Lightning Strikes Twice by Rogue -------- "MacLachlan! Get in here!" Martise MacLachlan got up from her desk with a sigh. She was so tired... The odd spells when she lost time out of her day were really beginning to take a toll on her health -- which, she suspected, was what her boss was about to bellow at her about. As she walked into Chief Constable Graham's office, he tersely ordered her to shut the door. She did so, then stood with her hands behind her back and an attentive look on her face. "Aye, sir?" Her boss was silent as he looked at her for a long moment, taking in the dark circles under her usually lively green eyes; the somewhat ruffled appearance of her clothing; and the long, curly auburn hair that looked as though she had barely taken a brush to it that morning. Seeing exhaustion in her stance, he said bluntly, "You look a crock, Marty." One corner of her mouth curled up. "Thank you, sir." The sarcasm in her reply was quite heavy. "Did you need me for anything other than a critique of my appearance, sir?" His steely grey eyes flashed her a warning look. "Don't get fresh with me, Inspector. I received a call from a grass. Jonathan MacLeod has made his way onto American soil and is settled in a northwestern state by the name of Washington, in the city of Cascade. The name sounds familiar to me; you've mentioned it before, haven't you?" "Aye, sir. My cousin, Jane Leighton, lives there." "The fancy glass artist, correct?" "Aye, sir. I've been in Cascade before on family visits. Does this mean I'm going over there to work with the local police?" she asked. "Knew there was a reason we call you 'Inspector.' Yes, you're going over to Cascade. I've called Cascade's commissioner to discuss the feasibility of this trip, and he referred me to a Captain Simon Banks in Major Crime. You leave in three days; by then, the papers on the American side of the pond will have cleared. You'll have yours tomorrow. An officer will meet you at the airport and take you to a hotel to get settled in, then to the precinct to meet with Captain Banks. He says you'll be working with his top detective, Jim Ellison, and Ellison's partner -- a consultant by the name of Blair Sandburg. Is that clear?" "Aye, sir. I can stay with Janey while I'm there, though. There's no fear that she'll not put me up." "Fine. We'll reimburse her for any extra expenses she might go through while you stay with her." "Aye, sir." "All right, then, dismissed. Go home, get your things together, and for God's sake, get some rest and clean yourself up. I'll not have you disgracing us with such a shoddy appearance." Marty allowed a brief smirk, then said calmly, "Aye, sir. I'll be by to collect my papers tomorrow." "You do that. Get out of here," Graham muttered, gesturing at the door. She sighed with relief as she shut the door behind her. At her desk, she shut down her computer and put away the files she'd been working on before putting on her raincoat -- against the unceasing drizzle -- calling out her goodbyes, and leaving the office. On the way to her car, she paused to will away the headache pounding at her temples so she could concentrate enough to drive. After a few moments, she moved on and made it to her car; sighing in relief, she started for her home in Woodhouselee, located just south of Edinburgh in the foothills of the Pentlands. She was grateful for the semi-solitude, what with her hearing suddenly being so heightened that even the sound of her own breathing was enough to drive her crazy. Marty entered her house after calling out greetings to the farmer who was passing by with a flock of his sheep; she gritted her teeth over the cacophony of baa-ing coming from the flock as she shut the door behind her. It didn't do much to drown out the sound, but she was grateful to at least be in the comfort of her own home. She'd inherited the modest-sized house from her late parents, God rest their souls. It had been big enough for the two of them, but was quite cozy for one nonetheless. Colorful throws adorned the chairs and sofa in one room, and deep carpets lined every floor except the kitchen to help ward off the chill that was almost constant, except for a few weeks in summer. Knick-knacks were everywhere, including a few glass pieces from her cousin Jane. Lately, as restless as she had been, Marty had begun cleaning the place from top to bottom -- she could see dust and dirt as she never had before; could smell it, and anything moldy or rotten, more than she ever had. The smell of animal waste in the surrounding farms was a constant source of dismay to her, but she countered that by remaining indoors with the windows shut as much as she could. She knew she was turning into a recluse, but what other choice did she have? She'd never eat again if she got a potent whiff of the smells that floated through the air. She loved it whenever a stiff breeze came through, bringing scents other than dung and the strong, unpleasant scent of silage. Too tired to care much about eating, she made her way to the bathroom. She'd had a shower installed when she had inherited the house, and she was grateful for it now. She could not stomach the thought of sitting in bath water with skin and dust and dirt particles swirling around her. She set the water to lukewarm and climbed in, gradually increasing the heat to where she could still tolerate it -- then sighing happily as the water eased away some of the tension. She resolutely ignored the magnified sounds of the water whooshing through the pipes, the clanking of those pipes, and the churning of the water heater as she began cleaning herself. The cloth she normally used was too rough on her skin now, so she used her hands to lather the soap, a locally-made, hand-milled, non-perfumed type she especially enjoyed. Her regular brand of shampoo irritated her lately, so she simply used the soap to wash her hair. She didn't like what it did to her hair, but as long as it was clean, she could deal