out."

"I will."

They shook her hand and left. Marina shifted her gaze to Diefenbaker, reached down and scratched his ears.

"Wanna go hunting?" she asked softly.

Diefenbaker growled a negative and nudged Marina toward her gray couch. He wished to talk to her first. Then they could hunt.

Marina nodded and kicking off her shoes, sank in the cushions with a tired sigh. The morning felt like a thousand years ago and her stomach was roiling and sour from stress and the aftereffects of this latest crying jag. Dief leaped up on the couch and settled into a watchful crouch beside her. Mina looped an arm over his neck and rubbed her cheek against his furry muzzle, drinking in his comforting musky scent.

"What's on your mind, my love?" she murmured.

The one-eyed white fur who smelled of a lifetime of danger; Dief rumbled, she had run with his pack, had she not?

"Michael? Yes. I floated between working for him and the Bureau for Paranormal Research and Defense for the sixties and seventies. I did mostly freelance work with a couple of mercenary teams during the eighties -that's how I got Airwolf- before I retired back in ninety-one. Since them I've been living with Duncan, Methos or Connor. The time of the Gathering is getting close and the Immortals are all becoming restless."

Dief shifted against Main's side and licked her jaw reassuringly. He wished to know more about those hunting her now. Why did they want to kill her and the others of her bloodline?

"Because of what we are," Marina sighed, sinking deeper into the cushions and feeling Dief's heavy bulk pin her more firmly to the couch.

"There's a legend about my kind, my love. It speaks of the time of the Gathering, when all the Immortals in the world will be drawn to one place, driven to fight until only one remains. The legend says the last Immortal left will be granted tremendous power, and dominion over the earth and all its' people. The ones trying to kill me fear this happening; and they're not entirely wrong to do so... my kind are as varied as humans, lovemate. There are good ones, evil ones, and many who are a mixture of both. But if an Immortal consumed by evil were to become the One, then mankind would know an eternity of darkness. An unending reign of terror and slavery... so they're trying to kill all my kind before this comes to pass. So that no one becomes the One."

Diefenbaker growled in dislike. If this Gathering came to fruition, did it not mean she might have to eventually battle her own pack-mates?

"No." Her denial was sharp and fierce. "I will not raise my sword to kill my own. I will not. I refuse to accept that anything could drive me to take the head of those I love! I make my own choices, and I will not be a kin-slayer. If at the last it comes down to Duncan, Connor, Methos and myself, the Gathering can wait forever. The hell with being the One. So we agreed. So we swore."

Dief nuzzled her, soothing her sudden anger. Was such a thing possible, he asked? Could they deny this Gathering?

"We don't know," Mina sighed, driven to acknowledge the full truth to her mate. "Even Methos doesn't know, and he's the oldest of us all. He's so old he doesn't even know how old he is, he was ancient long before mankind learned to reckon the passage of the centuries. In the end, it all comes down to faith, my love. Whether to believe in legends... or believe in yourself. I choose to believe in myself and the ones I love."

Dief huffed a low laugh and took her hand lightly in his jaws, pressing down. She was born into the wrong body. She was a wolf at heart; she had chosen to follow the way of the pack without even knowing she was doing so.

"Have I?" She wrapped her arms around Diefenbaker's neck and snuggled as close as she could manage, until a hundred and twenty pounds of arctic wolf was draped over her like a living blanket. "In a century I've never known anyone who understands me like you do, lovemate," she whispered. "I love you. I love you so much."

He loved her as well, Diefenbaker growled affectionately. She might choose not to be the One of her kind, but she would be his One always. No matter what happened, he would always be hers, too. Wolves mate for life, Dief rumbled; even a life as long as an Immortal's. He would always love her.

Unable to speak, Mina just buried her face in his fur and held on tight.

Diefenbaker licked her cheek. Let her sleep for now, she was weary and sick at heart. They would hunt after she rested.

"As you wish, my love," Marina murmured and closed her eyes, warm and safe and loved. That was, Mina reflected as she sank into sleep with Diefenbaker watching over her, really all she'd ever wanted...

