Welcome to the wonderful world of A Funny Little Apocalypse Coming, or as we affectionately call it AFLAC.

Our world is set in an Alternate Universe that dares to ask that ages old question... What would happen if an ancient and completely crazy ex-general decided to try be June Cleaver? This is just what happens when Madison Harris, once a general in Hannibal's army, sets up house in a settled, family oriented, middle-class subdivision of Seacouver. Join us as we discover what happens when a peaceful, little community of mostly normal mortals are suddenly confronted by a... well... a gathering... of Immortals.

This AU contains canon Immortals who have died in the series and movies, and yet continue to live in our world. Canon Immortals who have never met may meet here, and probably will. The focus of the story, however, is on the Original Characters, of which there are quite a few.

The authors, known as the ImmortalAlliance, are a group of five individual writers (with the occasional guest writer). Individually, we are known as Bladegirl, Madison, Ronlemagne, Zalika, and Zephyr. We first starting writing together on a chain fic where we first created our original characters, found we shared common interests, and a similar, if slightly twisted view, of the world. We decided to take our characters to their own little world and AFLAC was born. Since this is a collaborative effort, but we are each writers in our own right, we will start each chapter by telling which author or authors were involved.

All the Canon Characters belong to Davis/Panzer, as do the original concepts we are so happily borrowing. We are not making a cent off of this, but enjoying it immensely all the same. All the original characters belong to their authors and may not be used without their explicit permissions.

Chapter One by Madison

As she sat astride her horse, smiling grimly as she surveyed the army marching past, Londinium allowed herself the pleasure of feeling the warm afternoon sun on her back. Hannibal would be pleased. They were making a name for themselves as they traveled inexorably toward Rome. They were a force to be feared; strong, fearsome, ruthless, and unstoppable. By the time they reached the gates of the City itself, the people should just lay down their weapons in terror, and plead for their lives. She wondered, idly, if Hannibal would indeed spare them.

Her musings were interrupted as a messenger ran toward her. He stopped before her and, falling to one knee, bowed his head to the ground, waiting to be acknowledged. Londinium watched the passing troops for a few minutes before turning her horse to face the waiting man. Looking down from her position of power, she finally spoke. “Give me your report.”

Without standing, or looking up, the man gave his report, word for word as it was given to him. “Valerium sends his greetings to the General. He has returned and wishes to report that there is one great house and two small villages ahead. He reports that initial scouting shows no threat of resistance. He recommends that we march through.”

Londinium turned to an aide that waited at her side. “See that he is given rest.” Then without giving the messenger another glance, she spurred her horse forward. She rode quickly past the marching troops, her long red hair flowing behind her, giving the image that fire followed her as she rode. When she reached a small collection of tents, she halted, and jumping from her horse, strode quickly to where a man stood at a small table, studying maps rolled out before him.

“Val!” Londinium greeted her Second, and her closest friend, effusively. “How long until we arrive at Rome?”

Valerium looked up from his maps and smiled broadly at the approaching woman. “General, greetings.” Londinium was struck, as she often was when she came upon her Second, by the ease with which he wore his authority. His manner here, in front of the troops, was essentially the same as it was as when they were alone. It was a quality she admired, but could not afford to emulate. “It's only a matter of days.” He pointed at the map on the table. “We're close, now. The only thing in our way are these villages.” He drew a line with his finger that intersected several small patches of humanity. “They shouldn't slow us down much. Our scouts report they're simple farms. There are no weapons, or warriors, in fact, very few men.”

“They won't slow us at all.” Londinium said, looking at the map. They were much closer than she had thought. Hannibal would be pleased with her report tonight. “Burn them.”

“Burn them?” The man before her wore an expression that betrayed his confusion and shock. “But it's unnecessary. They provide no threat, no resistance.”

Londinium gave the man before her a dark look. Had there been anyone foolish enough to eavesdrop, they would have thought the young-looking general had grown suddenly taller than her usual 5. “I decide what is necessary.”

“Londinium.” Valerium lowered his voice as he talked to his friend, and not his commander. “They are mostly woman and children.”

“And so the greater impact.” Val looked into cold, blue eyes, and saw no trace of the woman he called his friend. “Do as I say, or I will find another who can obey orders... and you shall share their fate.”

The general walked back to her horse, mounted and rode away to report to Hannibal.

Brrrrrrrrrrrrrrng

The jarring sound of the phone ringing caused the young-looking woman to jolt upright. She sat there trying lose the encampment in her head and replace it with the bedroom before her eyes. She blinked against the morning sun showing through the slats in the blinds, and put down the cavalry saber that had, almost miraculously, appeared in her hands. When the phone rang again, impossibly loud, she picked it up as quickly as she could, knocking over the nearly empty bottle of Jack Daniels that sat next to it.

“Damn!” she shouted into the phone.

“Most people say hello, before they swear at me.” The voice on the other end carried the bemused sarcasm that Madison recognized all too well.

“They don't know you as well as I do, Adam.” Madison ran her fingers through her hair, frowning both at the still unfamiliar length, and at the fact that, beneath her fingers, her head was throbbing. “What do you want at...” She picked up the clock and stared at it in disbelief. “Six o'clock?”