with it. Her bath finished, she shut off the water and carefully patted herself dry, then eased into her flannel robe. Wandering up to her bedroom, she smiled as she turned on the electric blanket that Jane had given her a few years ago when she had visited Scotland. It had always been a source of enjoyment to her. She was looking forward to seeing her cousin when she arrived in America. Jane was her best friend and a close relative; she was always happy whenever she got to spend time with her. Marty grinned as she took off her robe and slipped on a nightdress of soft cotton and then snuggled down into the bed. She had drawn the shades to make it darker in the room, and as she curled up beneath the blanket, she sighed and let her thoughts rest on her cousin. Jane Leighton had always been talented and inquisitive, and was lately making a name for herself as a glass artist. She was constantly finding sources of inspiration to turn into glass creations. Her most recent piece, a sculpture titled Shaman, had just sold for over fifty thousand dollars. Marty had been thrilled for her cousin and had also teased her about being able to jet over to Scotland more often to see her poorer relation. Jane had told her in explicit detail what she had thought of Marty's martyr attempts, and they had both laughed uproariously. As exhausted as she was, Marty was soon asleep. Her dreams, though, were plagued with visions of white, furry animals that flitted in and out of her mind's eye, never letting her get more than a glimpse -- and memories of the school that MacLeod had bombed, and the injured children and teachers that had been the result of his heinous actions. She awoke much later and found that evening had descended. It was nearly eight o'clock, a far cry from her one o'clock nap. However, she felt much better -- enough to get up and try a cup of non-sweetened tea and some plain biscuits. As she sat at the kitchen table, nibbling lightly, she planned her trip -- mentally picking out her wardrobe, her reading material -- and, of course, calling Jane... The idea of calling her cousin sparked another brainstorm -- namely, now that her cases had been reassigned, there was no reason she shouldn't leave early and spend some quality time with Jane... and maybe have some time to get her senses straightened out. Smiling, her decision made, Marty headed upstairs to begin packing. Noting the time -- now edging near 9 o'clock -- she calculated time differences and realized that it was only early afternoon where Jane was. She placed the call to America, not certain that her cousin would pick up, but knowing the machine would catch it. Pleasantly surprised when a human voice answered the ringing, she grinned and said, "Janey! Lass, it's good to hear you!" "Marty?" the American woman replied, and Marty yanked the phone from her ear quickly. The reply had been louder than she had expected, but Marty knew Jane hadn't shouted at her. It was merely her wonky hearing. "Aye, cuz! It's me. How're you doing?" she asked as she put the receiver back to her ear. "Just fine, babe," Jane said with a laugh. "It's great to hear from you! What are you calling for? Just to chat, or do you need something?" "A bit of both, actually. I'm scheduled to come to Cascade in a few days on a case. Remember that school bombing I told you about?" "Yeah. Oh, no. Don't tell me that dirty rotten bastard is HERE?!" "Afraid so, lass. I've got my marching orders; I'm supposed to fly in to Cascade International in a few days, but I need some downtime, so I was thinking I'd fly in early -- either tomorrow or the day after -- and you and I could have a day together before I meet up with the American police I'll be working with." "Sounds good. Let me know when and where, and I'll be there with bells on! And clothing too, if you're lucky," Jane teased. "If ever there were a mental image I didn't need..." Marty sighed, then laughed. "All right, will do. I'll take care of things on this end and get back to you. Will it be okay if I stay with you while I'm there? Niall Graham -- my boss -- has mentioned that he'll reimburse you for whatever extra expense I cause --" "Sure you can stay, and no problem. Really. My artwork is really starting to sell, so there won't be any discomfort, cash-wise." "Great. Thanks, cuz. Well, I'd better hang up before this gets too much more expensive. I'll call you as soon as I know what the flight situation is." "Got it. I can't wait to see you, Marty! This'll be great," Jane enthused, a grin coloring her voice. "Same here, Janey. See you later." "'Bye." The two women hung up and, extraordinarily happy, Marty returned to her packing, excited by the thought of getting in some relaxation with her favorite cousin. -------- "Ellison, a moment of your time? Sandburg, you too." The two men shared a quick glance as they got up from their seats at Jim's desk. Walking into the office, Blair shut the door behind them and then moved to stand beside his partner. "You needed us, sir?" Jim asked, his expression attentive. "Yup. This is your lucky day, gentlemen," Simon said with a wicked grin. "Uh-oh," Blair muttered, then glanced away when the captain pinned him with a glare. "What'd we do now, Simon?" Jim asked, wariness edging his tone. "Nothing. It's what you're going to do that's the fun part. By now, I'm sure you've heard of Jonathan MacLeod, correct?" Sentinel and guide nodded as Blair muttered, "Yeah. Oh, man, that guy's a total creep, the way he bombed that school!" "Well, I've been contacted by a Chief Constable Graham, who's based in Edinburgh, and apparently MacLeod is now in Cascade. Graham's sending his top Inspector, a woman named Martise MacLachlan, to help us track him down and apprehend him. Keep in mind, gentlemen, that she is a UK cop, and they do not carry weapons over there, so she is not certified to use a gun while she's here. She'll be here in two days." Simon put on his don't give me any guff expression and