* * *

Back at the precinct, Ray and Fraser were reviewing the information that had come in that morning on the case; having a name to run through the law enforcement databases narrowed the search tremendously and they had more to go on now. The presumed owner of the saber, Yosef Ayubin, age forty-seven, investment counselor, a citizen of Buenos Aries, Argentina with no criminal record, entered the United States nineteen days ago, passing through customs in Los Angeles, California. A check of flight records revealed he bought a one-way ticket to O'Hare airport in Chicago and arrived in the city approximately ten hours after he entered the United States... then nothing. No hotel or motel reservations, no car rentals, nothing.

"So he got to Chicago and just dropped off th' radar," Ray mused, leaning back in his chair and propping his feet up on the desk. "That seem funny to ya, Fraser?"

"He might have had a friend he was staying with in the city, Ray," Fraser suggested, sitting in the chair opposite his partner, leaning forward over Ray's wastebasket and whittling at the lump of wood he kept in Ray's desk for when he was tense. "Perhaps even the murder victim."

The teakwood chunk was a souvenir of the Laferette case- Diefenbaker had picked it up in the rough-walled basement where Jasper Gutman had been keeping little Marie Laferette a prisoner. For reasons of his own, Dief brought it back to the station and kept it under Ray's desk before offering it to Fraser one day when the Mountie was particularly agitated. The extreme hardness of the teak meant Fraser had to exert extra care and concentration to shape the wood without cutting his hands; and he suspected that was why the wolf had appropriated it and offered it to his friend.

By unspoken mutual agreement Ray and Fraser were not discussing any of the remarkable conversation they'd overheard between Marina and Archangel, stating baldly this murder was related to the group trying to kill her and her family. They would see Marina that night, and all three of them knew everything was going to come out then. Everything. All the secrets they had been forced to carry around were coming out, and Fraser just hoped this new, glorious thing between them would survive. He would fight tooth and nail to see it did and he knew Ray felt the same.

"I dunno, Frase, somehow it don't... feel right. Somethin's hinky." Some incongruity was nagging at Ray, something he couldn't put his finger on precisely.

"C'mon," Ray said abruptly, thumping his boots on the floor as he sat up. "Let's take his picture and hit the airport car rental agencies. We might git lucky."

Fraser set the chunk of teak in Ray's inbox as a paperweight, swept the shavings off his uniform and tucked the wastebasket back under Ray's desk. "You think he might have rented a car under a false name?"

"I dunno what I think, Frase," Ray sighed. "'Cept I think sittin' here ain't gonna solve this case."

"Vecchio," Huey shouted. "C'mere a sec!"

Ray glanced over at Huey and Dewey's desks. Huey was standing next to a tall, slim man in crisp khakis and a cream linen shirt miraculously unwrinkled from the heat. Something about that lean, angular face with its pale skin, smooth dark hair and those clear, piercing eyes immediately tugged at Ray and he followed the pull over to Huey's desk. Where'd he seen this guy before? Ray was sure they'd never met, but... somewhere he'd seen him before. Ray often sucked with words but he never forgot a face. He recognized that British scholar-thing from someplace...

"Guy came into file a missing persons report, might have an ID on the body downstairs," Huey said, jerking a thumb at the man staring at Ray and Fraser, his gaze sweeping over them with strangely intense curiosity. "That's Detective Vecchio an' Constable Fraser. They're in charge of the investigation. They can help you."

"Thank you, Detective Huey," he said politely, holding out a hand to Ray. "I'm Adam Pierson, detective."

Ray took and shook it, checking the guy over and trying to pin down that nagging familiarity. "Who's yer missin' person?"

"A professional colleague. Mitchell Dalton."

Ray's hand tightened so suddenly Pierson blinked and tried to extricate his fingers.

"Is something wrong, detective?"

"Nah," Ray muttered, his brain suddenly surging. Mitchell Dalton, Marina and Archangel had mentioned that name! Had wondered if Dalton was killed by the same guys who murdered Darius, the jerks who were trying to kill Mina! Abruptly resolving to say nothing about Marina at all around this guy, Ray shrugged and stuffed his hands in his jeans pockets when what he really wanted was to hustle the guy into an interview room and grill him until he cracked.

Fraser shook hands politely with Pierson and escorted him over to Ray's desk.

"How long has your colleague been missing, Mister Pierson?"

Pierson accepted a seat at Ray's desk and Fraser took up a parade rest stance behind his partner, feeling obscurely driven to guard Ray's back.