“Interesting thing.” The voice on the other end of the phone was irritatingly jovial, and just loud enough to grate. “I woke to find that someone had called and left six separate messages on my voice mail, all demanding to know if my friend was really going to show up and play at her party.” There was a sudden high-pitched tone that seemed to drag on for at least an hour. “Oh, sorry, finger slipped and hit the button. If I recall, that last call contained a threat that involved chains and hot irons if he wasn't, and I quote, ‘the best damned thing this neighborhood had ever seen.'”

Madison grimaced, but couldn't stop herself. She had to ask. “He is coming, isn't he? Methos, you were the one who convinced me a blues player would be just the thing for my party. The party planner, what's his name... Marcelo. He said a nice quartet would be better.” Madison started frantically pushing the button on the intercom that was connected to the apartment above the garage. “Dammit, Methos! You promised.”

“Relax.” The voice was now openly laughing. “He's coming, and so am I, thanks for asking. I wouldn't miss this for the world.”

A new voice was added to the conversation, as the intercom began to talk. “What can I do for you, Ms. Harris?”

The voice of Madison's personal assistant was a welcome oasis of calm and quiet. “Riccio, what time is Marcelo going to be here?”

“Seven, this morning, Ms. Harris.” There was a sound of rustling paper. Madison mused that no matter what time she summoned Isabella Riccio, she always sounded wide awake, and she always had papers at hand. “He wants to be here before the decorators and caterer.”

“Ok, good. Thanks, Riccio.” Madison was about to hang up the phone, when she remembered she had been talking to two people.

“Adam?”

“So glad you remembered me.” There was a sound that Madison was pretty sure was a bottle being opened in the distance. “Look, Maddy.” The voice lost its irony and sounded sincere, maybe even concerned. “It's not too late to cancel this thing if you want to.”

Madison carried the phone with her to bathroom and stared in the mirror at a face that wore conservative red-brown hair, smartly cut, where she was used to seeing bright red spikes. “Now why would I want to do that? I have to get to know my neighbors sometime.” She looked longingly at the jeans and t-shirt that lay wadded up in the corner, and then smoothed a wrinkle in the tank top she would be wearing above the khaki skirt she had chosen to wear today.

“No reason.” The voice paused. “I'm bringing a friend. I hope you don't mind.”

Madison sighed and reached behind the curtain to turn on the shower. “No. Bring them. The more the merrier, I guess.”

Chapter Two by Bladegirl

Cheery sunlight streamed through each window that Donald passed as he left the master bedroom and came downstairs, through the neat dining room and into the spotless kitchen. Donald never noticed the sunlight, the neatness, or the spotlessness, though; his mind was elsewhere.

“Morning!” chirped Ruth with a bright smile, her short blonde hair neatly coifed as always as she stood on tiptoe to reach into a cabinet for a mug for his coffee. “I bought some of those peach Danish yesterday, and there are cinnamon raisin bagels in the refrigerator.”

Not bothering to point out that he hated Danish and that cinnamon raisin bagels were the favorite of their visiting eldest son, Louis, not his, Donald bypassed the fridge and opened the bread drawer, opting for simple toast. “Honey, where's the bread?”

“It's right there, in the drawer.”

“No, this is Louis's 96-grain stuff that feels like particle board in your mouth.”

She slapped him lightly on the arm. “Oh, what a silly exaggeration. Anyway, it's only six-grain.”

With a sigh, Donald closed the drawer and accepted the offered mug. He took a sip and grimaced. “What happened to this coffee?”

Ruth beamed, her still-pretty face exuding delight that her husband's uncultured palate had discerned a difference. “Louis brought it for us! It's one of those exotic blends, Almond-Vanilla-Raspberry. Isn't it delicious?” She took an appreciative sip from her own mug, which was embossed in gold with the words, “Planet's Greatest Mom, Love, Louis.” Donald thought she quivered a little in her enjoyment of the beverage, which was slightly disturbing.

“Do we have any coffee-flavored coffee?”

Ruth's expression conveyed that he seemed determined to be difficult. “No, not already made. I can make up a fresh…”

The phone rang, and Donald grabbed the receiver of the cordless mounted on the wall, shaking his head as he answered to indicate that he didn't want her to go to that trouble. “Hello, Dr. Os… Osz… Oszszy…”

“Just say ‘Oz,' Rochelle,” Donald told her. “Everybody does.”

“Dr. Oz, this is Rochelle from Manpower.” Although Donald had already demonstrated awareness of her identity, Rochelle was apparently incapable of deviating from the script she'd drawn up in her mind prior to dialing. Perhaps this accounted for the unsatisfactory way his account had been handled thus far. “I'm returning your call from yesterday.”

“Yes, actually, I tried to call you several times yesterday,” Donald said, sitting at the kitchen table and forcing himself to drink the coffee. He flashed a brave smile at Ruth in hopes of some conciliation. “I told Patty not to come back today, and I thought that perhaps we could go over my receptionist requirements again, since this is the third one I've sent back.”

“Well, Doctor, all the people I've sent so far have had the skills you requested… computer-literate, fluent in MS Office, experienced in filing insurance claims…”

Closing his eyes, Donald strove to keep the edge out of his voice. “Yes, those are the technical requirements. But in a psychology clinic, there are some personality requirements, as I mentioned to you initially. Danielle, the first one you sent, chewed gum incessantly. She also spoke loudly, so there were privacy issues.”

“Danielle told me she felt she had to shout to be heard through the glass partition between her desk and the client counter.”

“Well, my old receptionist solved that problem by opening the sliding door in the partition.” Sighing, he took another sip of nuts, vanilla, and fruit laced with a trace of coffee.