added, "Ellison, I'm teaming you and Sandburg with her. You will, of course, give her your full cooperation and you will not harass her unduly, do you understand me?" Jim assumed his best innocent expression as he held up his hands in supplication. "Simon, come on, would I do that?" The dual snorts -- one from Blair and one from Simon -- echoed through the room. "All right, all right. We'll be good as gold, sir." "What's this 'we,' white man?" Blair said with a grin. "I'm always good!" This time, dual snorts were aimed in Sandburg's direction. "Ha, ha," he grumbled. "Fine. Am I correct that the only case on your plate at the moment is the Clayton investigation?" "Yes, sir. And we're close to an arrest. Only waiting for a little more information from Forensics. The rest are reports that need finishing up." "Excellent. Get to it, guys. And for God's sake, try for the adult approach here and refrain from the kilt and tartan jokes. Understood?" "Your opinion of my ability to interact with a foreign officer of the law absolutely underwhelms me, Simon," Jim teased. "I'm speaking from experience here. Does that tell you something, Detective? Now get out of here and get to work." "Yes, sir." The two men exited the captain's office, and as they made their way back to Jim's desk, Sandburg whispered, "You know, he said you couldn't unduly harass her." "Yeah, I caught that, Chief." Grinning, they returned to work. It was only when Blair whispered sub-vocally, "You know, there's an idea; you, in a kilt and nothing else. Oh, yeah," that Jim decided that this whole repeat foreign exchange thing might not be so bad after all. But where in hell was he going to find a couple of kilts? -------- Marty smiled tiredly as she walked out into the terminal, heading for the nearest waiting area as her cousin had instructed her. As she neared her destination, she saw a short blonde woman detach herself from the crowd and come towards her, waving. Marty smiled and started to call out -- only to cringe and cover her ears quickly, her bags sliding down her arms, as an airport speaker blared overhead, reverberating loudly in her aching eardrums. A moment later, a small, cool, callused hand touched one of hers, and she sighed as the sound receded to a more bearable level. Opening her eyes, Marty saw Jane frowning up at her in concern. "Hello, Janey. Sorry for the melodrama, but that was loud." "It wasn't anything abnormal, cuz," Jane replied, still frowning. "You've probably got a migraine or something from the long flight and nothing but airplane food. Come on, let's get you home so you can rest." Marty shrugged and handed over one of her bags when Jane reached for it. As the shorter woman began leading the way to the exit, Marty said quietly, "It's not just a migraine, Janey. It's something else -- and I know it'll sound loony, but I'm hoping you'll listen to me carefully before you decide on anything." Jane halted in mid-stride and turned to face her cousin. "Marty, you're not sick, are you? You don't have a fatal disease, right?" Marty shrugged and glanced away. "None that the doctors can find. According to them, I'm healthy as a bairn. C'mon, let's get to your car and go home. I'll explain on the way." Not entirely happy, Jane nevertheless continued to lead the way out of the terminal and into the parking garage opposite. Minutes later, they were heading out into city traffic, away from Cascade International. Both women were silent for a long while, until they merged onto the highway. Then Marty glanced over at her cousin with a sly grin. "This is vaguely unsettling. I constantly have to stop myself from reaching for the steering wheel. Why you Yanks insist on driving on the wrong side all the time..." "We do not. Brits are the ones who are so backward you drive on the wrong side of the road! You don't even speak English, for crying out loud!" Jane shot back with a teasing grin. "What? Excuse me, lass, but we're British! Britain includes England, you know. We speak English more correctly than you Yanks who've butchered the mother tongue." "You call biscuits 'scones' and you call cookies 'biscuits.' There is something seriously wrong with that. And the names you give your food! Cock-a-Leekie Soup! Toad in the Hole! Spotted Dick! Anyone who puts a spotted dick in their mouths over here is asking for a world of trouble." "Oh, please! It's colorful, and far more exciting than a 'whopper.' Faith, it sounds like you're entering a boxing match with the sandwich! And losing! One isn't quite certain if the sandwich is really and truly dead before you eat it with a name like that." They glanced at each other for a long moment and grinned, then burst out laughing. Eventually they wound down, and Jane took a deep breath before saying, "All right. What's going on with you that's making you feel so terrible? You said you'd explain." Marty sighed and nodded. She closed her eyes against the glare of headlights coming towards them. The gleam was more than she could tolerate at the moment. "Aye, I did. This is going to sound so queer, Janey, but hear me out. It all started a few weeks ago; a child from my village had gone missing in the nearby hills and I was one of the people sent out to search for her. We found her, thank God, but after that, odd things started happening." "What do you mean? You get possessed by a silkie or something?" "No. Hush so I might get this said." "Well, excuse me all to blazes. All right, all right. Shutting up now." "Thank you. No, what was odd is that suddenly, I started hearing things that others couldn't. I could hear a conversation taking place nearly five hundred yards away! A whispered conversation. Noises are too intense now; anything really loud, like that speaker in the airport, causes me pain. I can see even farther than before; a midgie on a window at two hundred yards!" "A what?" "A midgie. A gnat. I have my eyes closed now because bright light hurts them. I can feel textures like never