"Sixteen days, as near we can tell."

"Tell us what ya know," Ray said, bracing his elbows on the desk and listening intently.

Pierson linked his fingers together and leaned forward. "I don't know very much, unfortunately. Mitchell was here in Chicago on holiday, doing some research at several of the museums. He was due back in Vancouver four days ago. When he didn't return as scheduled and his secretary phoned his hotel, we learned he hadn't been seen in or out of his room for days."

"Dalton's a Canadian citizen?"

Pierson shook his head in negation. "No, Mitch was Belgian. But he'd been living in Argentina for the last year doing research on the Spanish Colonization of South America at the University in Buenos Aries. Chicago was supposed to be a working vacation of sorts, before he returned to Vancouver to work on collating the field research into his next paper. He never arrived."

Ray didn't have to look over at Fraser for confirmation, he could tell his partner was catching all the points of connection with their suspect, Yosef Ayubin.

"What was your relationship with Dalton?"

"As I said, we were professional colleagues, we belong to the same research group. A private fellowship specializing in historical exploration and study." Pierson dug into a hip pocket, removed his wallet and extracted a pale gray card, holding it out to Ray. "I have a business card if you want to check our credentials."

Ray took it and flipped it over his hands. It was stiff gray stoneweave cardstock with Pierson's name, an address and phone number in Vancouver in subtle soot black Old English lettering, with a strange circular logo in the top right-hand corner. Judging from the string of letters after Pierson's name, he had a couple of PhD's, too. Hadn't corrected Fraser when he called him Mister though, so the guy didn't have an ego problem, at least.

"How long have you known him?"

"Mitch?" Pierson pursed his lips and looked thoughtful. "Ten years now, at least. He joined the research fellowship right out of graduate school."

"Does Mister Dalton have any relatives we should inform?" Fraser asked politely.

Pierson shook his head. "No near ones, as far as I know. His parents were killed in a car crash years ago and Mitch was an only child. He mentioned having some cousins in Antwerp once, but I don't know their names or how you could contact them."

"He got any distinctive features?" Ray said suddenly. "Scars, tattoos, birthmarks? Stuff like dat?"

Pierson chuckled reminiscently. "Funny you should say that. Mitch had appendicitis on a dig on Egypt about six years ago and had his appendix removed. Told us all the most terrifying horror stories about Egyptian hospitals when he came back. Oh, and this." Pierson held out his right wrist and slid his sleeve up, exposing a circular tattoo that matched the logo on the business card. "It's something of a tradition when you get accepted into the Guild to get one. Most of us have them."

Ray stared at the tattoo dubiously. "Izzat you know, like, normal? Didn't think you research types went in fer that kinda thing."

Pierson chuckled wryly. "It's not mandatory or anything, but the Guild is a very old and prestigious scholastic society, detective. Our funding is all private- from donations by collectors and former members, so there's no scrabbling for grants or fighting to secure resources. It's considered quite an honor and an achievement to be accepted. An academic dream come true, in a lot of ways."

"Oh." Ray processed that. "Ya better come wi' us," he decided, standing up. "How's yer stomach?"

Pierson shrugged. "I'm not terribly squeamish, if that's what you're asking."

"Yer doin' better 'n me," Ray muttered, leading the way out of the bullpen. "I hate th' cold-meat party."

"After you," Fraser said courteously, gesturing for Pierson to precede him.

Down in the morgue, Mort was singing arias in German and for once was writing up an autopsy report instead of cutting into a corpse. Ray breathed a sigh of relief.

"Hey, Mort."

Mort glanced up and nodded a greeting. "Good morning, boys. What can I do for you?"

"We need a look at the victim again," Ray said, looking everywhere but the wall of refrigerated lockers where the body was kept.

"Which part?" Mort asked brightly.

Ray paled.

"The right hand and forearm," Fraser interceded, tugging out his backup cotton handkerchief and offering it to Ray. Marina had taken the other handkerchief with her when she left.

Ray grabbed it willingly -screw looking macho in front of Pierson, he didn't have anything to prove- and gratefully sucked in the wool, cedar and leather smell that was Fraser in his dress uniform. His pallor receded and to Ray's surprise, he caught Pierson shooting him a commiserating glance.