Rochelle cleared her throat and continued. “Then there was Bert…” She paused, clearly uncomfortable. “Well, I wasn't going to tell you this, since he didn't sound very credible, but Bert claimed to have been physically assaulted. He said you pulled him on top of you.”

Donald jumped up, spilling the rest of the uncoffee all over a floral fabric placemat. Ruth clucked and dove into clean-up mode, and Donald moved to the large opening between the kitchen and dining room. “I didn't assault him! In the middle of a session, I realized I needed a file, and I opened the door to find him pressed against it, trying to listen! He knocked me over and fell on top of me.”

“Oh, wow. Dr. Oz, I just… um… wow.”

“Yes, wow! And then there was Patty, who was fine, except she was pathologically nervous. She was a poster child for nervousness, a bundle of edgy mannerisms. She made my clients anxious. One of them did nothing but sob for an entire session, because Patty had given a little scream every time the phone rang while the client was waiting for her session.”

“Do you want more coffee?” Ruth was saying. He shook his head, pointing to his watch to indicate his lack of time to fully savor a second helping of such a delectable brew.

“All right, well, I do have someone else I can send today, as it turns out,” Rochelle said, apparently choosing not to comment upon the third failure. “Her name is Miranda Parker, and…”

“Fine, send her on over. I'll be at the office before nine, and my first client comes in at ten. We'll have just enough time to cover the basic procedures.”

Hanging up, he moved to give Ruth a quick peck on the cheek. “You're not eating anything for breakfast?” she demanded.

“It's okay. The coffee was fruit-flavored.” Winking at her disapproving scowl, Donald turned to leave.

Chapter Three by Bladegirl

Donald was in the garage and just opening the car door when Ruth hurried after him. “Remember, we have the party tonight!”

Donald stopped dead in momentary disoriented panic, thinking that she meant they were hosting a party that he'd forgotten about. No, that wasn't possible – Ruth would be in a state of total manic activity right now. So, they were attending a party, somewhere.

“Don't tell me. You've forgotten it.” Ruth's voice was both resigned and accusatory, a neat vocal trick, really.

“Um, no, I haven't. It's, uh… for the Symphony League, right?” When Ruth merely folded her arms, he tried again. “The Friends of the Library? Ballet Boosters? The… the, uh…” Realizing that there was no payoff possible at this point, Donald sagged a bit. “Oh, all right, what is it?”

“Madison Harris's housewarming party. I've reminded you about it three times.”

“Oh. Right. I remember now.” His heart sank. Their new neighbor seemed to have difficulty relating to people. He could only imagine the discomfort of a party thrown by her. Begging off was not a possibility, though – Ruth had already served as a one-woman Welcome Wagon, and considered it the duty of the entire household to help the new arrival feel at home.

“So please, try not to be late tonight.”

“I'll try, really.” Donald's practice had grown unexpectedly in the last few months when a colleague and former grad-school classmate had inexplicably become a contestant in a new reality series involving eight mental health professionals living in a house in a remote area, intent on diagnosing one another's various issues. All the guy's clients had been referred to Donald and another unlucky former classmate, and Ruth was quickly losing her patience with her husband's increased workload. Already, she'd been late to several social functions and had actually attended two of them without him. “It's Friday,” he said, trying to reassure her. “I shouldn't be late tonight.”

Smiling with only a trace of doubt, Ruth, gave a little wave and turned to go back inside. “Before you leave, would you fill up the finch feeder?” she tossed over her shoulder. “I have such a hard time reaching it.”

Donald grabbed the finch-food bag from a metal shelf and hurried into the backyard. The feeder was located outside the window next to the kitchen table, and as he rounded the corner, he caught sight of their neighbor, Madison, standing at her own kitchen window sipping from a mug. He felt a stab of envy, certain that what she was drinking wouldn't taste like vanilla or fruit or rose petals or whatnot. He filled the feeder efficiently, and as he hung it back on its hook, he made eye contact with Madison. She seemed momentarily at a loss, then flashed him a huge smile somewhat reminiscent of a Pez dispenser. This was accompanied by a wave so energetic she might have been trying to flag down an ambulance. Waving and smiling in a more subdued manner, Donald replaced the bag of birdseed, got into the car, and headed for work.

Driving along the gently winding streets of the Quiet Springs subdivision, home to the Oszszyniec clan for over 20 years, Donald had to wonder what had brought his new neighbor here. She'd moved in with some sort of underling she referred to as Riccio, although Ruth was convinced that they were actually a “couple.” Donald, however, recognized a sense of command when he saw it. In fact, his first experience with Madison had been rather unnerving. She'd been standing in her backyard, which adjoined with the Ozzes' backyard, staring intently at a bush with her hands on her hips. Donald was about to do some weed-trimming, but approached the fence to introduce himself first.

As he'd cleared his throat, she had started and whirled around in a defensive stance. She'd even started to reach behind her as though for a gun, although he had clearly seen from behind that she wasn't carrying one. The look in her eyes was fierce, cold… almost warlike. Immediately, she'd altered her posture to something less predatory, and they had proceeded with the introduction. But the weed-trimming had suddenly taken on a higher priority, and Donald hadn't lingered over conversation – which seemed to relieve his neighbor.