before; I've had to ditch all my polyester clothes because they make me break out in horrible rashes. And smell and taste! My God! It's all I can do to eat something and keep it down most days." "I was going to mention that you look like you'd lost some weight," Jane muttered, not entirely believing what she was hearing. "Aye, I have. Weight I can ill afford to lose. Not to mention sleep; lost plenty o' that. And having to track down MacLeod like this is not helping any." Marty sighed when she heard the rhythm of her cousin's heartbeat increase. "I can tell this is upsetting you. That you probably don't believe me. Your heart is racing and you're giving off this smell... I just heard your bones creak as you stiffened. Your head just turned and you're looking at me and you're breathing harder, faster..." "You're sitting right next to me! Of course you can hear me breathing!" Jane snapped. "As for the rest of it... it's not possible!" "Really? So sure, are you? I tell you true I'm the one who's experiencing it, and it feels damned real to me! And there are stories... legends I've heard from my grandmother, who learned them at her mother's knee. They came from the land of Largiemore, on the east side of Loch Fyne. The stories are of adventurers out to seek their fortune -- usually the youngest son or daughter of a poor woman, but sometimes the youngest son of a king -- who pick up helpers as they go, and some of those helpers can see or hear what is happening miles away. According to Gran, and her mother, and her mother before her, we'd an ancestor who could see a flea sitting on the head of a dog five miles away, and hear the flight of an owl on the other side of the loch. "He could smell and taste if something could be eaten safely -- a valuable skill in times of famine -- and know by touching the skin of a sick bairn if the ill was deadly. And there was always a relative who helped the guardian to direct his senses. It was a gift given to our family by the Good Folk after one of us helped one of them, although it only shows up in those of us who need it." Marty turned and opened her eyes a little bit, looking almost pleadingly at Jane, who was doing her level best to keep her hands from shaking too much as she drove. "Don't you see, Janey? I'm exhibiting these gifts. These gifts that show up when they're needed, that can do good for people. I don't claim to know where they came from or how I got them, but have them I do. "Trouble is, I don't know how to control them -- and it's frightening me terribly, that. My senses overload frequently and it hurts. And the spells I get when I blank out on something or other... it's enough to drive one mad." "Can't you... turn them off somehow? If they're that much of a bother to you..." Jane muttered as she drove the car out of the city and onto the last leg of the trip. "Did you not hear me say I have no control? And even if I had, Janey, I don't know as I would turn them off. Think of what I could do with them! The help I could offer to people in need of protection. And my work in Edinburgh! I could solve my cases that much quicker!" "All right, all right!" Jane snapped. "I get the point -- but don't expect me to agree or totally understand this. I mean, this is way up there on my Weird Shit-o-Meter! It's not entirely comforting to know that my cousin is suddenly Supergirl, you know. Can see through walls, leap tall buildings in a single bound --" "I wouldn't go that far, lass." "-- and is generally way different from a normal human being!" the younger woman finished. "Ah, Janey, I've always been different. It's simply more apparent, now," Marty teased. "Well, so glad you're pleased with yourself," Jane snipped back. "Temper, temper, lass." "Don't you patronize me, you green-eyed Scottish witch! You may be fine and dandy about being a mutant, but --" "Is that what you see me as, cuz? Some sort of aberration?" Marty asked softly. Jane winced when she heard the muted pain in her cousin's voice. She was silent until she parked in her driveway -- then she turned to find Marty watching her solemnly, steadily, wariness in those pretty green eyes, and she realized her cousin and best friend was afraid of losing her. Sighing, she reached out and pulled Marty into a hug, letting the curly-haired auburn head rest on her shoulder. "Marty, I'll be honest with you; you've always struck me as an odd duck, but this is going to take some getting used to. But I'll be here for you, you know that." The older woman sighed in relief and sagged slightly in Jane's embrace. "It's glad I am of that, Janey. Very glad." She was silent a moment longer, then said, "Can we go in now? I'm exhausted, and I'm going to need tomorrow to rest up before I head into the station to meet with Captain Banks the day after." Jane laughed and released her cousin. "All right, wimpy. Let's get you inside. You'll probably want a long hot shower and a meal." "If I can keep it down," Marty grumbled -- but she slid out of the car anyway. She began sneezing almost the moment they got inside. Jane looked over at her. "I cleaned the house before you got here. You can't tell me there's dust that's bothering you!" "No, lass. It's the cleaning chemicals. They're tickling my nose something fierce. Might it be possible that we could open a few windows, air the place out?" Marty asked, then sneezed again, her eyes beginning to water. "Oh. Um, sure. I didn't use many upstairs, so we can take your stuff up and you can head straight for the bathroom. That's already aired out; had to open the window to get the scent out earlier," Jane explained, semi-babbling as she led the way quickly upstairs. Marty followed as fast as she was able to with a splitting headache and her hand clamped over her nose and mouth. Tracking Jane into the bedroom at the end of the hall, she walked into the room while Jane threw open the windows, allowing a cool evening cross-breeze to drift in. Marty walked over and leaned out, inhaling