"Ah, zat would be zis drawer," Mort said, pulling open one of the lockers. He snapped on a pair of disposable gloves and picked up a set of tongs. "Ze victim's right hand was severed from ze right forearm in a single blow using an extremely sharp weapon." He tapped a severed hand and arm neatly laid out on the slab. "Doctor MacLeod and I ran several tests and confirmed ze saber found in ze body was used to dismember ze corpse, but was not ze weapon used to torture ze poor fellow to death."

Disturbed Mort had mentioned Mina's name, Ray watched Pierson closely, but the guy was staring in unfeigned horror at the severed body parts. It didn't look like Marina's name had even registered.

"Jesus, Mitch," Pierson muttered, swallowing hard as his eyes filled with sympathetic pain. "What the hell did they do to you?"

"You are sure zis is your friend?" Mort asked.

Pierson nodded slowly and pulling his sleeve back, held his right hand out over the severed forearm lying on the morgue slab. The half tattoo on it corresponded exactly with the complete one on Pierson's wrist.

"What happened?" he asked hoarsely. "Why is he... like that?"

"The murder is still under investigation," Fraser told him quietly, nodding to Mort to close the locker.

His face filled with compassion, Mort slid the slab shut and stripped off his gloves.

"Ze body was... not complete," Mort explained gently. "With ze... head missing, zere were no dental records to identify."

Pierson nodded, swallowed harshly and abruptly turned away. "Are we done?" he choked out.

"Yeah, we're done," Ray muttered. "Let's get outta here." Ya hadta feel for the guy, this was one fucking ugly way for a friend to die. "Thanks, Mort," Ray added as he pushed the swinging doors open.

Mort waved a hand in farewell and had already returned to his aria by the time they were out in the hallway.

"We'll need you to make a statement and fill out some forms to claim the body," Fraser pointed out, escorting Pierson up the stairs back into the bullpen.

"Certainly," Pierson replied, "whatever I can do..."

Fraser nodded as Lieutenant Welsh caught sight of them coming back into the bullpen and waved them into his office impatiently.

"Huey said you might have an ID on the victim?" Welsh asked, moderating his impatience at Pierson's shaken expression.

Ray nodded. "Yeah, the guy's name was Mitchell Dalton. Doctor Pierson here managed to ID him from a tattoo in his wrist. Real unusual one."

"Sorry about your friend," Welsh said gruffly. "We'll get the guy who did it." He leaned out his office door. "Ms. Vecchio!" he bellowed.

Frannie looked up from the huge pile of folders on her desk. Her eyes were red-rimmed and puffy as she came over but she refused to meet Ray or Fraser's gaze.

"Yes, Lieutenant?"

"Get one of the clerks to take Doctor Pierson's statement and set him up with identification and claim papers for the body. Then you can finish going over those files I gave you, and then you can take over the backlogged data entry from Officer Jackson. When you get that finished, you can do the filing for the desk sergeant, and get Detective Dewey's vacation and sick time straightened out."

"Anything you want me to do after that?" she asked sarcastically, some of her usual sass returning.

"I have a list," Welsh growled, and Frannie's face fell. "Since you have all this time for investigating innocent people as well as criminals, Ms. Vecchio, I'm sure you can handle a few extra duties along with your usual ones. Unless, of course, you feel your being treated unfairly and don't want to work here anymore?" Welsh smiled but there wasn't an ounce of humor in it. "I hear there are marvelous opportunities available in the food-service and housecleaning professions for a person of your skills."

"No, sir," Frannie mumbled, flushing, and jerked her head at Pierson. "C'mon," she said tiredly.

"Here," Ray fished out a card and handed it to Pierson. "Call me if ya think of anythin' else that might help us. Anythin' at all."

"I will, detective. Thank you." Pierson lifted an eyebrow at Frannie, clearly wondering what the heck was going on, but followed her out of the bullpen.

"Hey, Lieu," Ray said quietly, stuffing his hands in his pockets and rocking back and forth on his heels.

Welsh shot him a searching look. "Yeah, Ray?"

"Thanks." Ray jerked his head at Frannie. "Fer, ya know."

Welsh nodded shortly. "Ya can thank me by takin' care of your girlfriend." He dropped his voice and beckoned Ray and Fraser closer. "She is your girlfriend, right? Both of ya?"