His stomach growled abruptly, reminding him to stop at the first available Starbuck's for some coffee and a muffin to take with him. He felt guilty for being glad that Louis wouldn't be staying with them past Sunday, and not just because the empty nest seemed oddly crowded, with Louis's childhood friend Colin (an honorary Oz) staying with Donald and Ruth while on medical leave from the Los Angeles Times. Their oldest child, a rising star in the Seattle corporate world, was in town to participate in a ceremony at the high school, his alma mater, which was inaugurating an athletic scholarship in his name. Louis had excelled in both academics and sports, but it was his accomplishments as quarterback that people still talked about.

Not that Donald wasn't proud of him, but somehow, relating to Louis had just never been easy. It wasn't just that their interests were different – there was something distant about Louis, a sense of… enclosure. Not at all like his siblings. Bambi and Gary were open books to Donald, and he'd always enjoyed a warm relationship with each of them, filled with understanding and humor. The humor had come in handy. Neither of the younger Oz offspring had managed the kind of full-steam-ahead successes that Louis had achieved with apparent ease.

Gary, unlike his big brother, was slight of build and not too interested in sports. He was artistic and an accomplished pianist. Somehow, Ruth had convinced him that engineering was his true calling, and the kid had landed a scholarship to MIT. He was due to arrive home soon from his freshman year, after only sporadic communications since he'd gone back after Christmas break. Donald was sort of dreading it, sure that something was going on, and that it wouldn't be a good something.

Bambi… well, Bambi was the middle child, and Donald had always tried to pay her extra attention. Unfortunately, so had Ruth. His dear wife had spent huge amounts of energy instructing their daughter in how to be better. Happier. Kinder. Prettier. Not so fidgety. Smiley-er. Less slouchy… The result was a young woman who didn't know what to do, never got it right, and was miserably unsure of herself. Donald wished that his own affirmations of confidence in her could have made up for it, but he knew that a mother's influence was just too much to counter.

The word “counter” had barely crossed his mind when a Starbuck's appeared on the corner, and Donald's thoughts simplified to a mere blob of inarticulate need. He pulled into the lot and hurried inside, seeking sustenance for what was sure to be a very long day.

Chapter Four by Zephyr

Steering her little green convertible through Seacouver's downtown streets, Miranda Parker carefully followed the directions given to her over the phone earlier that morning. There was supposed to be a small medical park located behind the entrance to a donut shop on the corner of Main and Pacific, but her unfamiliarity with the city streets was causing her some difficulty.

“Why can't these streets have nice, easy to follow numbers?” she muttered, consulting her notes again. Just then, she caught the flash of the bright pink and orange sign with the steaming coffee cup logo out of the corner of her right eye. There, just beyond the garish plastic sign pointing to the drive-thru, was another far more elegant white sign with gold lettering nestled in a bed of flowering shrubs.

“Williams Memorial Medical Park…that's it!” Quickly downshifting, she slowed just in time to turn in at the entrance without barking her tires….much. She stopped for a moment to read the directory just inside the entrance, and noted that there appeared to be only a dozen or so offices listed. There were two family practices, two gynecologists, three dentists, a hematologist, two dermatologists, an orthodontist, a podiatrist, and one psychologist. “2D, that's the one,” she murmured to herself as she slowly drove into the park.

The buildings each housed two offices and were strategically arranged around a parking lot shaded with large plantings of ornamental trees and shrubs. Nodding appreciatively at her surroundings, she found a parking space near the entrance to office 2D and pulled in.

She didn't get out immediately, however. First, she grabbed a brush from her purse and quickly pulled it through her wind-blown hair to tame the blonde shoulder-length tresses into something more suitable for an office. Next, she turned her sun visor down so that she could check her makeup one last time in the vanity mirror before going in. She didn't normally wear much …just some mascara to accent her dark brown eyes and blush to highlight her prominent cheekbones, but she pulled the top off of a tube of shell pink lipstick, gave it a twist and applied it to her full lips for a little extra polish. Finishing with a quick inspection of her straight white teeth, she stuffed everything back into her purse and opened her door.

Unfolding her long legs from the tiny car, she stood gracefully and straightened the skirt of her crisp linen suit before walking up the sidewalk toward the office. Expecting the typically sterile décor of most doctors' waiting rooms, she was pleasantly surprised upon opening the door. The area was tastefully decorated in softly muted tones, with potted plants and comfortable chairs arranged around a low table set with magazines and a small dish garden. Against one wall a large saltwater aquarium gurgled pleasantly under an abstract painting done in soothing colors that blended well with the relaxed and cozy atmosphere of the room.

All in all, if it weren't for the counter with the glass partition on the wall opposite the door, the room could almost be taken for any suburban living room. She liked it.

Just then, a man appeared behind the glass carrying a sheaf of papers and looking somewhat distracted. With salt-and-pepper hair and distinguished features, he was reasonably attractive, she decided, in a father-knows-best sort of way.

Noticing her, he smiled and set down his papers as she approached the counter. So far, so good, he thought to himself, noting the young woman's calm, professional appearance. Sliding the glass partition aside, he said simply, “Please tell me you're here from Manpower.”

“Why, yes sir, I am!” she answered, extending her hand through the opening. “You must be Dr. …Ozzy …Ozzy-neece…?”

Donald chuckled, and resisted the urge to say “gezhundheit” as he shook her hand.

“I'm sorry…” She blushed, smiling an embarrassed smile. “That wasn't right, was it.”