deeply and slowly, exhaling in a tiny sigh of relief. Jane watched her cousin for a moment, then said, "I'll go downstairs, open a few more windows. Want anything to eat or drink?" "A glass of water and something bland and not heavy will do wonders, please," Marty replied, her head still out the window. "Okay, you got it. The bathroom is two doors down from you. Take a long shower, if you want. I'll be downstairs." With that, Jane left. Sighing, Marty reluctantly pulled her head back through the open window and set about unpacking her things. She laid out her nightclothes -- a pair of loose grey sweatpants that tied at the waist and an old short-sleeved sweatshirt that unraveled at the collar -- the most comfortable she owned, with her skin as touchy as it was lately. Then she undressed quickly, pulled her robe around herself, and headed down the hall to the bathroom. She stayed in the shower for a good long while, but couldn't let the water get too hot without cringing in pain. She noticed with some surprise and a great deal of pleasure that her scalp wasn't itching quite so badly and took a look at Jane's shampoo; it was a natural herbal brand, and Marty filed that idea away for future reference. After rinsing, she turned off the water and climbed from the shower. She picked up the terrycloth towel -- and, after gritting her teeth as the rough material scrapped over her ultra-sensitive skin, she gave up and slipped on her robe, allowing it to absorb the remaining moisture as she went back to her room. She grinned as her feet sank into the deep pile of the carpet, and wriggled her toes for a few seconds as she perched on the bed and carefully combed out her hair. She winced, trying to ignore her aching head while she worked, but finally finished, dressed, hung her towel in the bathroom and headed downstairs. Gratefully, she took a deep breath, pleased that most of the cleaning-chemical smell was gone. She followed her nose into the kitchen and found Jane sitting at the table and drinking a cup of coffee as she looked out the window. The moon had risen, its light streaming through the fanciful glass mobile Jane had hung in front of the window, gilding the colorful array of glass with a soft luminescence. Even as Marty heard Jane speaking to her, she felt herself falling into the greyness of one of her spells. "... Hope you can handle a little bit of Parmesan cheese on it; otherwise, the pasta will be too bland, and --" Jane broke off. Marty was still staring at the mobile; her gaze was blank, with no spark of intelligence or liveliness in it at all. Moving to stand beside her cousin, Jane said, "Marty? Cuz, are you okay?" When no answer was forthcoming, her tone grew sharp. "Martise MacLachlan, if this is a joke, I'm not laughing! Cut it out!" Still no response. Jane started to feel frightened. "Marty? Come on, cuz, wake up now. Time to come back to reality, babe. Marty? Marty?! Marty!" When five minutes of shaking and yelling hadn't amounted to much, Jane resorted to a last tactic and slapped her cousin hard on the cheek. Marty fell over even as her eyes squinched shut and she let out a yelp of surprise and pain. Jane went to her knees beside her cousin, breathless with relief. "Marty! Thank God! What the hell was that?!" "That was you smacking the bejeezus out of me and I'll be having your answer as to why, cuz," Marty growled as she struggled to sit up. "Why? Well, for God sakes, you were just standing there, zombified! Staring at the mobile with a blank look on your face. You know, lights were on but nobody was there! So you tell me, Marty. What gives with the zombie act?" Jane demanded. Sighing, the other woman lowered her head onto her crossed arms. "Oh, damn. I had another spell." "Spell?" "I mentioned them on the drive here. I lose time out of my day sometimes. I'll be looking at something or listening or whatever, perfectly fine, and when I'm next aware of anything, time will have passed. Could be minutes, could be hours. I was... looking at your mobile. Thinking how pretty the glass was in the moonlight. Next thing I knew, I could see so close up I was practically immersed inside every strand and fiber of color and light, losing myself in it, until you knocked me on my arse." Jane blew out a shaky breath. "Right, got it. Should I take it down, and pack away all my other glass stuff in the house?" "No. There'd be no point. I'll just spell-out on something else. Might as well have the glass up. I'll simply avoid looking at it for too long," Marty growled. "I'd like that glass of water now, Janey, and some aspirin." "Coming up, soon as you do. Give me your hand." Standing, she helped haul her cousin onto her feet and guided the shaky woman over to the table, where she sat Marty down. A bowl of cooling lasagna noodles covered lightly in Parmesan cheese sat there, along with a tall glass of cool water. Once Marty was settled, Jane retrieved the aspirin bottle. She shut the cabinet door with her customary bang and winced when she heard a muffled groan coming from the table area. "Sorry," she said softly. "Forgot your hearing is higher than mine. Here's the aspirin. How many?" "Hand over the bottle and no one gets hurt," Marty gritted out. "No thanks, don't need you overdosing. Three ought to do it, don't you think?" Without waiting for an answer, she opened the bottle and shook out three pills, then dropped those into her cousin's waiting hand and watched as she swallowed them quickly with a few large gulps of water. Marty grimaced as the bitterness of the aspirin washed down her throat with the water. Taking a deep breath, she finished off the rest and then held out the glass. "More, please?" Jane silently took the glass and headed over to the sink to refill it as Marty picked up her fork and began to pick at the food in her dish. She wasn't optimistic about being able to eat food tonight, but she knew she had to try. She took a small bite; the bland flavor of the pasta