Surprisingly, Fraser fielded that one. "Actually, she's Diefenbaker's mate, sir. But yes, she's part of our pack."

Welsh blinked. "She really is the wolf's girl? But you three are...?" He made a small twirling motion with his hands, at a loss how to finish the question.

"Yeah," Ray said, going a little red but grinning widely.

"In a small pack such as ours, it's not unusual for wolves to mate outside of the alpha pair in the event of sexual non-compatibility on the part of..." Fraser started to explain helpfully, but Welsh held up a hand to stop him instantly, looking mightily embarrassed.

"Now see, Constable, that is what we here in America call 'too much information'," Welsh explained, turning red and tugging at his shirt collar with nervous fingers. "Just... just keep her safe."

"Yes, sir," Fraser said immediately while Ray smirked.

"Jesus, just when I think you two can't take partnership any further," Welsh muttered. "Ya gotta go and prove me wrong. What the hell's the real Vecchio gonna think when he comes back?"

"Don' care," Ray said, blunt as hell. "Vecchio ken have his desk an' his life an' his sister an' his family back, hell, he ken even have my ex-wife if he wants, but I'm keepin' the Mountie an' the wolf. Not negotiable."

Fraser ducked his head but his sudden smile was blinding. "Understood, Ray."

Welsh snorted out a surprised laugh. "Christ. You two. Thirty years on the force and I've never seen anything like you two."

"Is that a problem, sir?" Fraser asked, rubbing his eyebrow but still smiling a funny little surprised, delighted grin.

"Hell, no," Welsh said immediately. "This precinct's got the best damn solve rate in the city. Now go get the sonofabitch who killed Dalton."

Ray nodded. "You got it, Lieutenant."

"Yes, sir."

Welsh watched them stride out of the bullpen shoulder to shoulder- perfectly in step and totally unconscious of it. "Best damn team this city's ever seen," he muttered, closing his office door behind him.

Sitting in the GTO a few minutes later, Fraser eyed his partner curiously. "What is our next move, Ray?"

"We wait. An' when Pierson comes out, we follow him."

Fraser tugged his ear. "We've seen him before, haven't we?"

"Yeah, ken you remember where?"

Fraser frowned. "No... it was recently, though. The memory is oddly... foggy."

Ray drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. "Same here. Like somethin' I saw in a dream, almost..."

* * *

Halfway across the city, Marina and Diefenbaker were approaching the warehouse on the edge of the projects where they felt the faint tingle of another Immortal. Marina had left her Jeep at home and borrowed Lotus' battered old red Civic, knowing it would attract no attention there. Her Jeep would have been 'jacked in minutes.

Marina parked the car on the street a couple of blocks up from the warehouse and killed the engine. The street was littered with trash and the buildings were grimy. Rusty hulks of abandoned cars had teenagers with angry eyes leaning against them and younger kids playing in the streets had a constant wary attitude that said they were used to violence exploding around them without warning.

"Place reminds me of Beirut," Marina muttered to Diefenbaker, who was sitting in the seat beside her, growling under his breath. "Or Sarajevo. This neighborhood's a goddamn war zone."

They would need to walk carefully in this place, Dief growled. Their pack was known here, and commanded respect, but to show a moment's weakness would cause the scavengers that skulked here to attack. But as long as their fangs were sharp and keen, they could walk here and not fear.

"Yea, though I walk through the valley in the shadow of death- I will fear no evil," Mina murmured, getting out of the car and holding the door open for Dief. "Because I am the meanest son-of-a-bitch in the valley."

Diefenbaker rumbled a laugh. Exactly.

Marina shut the door and locked it, for all the good it would do.

She'd changed before they headed out, into the close-fitting shiny black leathers she favored for dueling, together with the long black leather coat with the concealed sheath for her katana. She'd also stripped off all her jewelry and pulled back her hair in a tight, high ponytail that would not obstruct her vision in a fight, and the two lovely new pistols Archangel gave her were tucked under her coat. It was too hot for the scorching summer weather, but she'd take sweaty over unprepared any day.

She looked like Death packaged for a high-fashion runway in Paris, but the pack bruises marking her neck stood out, incongruous but highly noticeable against her skin.