“Not even close,” he grinned. He found the soft southern drawl she had wrapped around her attempt at his family name charming. Opening the door separating the waiting room from the rest of the office, he motioned for her to come back with a wave of his hand. “But don't worry about it, just call me Dr. Oz……everyone else does.”

Chapter Five by Bladegirl

 

A tall blond man came in through the back door. His gray t-shirt sported a dark V-shaped sweat stain on both the front and back, but the company name “MegaSoft” and their well-known globe-in-the-hand logo were still clearly legible. Mopping his brow with the navy blue sweatshirt he carried, he opened the refrigerator and got out a bottle of water.

In his features one could easily see he was a blend of both his parents, but somehow in him the blending had achieved perfection. He had his mother's hair and bright blue eyes, his father's nose and smile, but it all worked together to make him strikingly good-looking, and uniquely Louis.

The morning run was a ritual that he had started in his freshman year of high school, and he'd maintained it regularly even through college. These days, the demands of his position as a marketing communications manager for MegaSoft left him less time for fitness rituals than he liked, but being back in his childhood home, far from the concerns of the corporate world, he could afford to indulge himself.

“Good morning!”

Louis swallowed the last mouthful of water from the bottle to return his mother's smile as she came into the kitchen. “Morning,” he said, wiping his face with the sweatshirt again. “Beautiful day, isn't it?”

“It's always a beautiful day when you're back home,” Ruth said, pouring him a cup of coffee. She'd already put a bagel into the toaster. “So, I suppose you've noticed all the changes in the neighborhood.”

Louis laughed. “Nothing ever changes here. That's what I love about it.”

“What do you mean? The Gellers put in one of those hideous above-ground pools, Lois Harvey had an extension built onto her garage – which she's still trying to get the contractor to come back and finish properly – and the Mendelssohns had that huge tree removed before it could fall through the roof. Oh, and they bought an even bigger SUV. I think they might have used it to pull the tree out by the roots.”

Sniffing the coffee in the mug she handed him, Louis smiled in recognition of the aroma and took an appreciative sip. “That's what I mean. Nothing important ever changes. Quiet Springs is always… Quiet Springs.”

Ruth placed a plate of freshly buttered bagels on a placemat and Louis sat down to eat. Ruth ran a hand through his tousled hair, staying on the surface because it was sweaty underneath. “We also have a new neighbor, Madison Harris. She bought the Sylvans' place. She's having a housewarming party tonight. You should come.”

With a knowing expression, Louis chewed a bite and glanced sideways at his mother. “Do I detect another attempt at matchmaking?”

“Heavens, no! I think she has a ‘friend.'”

“A ‘friend?'”

“Oh, you know. Another woman lives with her. Although she seems to live in that apartment over the garage. Probably for the sake of appearances.”

Louis hid a smile and tried not to laugh. Obviously, his mother didn't realize that if two lesbians wanted to keep their status a secret, the last thing they were likely to do was move into a house together in a close-knit, family-oriented subdivision. But at least this meant she wasn't trying to set him up with the new neighbor.

“But I wish there was someone around for you,” Ruth continued, as though reading his thoughts, at least partially. “I just hate that you're still all alone.”

“Not like I have time for a girlfriend right now anyway. I'm usually working or sleeping.”

“That's not healthy,” Ruth said decisively, putting her hand on the refrigerator door. “Want some orange juice?” she asked, in an apparent effort to combat his unhealthy lifestyle with nutrition.

“No, thanks.” He took another bite of bagel. “I'll finish this and take a much-needed shower.”

“Still,” she continued, “you're at an age when you should be thinking of settling down. You need someone special in your life. You and Colin, both. I worry about you two.”

Reaching for her hand, Louis smiled and said, “I know you do, and I appreciate that. But you just can't force this stuff, you know? When I meet the right person, I'll know it, and it'll happen.”

“But if all you do is work, how will you ever meet anyone?”

“Maybe on the internet,” Louis said, with a mock-serious expression. If Ruth knew he was joking, her horrified look didn't betray it.

“Good lord, no! They're all perverts and serial killers out there.”

“Then I could always call Colin. An investigative reporter is bound to have useful contacts for finding out about anyone I wanted to meet.”

“Where is Colin, anyway? I don't think he ever did eat a proper breakfast.”

“He's in the driveway, working on the Mustang.”

“In the driveway?” Ruth fretted. “I hope he's not getting oil all over the place again. I'd better go check…” Like a shot, she was out the door to the garage, a tiny blonde mess-seeking missile.

Louis snickered and finished his coffee. At least he was off the hook for now. He wished Ruth wouldn't worry so much. His life was fine. His life was great. He'd meet the right girl someday. He was sure of it.

Chapter Six by Chally1970 with Bladegirl

The red 1968 fastback Mustang in the driveway looked out of place in this quiet suburban neighborhood, but then so was its owner. The man currently on his back changing the oil filter was blond with deep blue eyes that could turn icy during an interview but were now focused on the mechanical task at hand. He was over average height at about 6 feet, tanned and looking very comfortable in jeans and the formerly white t-shirt he wore. He hummed along with the Cars and “My Best Friend's Girl” as he dabbed at a few oil spots that had dripped as he worked.

“Colin James Mallory!” Ruth's voice broke the morning quiet.

Colin automatically swung his head up in response to the drill sergeant-cum-den mother tone in her voice. Unfortunately, he was still under the car and its steel frame that was bothered not at all by his forehead smacking into it.

“Son of a…” Colin cursed.