and the subtle taste of the Parmesan cheese rolled across her taste buds. She swallowed, and was relieved when her stomach accepted it. Smiling now, she tucked in. The smaller woman sat across from her and watched her silently. It wasn't until three-quarters of the food was gone that she said, "So how do you expect to catch criminals and work coherently if you're so debilitated and pained by these overloading senses?" Marty chewed slowly as she glanced thoughtfully at her cousin. Finally, she swallowed and said, "Well, there has to be someone out there who knows something about it. I can start talking to doctors, with any luck get some sort of recommendation." "Sure, they'll recommend somebody to you. A psychiatrist!" Jane snapped. "Well, what else can I do? If I don't find someone to help me with this, I'll end up in a loony bin anyway!" The two of them glared at each other and then at the table as Marty finished her meal sulkily. Finally, Jane sighed. "All right, look. We both need some sleep, okay? What do you say we call it a night and we can try figuring something out tomorrow? You don't need to go to the precinct until the day after, so we have time." "Are you sure? I don't want to hold you up from any projects..." Jane gave the other woman a withering look. "Think in reality a moment, Marty. Do you honestly believe I'm going to sit by while you're in pain?" Marty grinned and shook her head. "Okay, then. So, go on to bed and we'll see what can be done in the morning." "Works for me. G'night, cuz. Thanks for everything," Marty said, standing and stretching with a yawn. "G'night. For what it's worth, I'm glad you're here," Jane said with a grin. Marty's grin was warm and affectionate. "It's worth quite a bit, lass." She was silent for a moment, then added, "I'll see you in the morning." "Right. Sweet dreams." Jane watched her leave the kitchen, heard her trudging up the stairs and the creak overhead as Marty walked down the hallway, then the soft sound of the door closing. Sighing, then yawning, Jane quickly tidied the kitchen, then locked up. She was so exhausted from a long day and the evening's events that she undressed with her eyes closed, and as soon as she was in bed, she was sound asleep. -------- Neither woman slept well, both of them linked together unknowingly in their dreams. Dreams of dense jungles, moss-covered temples, white fur and animal snarls, and men with dark, painted bodies calling each by a separate name that made little sense to either of them, yet felt incredibly right. When they both awakened and trudged downstairs in the morning, they both felt as tired as though they had just gone to bed, but strangely energized. Jane made coffee with practiced movements, then pulled out a box of Cheerios and a gallon of milk. She plunked them both on the table, then got out bowls and spoons and dragged the sugar jar over to the table as well. Marty was so preoccupied with her dreams of the night before that she ate the cereal easily without once having to fight for control over her sense of taste or her stomach. When Jane asked her if she wanted coffee, she nodded absently, not really paying attention. Her first sip, however, woke her right up. "Christ in a kilt!" she all but squealed, setting the mug down on the table with a thump and staring at it as though it were something vile. "What are you trying to do, poison me?" "What the hell are you talking about?" Far from being a morning person, Jane glowered at her cousin. "I'm talking about that," Marty snapped, gesturing at the coffee mug. "That mug of stewed sewage masquerading as something fit for drinking. Don't you have anything decent to drink, like tea?" "You said you wanted coffee. I asked if you wanted coffee and you nodded yes," the other woman snapped. Huffing lightly, Marty glowered before turning the force of her glare on the hapless coffee mug. "I wasn't paying attention, then. Sorry. Do you have any tea? I can't handle anything this strong." "Because of your taste buds being off the charts?" "No. I couldn't have handled it even before that happened. A decent tea -- one that doesn't taste like boiled gym socks and isn't strong enough to knock out an elephant -- would be nice. You Americans always have to have everything potent to the point of pain." "And you British Islanders prefer everything so bland that wallpaper paste would taste better in comparison." It was an ongoing debate between them and wasn't likely to end soon. They grinned at each other, and Jane gestured at the cupboard above the sink. "Tea's up there. Don't know how good it'll be; haven't had any in months." Marty shot her cousin a look and then got up to fetch the tea. She smiled when she found the box of Earl Grey, then took a cautious sniff. Her heightened olfactory sense informed her that the tea was still in good form, but only just. She put the kettle on and plopped a bag into her mug, after pouring out the coffee and rinsing thoroughly. Within a few minutes, she had her tea steeping nicely as she settled back at the table. She yawned hugely, then grinned sheepishly when Jane glanced at her with a raised eyebrow. "Didn't sleep too well?" the younger woman asked solicitously. "Well enough. I had an odd dream, though." "Oh? Do tell. Inquiring glass artists want to know." "I doubt it will be anything you can work with, but it was quite vivid all the same." "So? Come on, tell! I'll decide if it's worth anything to me," Jane said with a grin. Marty sneered at her, then laughed. "Okay. I was in this jungle setting, but it was odd, too. Had a blue tint to it, like a bunch of Smurfs had gone wild with a spray can. And I wasn't quite myself. For some reason, I was a white tiger. Not that I mind too much; I rather like them. They're regal cats, I'm thinking. Anyway, I was running through this jungle as a tiger. "I was looking for something; it was very important that I find it, whatever it was. Before too long, I found myself at the base of