Diefenbaker growled and trotted a step ahead of her as they walked down the filthy, cracked sidewalk and Mina could feel more than one set of watchful eyes following her and Dief as they got closer to their target. The warehouse was an ugly old cinderblock building, with windows so coated with grime they were impossible to see through and covered with layers of graffiti so old no trace of the original color of the walls could be seen. A narrow alley ran along one side of the warehouse and Dief and Mina slipped into it and off the street.

"Think we should circle around and check out the back before we go in?" Marina asked Dief quietly.

Diefenbaker growled a sharp angry warning and Mina's right hand dove under her coat and settled over the butt of her Sig.

"Yo' a long way fr'm home, pretty lady," a voice behind her drawled.

That was so absurdly correct a laugh got past her lips before she could stop it.

"Brother, you got that right," she admitted, turning around slowly.

Five guys, all young, all black -all attitude- and all sporting purple gang colors and a strange, two-headed dog on their vests and jackets were sidling out of a dirty doorway behind a battered dumpster in the trash-littered alley, and blocking her way back to the street.

Diefenbaker's growl was a flat, uncompromising warning. It said plain as day anyone coming too close would lose more than just blood.

"Call off yer dog," the youth in the front said warningly. A mass of tangled, jet-black dreadlocks gathered up in a purple bandana added almost six inches to his height, and his jittery attitude and rancid sweat-smell both stank of methamphetamine.

"He's not a dog," Marina said calmly. "He's a wolf."

That stopped them all dead in their tracks.

One of the guys hanging toward the back, hulking and bulky with bare arms like tree trunks jerked his head at Dief.

"I know that wolf," he said, his voice rough and scratchy, betraying he didn't talk much. "That's th' Mountie's wolf, ain't it?"

"Yes, it is." Marina gave them a smile that showed her eyeteeth.

Dreadlocks backed up a step as Diefenbaker growled louder, baring his fangs when Mina showed hers.

"That nut-job who runs wi' th' kick-'em-in-the-head cop over ta th' 2-7?" he said guardedly, his dreadlocks bobbing as he jittered nervously. "Th' ones who caught th' dude really killed Jamal?"

"Jamal?" Mina's brows knotted and she shrugged, indicating her lack of recognition. "Sorry, Ray and Fraser haven't told me that story yet."

"Whatcha doing with th' cop 'n th' Mountie's wolf?"

Marina assessed the tone of everything said so far and gambled. "I'm the cop and the Mountie's girl," she said sweetly, and her grip tightened on the Sig under her coat.

It worked. The guy standing in the back of the group, the one Mina noticed had been watching and listening, held up a hand. With a shaved head, John Lennon sunglasses, a cellular headset and an air of razor-sharp street smarts, he was unquestionably the leader. The other four backed off and let him approach her.

Dief's warning growl let him know when he'd gotten close enough.

He was smart; he stopped at Dief's growl. "This ain't yer turf, girl, whadda ya want here?"

"I'm hunting," she replied, and waited.

His gaze sharpened and behind the sunglasses his eyes narrowed. "Huntin' what?"

"Not what," she corrected, letting her hand drop out of her coat slowly. "Who."

His stance shifted, and when he spoke again the change in his voice told Mina he was fishing for information... but he knew something, too.

"Who you huntin'? Whadda they look like?"

Curiouser and curiouser. "They'd be strangers, probably white, almost British looking," she said slowly. "Suits, topcoats, but not mob guys. They'd keep to themselves, mostly move at night and try not to be seen. They might have had a prisoner with them when they first arrived, but not any more." She paused, wondering if that was a flash of recognition behind those mirrored lenses. "And some of them probably have a circle tattoo on their right wrist. Strange, old-looking thing." His attitude gave nothing away but Marina could tell she was onto something here. Who were these guys?

Sunglasses folded his arms and stared back at Marina challengingly. "What's that got to do with us?"

"They're a hit squad," she said baldly, deciding to tell him at least part of the truth. The kid was sharp, he'd catch that she wasn't lying. "They've got mercs -pros, they can afford them- with automatic weapons doing their dirty work. And they won't give a shit who gets in their way and when they're done, they'll leave the bodies on your turf and the cops all over your ass."

The worried buzz that ran through the four standing back and listening told Marina she'd hit pay dirt.

Sunglasses shot them a glare over his shoulder and they went quiet.

"Bodies show up on th' street all th' time. Why should we care?"