“Don't you dare finish that, young man,” came Ruth's intimidating tone once again. “And come out where I can see you.”

“Yes ma'am,” he replied, in as calm and pain-free a tone as he could manage. He slid out from under the car, rubbing his forehead.

“Louis told me you were out here working on that car.” Ruth pointed at the Mustang and looked expectantly at him, as though she'd actually made a concrete accusation.

Colin looked up at her with a confused expression. “Yes? And?”

“And last time you got oil all over my driveway!” she exclaimed in exasperation.

“I…” Colin began to retort before stopping. “It was an accident last time, I was much more careful this go ‘round.” Seeing her “show me” expression, he pointed to the blue plastic under the front end of the car. “See? I put down a tarp and pulled the car onto it this time. And drips or spills go on the plastic, not the driveway.

Ruth seemed appeased by this and smiled at him. “Thank you, dear. That was very considerate of you.” Colin smiled at the abrupt change of tone. She'd gone from accusing him of thoughtless vandalism to praising his voluntary consideration.

“Have you had breakfast?”

“Mm, not yet. Wanted to get this done, work up an appetite.”

“All right. Well, I'll get you some coffee.” She seemed ready to go back inside, and so he started to kneel to get back under the car. When she stopped and turned back, he stopped too. “Of course, you'll need to clean yourself up before you sit down to the table. I wouldn't want oil stains in my kitchen.”

“Yes ma'am, I'll clean up first.”

She smiled brightly and left satisfied. Colin slid back under the car and finished tightening the oil filter and drain plug before standing back up. Ruth meanwhile had gotten him a mug of coffee and brought it back out.

“Thank you.” He said accepting the coffee and sipping it. She seemed to be waiting for a reaction to the taste, which struck him as odd until the taste actually hit him.

“Louis brought that back from Seattle,” she explained proudly. It was clear that she was expecting a positive reaction, so he plastered on a high-wattage fake smile until she walked inside, which changed to disgust as Ruth shut the door.

“Oh God, that sucks!” he muttered after spitting his mouthful of coffee out in a nearby bush. “It tastes like a warm smoothie. That is not coffee.” Jesus – Louis really drank that swill? Maybe he needed to drag the big guy to Starbucks or something, reacquaint him with the taste of real coffee.

No, not Starbucks. The Groundskeeper. The locally owned and operated coffee shop had been a major hangout for the two of them throughout high school and college. Much more of a personal connection.

It struck him that for best friends, he and Louis had sure managed to put some distance between them in the last couple of years or so. Of course, Louis had been living in Seattle for five years, and Colin had spent the last three in Los Angeles, but that was just geography. They'd both managed to keep in contact through email and phone calls and online chatting, until about two years ago, when things had just gotten… complicated. There seemed to be less time for chatting and too many real-life obstacles. It was kind of shameful, really, given as close as they'd been, as much a part of the family Colin had been made to feel.

He was overwhelmed suddenly by a memory from five years earlier – the send-off party that the Ozzes had given Louis before he left for Seattle…

ooOooOoo

Colin and Louis sat out on the back deck behind the house and drank their beers in silence.

“So when exactly do you start? The actual job, I mean?” Colin asked tentatively breaking the silence.

“Wednesday,” Louis replied. He sounded like he was trying to be assertive and enthusiastic, as though still interviewing for the position.

“That's cool,” Colin said a little too heartily. “In case I didn't really make it clear, I really am happy for you. This is exactly the kind of break you deserve.”

“Yeah, it's a great opportunity,” Louis said with mixed excitement and fear. “I can't believe they want me to work in the main office in Seattle.”

Colin snorted. “I can believe it. MegaSoft knows winners when they see ‘em. I've never seen you fail at anything.”

The public mask of confidence and success Louis always wore when among others wasn't present as he looked at his friend solemnly.

“There's always a first time.” Louis said dramatically.

“Bullshit,” Colin said simply. “Twenty bucks says you have the place in the palm of your hand within five years.”

“You're on,” Louis said with a grin, and the two shook hands.

They lapsed into silence after this, finishing their beers, and then went inside. The interior of the house was a babble of voices and a torrent of noise. Ruth rushed here and there, attempting to get the guests to eat and drink more and generally control the room, which is what she did best. In the family room, Louis' kid brother Gary was impressing some of the neighbors with his piano playing. Colin idly wondered where Donald was in this crowd.

Probably hiding out in his study playing poker, Colin thought.

Colin saw Louis' sister Bambi spill someone's drink spectacularly all over the coffee table. He fought the urge to grin and stepped out of the way as Ruth rushed past on clean-up patrol. Bambi used that moment to head upstairs quickly and very red in the face.

Colin excused himself and headed up the stairs after her.

“Bam,” Colin said quietly as he knocked on her bedroom door. “Bam, open the door.”

“Who is it?” she asked tersely.

“It's me” Colin replied in an exasperated tone. “Who else uses my voice and calls you Bam?”

Bambi opened the door and peeked out at him. “What?” She sounded angry but looked embarrassed.

“I saw what happened downstairs and came up to see if you were okay.”

“You are such a boy scout sometimes,” she sighed, and opened the door to allow him inside.

“Come back down to the party.”

“Why? So I can make a fool of myself again?”

“There's gotta be some entertainment. Gary can't play all night.” He regretted the joke immediately as the hurt on her face stung him. “Seriously, it's no big deal. Everyone makes a fool of themselves sometimes.”