a large temple with dark grey stones covered in moss. And an Indian -- not like your Native Americans, I mean, but an Indian Indian, from the subcontinent -- was there. Dressed in a sarong, and feathers, and body paint, and carrying a spear. He looked straight at me and said 'Who are you?'" Marty glanced at her cousin and, alarmed, asked, "Jane? What's wrong, lass? You're white as a sheet!" She leaned across the table, reaching for Jane's hand, but the younger woman snatched it away and scooted back, her eyes wide. "Janey? Cuz, what is it?" "That isn't possible," Jane breathed. "What isn't possible? Me turning into a white tiger? Quite right, at least not in the real world, but dreams are where the impossible can take place --" "No! That's not it! What's impossible is -- I mean, I still don't believe this --" "Jane, would you just spit it out --" "I had the same dream!" That got Marty's attention. She was silent for a long moment, then asked carefully, "Lass, are you absolutely certain? As you said, that would be well nigh impossible." "I'm telling you, MacLachlan, that I had the same dream. Or almost the same dream. Only I was a fox -- white, so I'm guessing it was Arctic -- and when I met the Indian dude, he said the same thing! I was about to tell him exactly who I was when I woke up. But he was exactly as you described it. So was the jungle and the temple." They sat in Jane's kitchen in silence, morning sunlight streaming through the windows and sparkling through the glass mobile. Marty carefully kept her gaze away from it. "Well. That certainly puts an interesting spin on things," she said quietly. Jane leaped to her feet. "How can you sit there and think about this so calmly?!" she screeched. "Isn't any part of this freaking you out just the tiniest bit, or am I alone in thinking this is burying the needle in the red on the Weird Shit-o-Meter?!" At that, Marty glared at her cousin, her green eyes glittering. "Of course not! Bear in mind, cuz, that I've heard legends about people like me. I've heard plenty of legends during the course of my life and seeing as how I'm living one of them, I'm more inclined to give an odd situation the benefit of the doubt! Supposedly, two people can't dream the same dream at the same time. But we seem to have done it. "Apparently, we've beaten the odds there. And what's more is it means some higher power was trying to give us information. At least, I hope so with all my heart. Because if it's any more bad news, I'm not certain I can handle it right now." Deflating a little under her cousin's tirade, Jane sighed and slumped a bit. "All right, I get your point. But... Marty, this is definitely freaky, here. I'm serious. Do any of your legends mention anything like this?" The Scot thought for a moment, then shook her head. "None that I can think of at the moment. But we'll figure it out sooner or later, Janey, that much I can feel in my bones. For now, why don't we let it drop? See about getting some rest or you playing with your glass?" "Play with my glass, she says," Jane muttered. "Like I can think coherently at a time like this." She sighed roughly and scrubbed her hands over her face. "All right, all right. I'll try to relax. Umm... if you want, the television is through there," she said, pointing toward her living room. Marty grinned. "Thanks, lass. I think I'll relax in there with my tea and catch some morning news." "You just do that." Getting up, Marty took her perfectly-steeped tea -- with just a hint of sweetener in it -- along with her as she headed into the living room. Fully intending to settle into the comfy armchair and watch the local news in an effort to catch a hint of MacLeod's name, she was sidetracked when she saw the huge bookcase along one wall. Meandering over, she grinned as she perused the categories offered -- mostly romance novels, with science fiction running a close second, and mystery and drama trailing behind. Marty grinned when she saw two shelves taken up with humor books, but it was the six rows, two books deep each, of romance books that really made her laugh. Unable to resist a dig, she called out, "Got enough romance novels to last you into your retirement age, Janey. I'll say you do like your sex, don't you, lass?" Jane peered around the corner of the archway and glared at her. "There's nothing wrong with reading about manly men and beautiful women falling in love with each other." "Aye, but there's a fair amount of angsting and lusting going on in there first," Marty teased back. "The poor heroine -- who is a combination of twisted blue steel and dynamite so stunningly beautiful as to arouse any man around her -- forced into some situation where she must come to blows with the devilishly handsome hero, who finds himself reluctantly engaged in battle with her when he'd rather be engaged with her, period. At least long enough to slip between the sheets a few dozen times until he realizes he well and truly loves her. Then he must convince her of that fact, because he's managed to mess things up between them then and there." "Isn't that the same with any first-time love story? Most of those stories are based on real life, mixed in with a huge dollop of fantasy. After all, I don't know too many men who are both extremely luscious-looking and great in the sack at the same time," Jane sassed with a grin. "Aye. I fear there's a dying breed there. Endangered, surely. Perhaps you can write to one of your protection agencies that seems to clatter about the legal land of America and see if..." She broke off abruptly as she glanced down at a small table beside the bookcase. "See if they what? Marty? What are you looking at?" Jane asked, fearing a repeat of last night's zombie episode. "What is this?" Marty muttered softly, reaching to place her mug on a space on a nearby bookshelf. Jane shrugged when she saw what had grabbed her cousin's attention. "Oh, those. I get so busy sometimes that my newspapers pile up before I