Marina cocked an eyebrow at him. "You know that corpse they found in the parking garage? The one without a head, chopped to pieces?"

The cocky air he'd been wearing vanished. "What about it?"

"They're the ones who did it. You really want that kinda shit going down on your turf? Cops crawling all over the place? Reporters sticking their noses into your business dealings? Maybe the mayor or the DA deciding they need to make an example of this neighborhood?"

He swore, shockingly graphic and vicious. "Fuck, girl, don't nobody need that shit goin' down in th' hood. Bad for business." He went on the offensive. "Won't the cops be after ya if ya go takin' on these dudes?"

Marina smiled, baring her teeth again. "I have someone a lot higher up than the Mayor or the Police Commissioner backing me. Someone with a vested interest in making sure this gets taken care of quick, quiet, and off the record."

"Who?"

Her smile softened, just a trifle, but Mina could tell he caught it. "Let's just say I have a guardian angel looking out for me."

He switched tactics. "So what's your beef wi' these dudes?"

For just an instant, a terrible, unholy rage burned in Marina's eyes, turning them into roaring hellpits of blue flame. "They murdered a friend of mine. A monk, a good man. They cut him down on holy ground and left his headless corpse lying in the middle of his own church. And for that, I will kill every last one of them."

The icy fury laced through her explanation made the other four back off another step, unnerved. Nobody who lived on the street wanted to get caught in the middle of a vendetta. That was asking to die.

"Murder's against th' law, ya know," Sunglasses pointed out, standing his ground.

"I'm not a cop, or a Mountie," Marina said levelly. "I don't follow anybody's rules but my own." She put a hand on the lapel of her long coat and slowly opened it, exposing both her gun and the hilt of her sword. "And the rules I fight by are a helluva lot older than the law."

"Huh." He stared at her for another second and shook his head. "Yer huntin' in Rollin' 22 turf, samurai-girl, but happens we owe yer homeboys one. Anythin' we ken do ta help?"

That Marina hadn't expected, it caught her off guard; and she paid him the compliment of thinking the request over seriously. "Can you get the kids on this block off the street for the rest of the afternoon?" she asked. "If shit goes down... I don't want anybody caught in the crossfire."

Sunglasses lifted his eyebrows in surprise but nodded slowly. "You are th' cop 'n th' Mountie's girl." He turned away and touching the headset in his ear, muttered something into it, waited for a response, then cut the call. "Done."

He jerked his head at the other four Rollin' 22's hanging back, and two disappeared out the mouth of the alley while the other two vanished back through the door half-hidden behind the dumpster.

"Good huntin', samurai-girl," he said ironically.

"Hey," Mina said, her voice pitched to carry no further than him.

"Yeah?" He stopped by the corner of the dumpster and looked back.

"Thanks," she told him quietly. "I owe you one. You ever need the favor returned- Sheridan's Wharf is my turf. Just ask for the Highlander."

He slid his sunglasses down his nose with a hand and looked over the frames at her. Behind the mirrored purple glass his eyes were warm brown and surprisingly friendly.

"We'll remember that, Highlander."

He ducked behind the dumpster, the door closed with a rusty creak and she and Dief were alone in the alley once more.

"Well, that was interesting," she told Dief wryly, and they slipped around the back of the building together.

* * *

Back at the precinct house, Methos filled out paperwork to claim Mitch Dalton's body, filed a judiciously worded statement about Dalton's activities during the last few weeks, and pumped the brown-haired civilian aide for information. It proved appallingly easy; all he had to do was inquire delicately if she was in trouble with the gruff, no-nonsense Lieutenant and a nonstop whiny tirade poured out.

Her name, it transpired, was Francesca Vecchio, and she was the younger sister of the detective Marina was working with on Mitch's murder. Methos could tell she was lying about being the sister of the blond detective he'd met earlier, but that was irrelevant. Francesca had an almost obsessive fixation on the Mountie, Fraser -which accounted for the fact she worked at a police station but dressed like a prostitute for law-enforcement fetishists- and she despised Mina for catching Fraser's attention when she was unable to.

Even better, a fair amount of the information she blurted out correlated with what Methos learned about Marina in the last few days. When Joe called, filled him in on Mitch's murder, explained the rogue Watcher connection and asked him to come to Chicago to claim the body and help out Marina, Methos agreed on the spot. Damn, for the chance to see Mina again? He'd have done anything.