“Yeah, sometimes, not every five minutes.”

“Come back down with me,” Colin said, extending his hand. “I'll get you through the next five minutes, and then the next five, and then the five after that.”

“Why do you try so hard?” she asked suddenly. She had a teenager's way of going from self-involved to probingly insightful that took him aback sometimes. “Why do you care how I feel?”

“You want the simple answer?” he replied, because it never seemed uncomfortable to level with her. “Because you and your family are all I have.”

Colin stopped for a moment, knowing that he didn't have to rehash his past – that he'd lived with an “aunt” who'd provided him with everything but love and a sense of belonging, that he'd never had brothers to play and fight with or a sister to tease… or to comfort.

“You, and Louis, and your parents, and even Gary? You guys make me feel like I have a real home. Believe me, that's a big deal.”

Bambi seemed to be considering him intently, and he felt briefly resentful for the scrutiny. Maybe he should have just left it alone. She'd have come out of her room eventually. Ruth would have made her.

She sighed heavily, and the weight of her teenage angst was all over her face. Man, it would be a relief when she got through that phase. But he found himself feeling all kindly toward her again. It probably wasn't easy being Bambi.

She was looking at his hand now, the one he'd extended earlier but which he'd let fall back to his side. She could have just reached for it herself, but he knew she needed the reassurance that the offer was still on, so he extended the hand again. She took it, and they went back down the stairs. They could hear the sounds of Gary playing the piano in the family room as they got closer to the bottom.

“Let's go see if we can embarrass Gary; about his turn wouldn't you say?” Colin asked her and smiled.

Bambi nodded her assent and they moved over to torture the youngest Oz for a while.

ooOooOoo

In the garage, Colin cleaned his hands of oil stains with Goop as the memory faded, frowning slightly as he realized that his reminiscence of Louis had somehow veered away to Bambi, as though the distance between him and his friend was actively striving to maintain itself. It gave him a freaky, paranoid feeling of impending loss, or maybe of loss that had already happened and that couldn't be reversed.

Which was stupid, of course. People moved far away from each other, got immersed in careers, and started taking friends for granted for a while. It happened, and it had obviously happened to him and Louis, but it had only really taken place in the last year or so. It wasn't a freakin' tragedy, and it certainly wasn't too late for them to bridge the gap.

He replaced the lid on the Goop can, wiped his hands on a nearby shop towel, and headed inside for the continuation of his promised clean-up.

The Groundskeeper was a damned good place to start building a bridge, he thought.

Chapter Seven by Madison

“I'll be upstairs if anyone needs me.” Duncan wiped the sweat from his body and wrapped the towel around his neck. “I need a shower.”

Richie looked up from the books he'd been poring over all morning, and sniffed. “Yeah, good idea.” He tapped some keys on the computer, looked closely at the monitor and groaned, dramatically. “Man, Duncan, who was doing your books while I was gone? These things are a mess.”

Duncan moved, came around the desk and looked over Richie's shoulder. “Actually, it was me. Is it that bad?”

“That depends.” Richie moved the monitor slightly so Duncan could get a better view, a little further down wind. “Did you intend to put towels and laundry under income?”

“I'm supposed to say no, right?”

“Go take your shower.”

“Yeah.” Duncan sighed. “Thanks.”

A wave served as a response as Richie, pencil in mouth, continued to punch keyboard buttons, and making little sounds that could have been expressing anything from amusement, to concern, to disgust, to oh my god, what the hell is this? Duncan, for his part, took the freight elevator that led to his loft, and headed to the shower. Letting the water wash away the remains of a work out that didn't quite work, he wondered if the day could get any worse.

It started off so nicely. He woke to the sound of birds singing sweetly just outside his window, and really that almost never happened in this part of town. He got up, stretched and smiled as he threw open the curtains. Unfortunately, he had forgotten to close the window last night, and those birds were actually inside, and not at all happy about having choir practice interrupted. The scratches took almost twenty minutes to heal.

Still, he was determined to make this day work, despite the breakfast of burnt toast and orange pits he had just eaten, so he headed down to the dojo. His morning kata would center him, and he could then face the scheduled meeting with the auditor. This cheered him considerably until the elevator opened to the sounds of 15 falsetto voices all speaking at once about school, Yu-Gi-Oh and some hot model named Jenna that everyone agreed that they would “do”. It was at this point that he remembered that, in a desperate attempt to make the dojo pay for itself, he had started selling lessons to Boy Scout troops. He pressed himself against the wall, and walked slowly around the children, lest he startle them and cause them to attack, and fairly ran to the front door.

Looking at his t-bird, parked as usual in front of the dojo, he became aware of two things, pretty much at the same time. Firstly, he had gotten a ticket, and secondly, the birds had not felt satisfied with attacking just his face. He got into his once beautiful car and drove to the IRS. Sitting behind the desk, wondering just why it was he felt like a criminal, he listened as a very severe woman, who was, apparently, impervious to his charms, told him that he had made mistakes on his last six quarterly reports and he now owed a sum of money that could feed a the entire nation of Belgium for at least three weeks.

Duncan stepped out of the shower and wrapped the towel around his waist. At least it couldn't get any worse. He'd just stay here, safe in his apartment, until it was time to go to that house warming thing that Methos had insisted he attend. Nothing bad could happen if he did that. With an incredible sense of security, Duncan put on his favorite white bathrobe, padded out to the living area, chose a book that he had read several times, and therefore knew he would like, and sat down in his favorite chair. At last, all was right with the world and all he had to do was maintain this rightness for a few more hours.

That very thought, however, was the kiss of doom and just to prove that fate was far more powerful than the thoughts of one immortal having a crappy day, the elevator's motor began to roar. A moment later, so did his head, as the buzz of another immortal hit. Duncan grabbed his katana and stood in front of the elevator door, waiting. Chances were it was only Richie, but chances had been against him all morning. As the door opened, Duncan brought his sword to a defensive position, ready for any attack.

“Now really, MacLeod. Is that any way to greet an old friend?”

“Fitzcairn!” Duncan wasn't quite sure if this was a change in fortune or not. “What are you doing here?”

“Can't a fellow visit a friend?” Fitz gave the sword a meaningful look. “May I come in, or must I push the down button?”

Duncan let the katana fall to his side, and gestured into the room. “Be my guest." He walked over to the kitchen and poured a cup of coffee, held the pot up in offering and replaced it at Fitz's slight head shake. “So, why are you here, Fitz? I thought you were in New York with that model. What was her name?”

“Jenna.” Fitz said. “And we have decided to move on.”

“She dumped you.”

“Right.” Fitz came into the kitchen, opened the refrigerator and smiled when he found a left over bowl of pasta. Searching drawers, he, finally found a fork, and took a bite of cold, cheesy goodness. “But that does leave me free tonight to visit your local hot spots.”

“You are welcome to stay, Fitz, but tonight I have to attend a party.” Duncan regretted saying that almost as soon as the words were out of his mouth. “Just some house warming of a friend of a friend.”

“Excellent.” Fitz fairly beamed. “It's just the thing I need, a quiet evening with a few friends.”

Duncan was about to beg off, thinking this was just the excuse he needed to get out of a party he was sure was doomed to be a bore, when he saw his friends face. Fitz did seem to have the knack of falling to quickly for the wrong women, and he did seem to need some kind of recuperation. Giving in to the inevitable, Duncan tried to stifle his sigh. “I have to make a call, but I'm sure it'll be fine.”

Chapter Eight by Bladegirl

It was a busy day at the Welcome Waggin' Veterinary Clinic. There were four dogs and two cats recovering from surgeries as well as a number of boarders, and the waiting room was full of pets needing annual shots, follow-ups for injuries or illnesses, and a couple of first check-ups for new adoptees.

All in all, it could be described as a hectic day, but the atmosphere at Welcome Waggin' was usually pretty laid-back and upbeat. The vets were demanding but fun people, and the aides and office personnel found it easy to maintain a positive attitude most of the time.

So it was with a smile on her face that the slender girl with the long, straight blonde hair bounced into the kennel area. “Hi, guys! How's it going?” A chorus of ear-splitting barks erupted, and she winced. “That well, huh? Well, I gotta check on the kitties, then I'll be back to start taking you all outside.” She passed through the almost tangible din and closed the door behind her, entering the comparative silence of the feline kennel.

“Hey, catfolk, what's shakin'?” Plaintive meowing issued from some of the cages, but it was nothing like the dogquake in the other room. Humming a little in between murmuring consoling baby-talk to the pampered captives, she checked and changed the poop-trays and refilled food and water containers as needed, the picture of cheerful efficiency.

The door opened, admitting both frantic barking and the head of her fellow aide, Nancy. “Bambi, you've got a phone call.”

Bambi was balancing an exceptionally soiled tray that she needed to dump out, and flashed a quick smile in acknowledgment. As she turned toward the waste disposal container, Nancy added, “It's your mom.”

The toe of Bambi's right shoe caught on the bag of Iams Adult cat food, causing her torso to pitch abruptly forward without the usual corresponding movement from her bottom half. The bag flopped over, depositing small yellowish nuggets all over the floor, but Bambi's immediate concern was avoiding a similar fate for the poop on the tray. In a heroic display of graceless acrobatics, she twisted herself painfully, keeping the tray steady as she somehow managed to plant her left foot solidly on the floor. She now looked like a Barbie doll whose legs had been removed and replaced incorrectly, trying to do the splits.

Attempting to slide her right foot closer, she lost her balance and teetered ominously on her left. Just as Nancy reached her side to assist… Bambi regained her balance. Both women froze, momentarily stunned by the suddenness at which disaster had been averted. With wide eyes, Bambi stared at the tray, unable to believe that she had spilled not a single turd. She and Nancy laughed heartily, if a bit hysterically, until they were both rather breathless. Nancy opened the door to leave and reminded her co-worker of the phone call waiting.

“Be right there,” Bambi said, sighing a little. Resuming her journey to the waste container, she took a quick step forward firmly on a pile of cat food, and in short order found herself face down on the floor. The tray was flattened beneath her chest, poop-side up.

“I'm okay,” she said half-heartedly.

The room was filled with the excited sounds of canine self-expression as Nancy stood in the doorway staring down at her. “Good grief, Bambi! You gotta stop letting her do this to you. Every time your mom calls, you go all Three Stooges about it.”

“I can't help it. I just… she always… I can't help it.”

“I'll get you a clean smock.” The door closed behind Nancy, and Bambi slowly got up. The poop-tray clung to her like plate armor. Ha! She needed more than that to deal with her mother.

Peeling away the accidental breastplate, Bambi muttered, “Same shit, different tray.”