He'd also figured out immediately Joe was hiding something, so he hacked the Watcher mainframe and got the unedited surveillance photos and reports that Joe Dawson had been receiving. And went utterly, completely ballistic.

Fortunately for Joe Dawson, he was still en route from Sydney, Australia, or Methos probably would have clocked him one straight to the jaw for lying to him for over a year. The photos of Marina were horrific- he'd seen plague victims less scrawny and exhausted than she was now. His and Duncan's beautiful fledgling, their lover, their friend, their apprentice... was a bare shadow of her former self and obviously grieving so deeply she was borderline suicidal. That was a terribly dangerous state for a young Immortal; a second's hesitation in a duel could -and would- be deadly.

After reaming Joe out furiously over the phone, Methos dug out the complete file on Saladin, faked himself a new identity as 'Doctor Adam Pierson', research scholar from Vancouver, packed his sword and caught the first plane to Chicago.

Once Methos reached Chicago very late Sunday night, his first move was to contact Marina's Watcher, a graduate student named Cody Allenby. Allenby was living in the wharf Marina purchased and was renovating, and dating one of Mina's scholarship students, a young woman named Theresa. According to Allenby, he and several of the other scholarship students helped Fraser and Vecchio -and their pet wolf- move into the apartment next to Marina's this past weekend. Apparently their relationship was something other than strictly professional...

Reviewing the information the black detective, Jack Huey, was willing to give him on Mitch's case, Methos forced himself to scrawl his signature to the last of the release paperwork and concentrate on what Francesca was saying. Damnation, but that nasal, whiny Chicago tone grated on his nerves. Made him long for the soft rounded vowels of Duncan and Marina's highland accents.

"...so how was I supposed to know someone was trying to kill her? Not that I can blame them, you know?" Francesca leaned forward over the desk, blatantly displaying her propped-up cleavage for Methos while simultaneously lowering her eyes modestly. The dichotomy made Methos long for the old days when he could have just thrown her into a pit of wild dogs for some peace and quiet.

I can't believe she's saying this, Methos reflected, stunned. She's just gotten into a shitload of trouble for outing a former federal agent in hiding and she's babbling the entire thing to a complete stranger? How stupid and self-centered could this woman be?

The ringing of his cell phone was a welcome reprieve. Methos held up a finger to halt Francesca's stream of drivel and flipped open the phone.

"Doctor Pierson."

"Pierson, we've got trouble."

Methos straightened up in his chair, being careful not to betray his agitation. That was Allenby's voice.

"Is that so?" he said noncommittally.

"MacLeod must have a lead on Saladin she's not sharing with those two cops- she and the wolf are down in the middle of the projects checking out some old warehouse. I can't follow her- that neighborhood's a deathtrap. I nearly got carjacked just following her to the building."

"Could you give me the address and directions, please?"

Allenby rattled it off and when Methos gestured at Francesca's hot pink post-it pad, she slid it over and handed him a pen with a flutter of false lashes. Methos pulled off the top sheet and copied the information down, keeping it out of Francesca's line of sight. He was taking no chance of leaving an impression behind or letting her see where he was going- the woman was a bloody information sieve.

"I'll take care of it," Methos said pleasantly, betraying not a trace of his considerable agitation. "I'll call you later and let you know how it goes."

"Right."

Methos snapped his phone closed and forced himself to smile at Francesca.

"I have to be going. You'll keep me informed of how the case progresses?"

"Certainly," Francesca cooed, trailing her fingers over his wrist. "I'll call you personally as soon as you can pick up the body, too."

Good Lord, she made it sound like he was going to tuck Mitch's dismembered corpse into a damned carry-on for the trip home.

"Thank you," Methos got out, and easing his fingers out from under her clutching grip, made his escape with more relief than when he'd ditched a horde of rampaging Mongols during the construction of the Great Wall of China.

* * *

Outside in the GTO, Ray and Fraser sank down in the leather seats and watched as Adam Pierson loped down the steps of the building and got into a rental car, a late-model silver Lumina. He pulled out hurriedly and headed for the cross-town expressway.

"Let's go," Ray muttered, revving the Goat's engine and following.

* * *