can read them, so I stack them there with the vague idea of reading them someday. Just to find out what was going on in the world back then." "No." Her voice hard, Marty snatched the top paper up and held it out for Jane to see it clearly. "Not that; this." Frowning, Jane was confused until she read the headline of the front page: SENTINEL COP HAS A SECRET EDGE IN CRIMEFIGHTING. Pacing about, Marty read aloud: "'Detective James Ellison, a policeman in the elite Major Crime Unit of the Cascade PD, has been working with Civilian Observer Blair Sandburg. Detective Ellison was the subject for Mr. Sandburg's doctoral thesis, which was based on an anthropological myth known as a sentinel. Although Detective Ellison heatedly denies these claims, Mr. Sandburg's thesis claims that the local Cop of the Year is a genetic throwback to human evolution. He possesses five heightened senses that allow him to see and hear far beyond normal human scope....'" Marty turned to her cousin, who was pale and shaking, and said quietly, "Ellison. He's the cop I'll be paired with. He's like me, Jane. He's got the senses, too. There's a word for us -- we're... sentinels." The other woman shook her head frantically. "But, Marty, you don't understand. I'm starting to remember some of this -- I heard an announcement Sandburg made. He denied it, Marty. Claimed he was a fraud, that he had falsified his research! He lied about it!" "No!" Marty threw the paper hard, but it slid out of its creases and scattered all over the floor and sofa. "No, Jane! He must have done it for a reason -- maybe to protect Ellison, I don't know -- but he didn't lie. I'm living proof that sentinels exist!" Her gaze wandered down to stare hard at the newspaper lying on the floor. "I exist," she repeated softly. "And they can give me -- give us -- answers." She lifted her gaze then, and Jane found herself nodding mutely at the almost frantic need swirling in those hard green eyes. -------- "Sandburg, what the hell is going on with him?" Blair glanced around to find Simon standing behind him, frowning thoughtfully at Jim as the sentinel sat at his desk, glowering at the computer screen. "Oh, hey, Simon. Didn't know you were there." "I know. Now answer the damn question! What's crawled up Jim's ass and died lately?" "Well, so far as I know, sir, I'm alive and healthy --" Simon shot a dark look at the young consultant. "Don't go there, Sandburg. What's wrong with him?" Blair shrugged, frowning slightly. "I don't know, Simon. He's been edgy for the last twenty-four hours, but there's nothing going on -- that we know of -- to be causing this level of crankiness. If I had to hazard a guess, I'd say he's acting like he did when Alex Barnes showed up --" He shut his mouth immediately when Jim's head snapped up and his icy blue gaze lanced across the room towards the young guide. Blair knew he'd just hit a sore spot with Jim; hadn't meant to, no, but had nonetheless. Dropping his voice so Simon couldn't hear him, he whispered, "Sorry, Jim. Love you." Jim blinked once, nodded, and then turned back to his work. Simon glanced between the two of them and wisely refrained from commenting. Instead, he sighed and said, "All right. But if anything like that begins happening again, let me know immediately. I can't stand to see either of you go through it a second time." Sandburg nodded, grinning up at his captain. "You got it, sir." Patting Blair lightly on the shoulder, Simon went into his office and shut the door behind him, signaling a need for peace and quiet to get some work done. Blair inhaled slowly, then let it go gently as he walked over to join his partner. He settled into a chair beside Jim as he surreptitiously rested his hand on the older man's thigh where no one could see. "I'm sorry, Jim, really. I didn't mean to upset you." Sighing, Ellison reached down and gathered Blair's hand in his own. He squeezed lightly and offered a strained smile to the younger man. "I know, Chief. Don't worry about it. I shouldn't be so touchy about it after this long, anyway, but... it still hurts." "I know, man. I understand that, remember? But we're fine. We're going to be fine. I have to be honest, though, Jim, this behavior is really close to..." "Sandburg! Chief... I know. Okay? You think I'm happy about it? I mean, we never did determine if it was the fact that another sentinel was what set me off, or the fact that Barnes was a psycho-sentinel," Jim hissed, keeping his voice lowered. Blair shivered slightly. "Yeah, man. And the idea of yet another psycho-sentinel coming into town is so not my idea of good." Jim straightened and turned to face his guide, reaching up to clamp his hand onto one of Blair's shoulders. "I won't let anything happen to you," he promised fervently. "I'll keep you safe, Chief." The younger man gave his sentinel a slow, sweet smile. "I know that, Jim. That you'll do everything you can to keep me safe. I never doubted that. Never will." Jim smiled back, then froze. The hair on his arms stood up and his hackles rose as he felt a presence enter the room. Whirling around in his chair, he looked towards the far side of the room to see a white tiger sitting in the middle of the floor. As he looked on, incredulous, the tiger lifted its head. He could see fatigue and pain in its eyes, and it huffed slightly, then dropped its head again. As though it were a major effort, the tiger got to its feet and walked slowly and silently towards the door to the stairwell, then looked back at Jim. Dropping its mouth to let out a low rumble, it turned and disappeared through the door. Ellison was after it before it had finished fading. Blair blinked, surprised, when Jim suddenly tensed and shot out of his seat, running for the door to the stairwell. A few detectives looked up to watch him go, then over to Blair, who shrugged helplessly. They shrugged as well and went back to their work. Sandburg got to his feet, intent on going after Jim, but Simon's door flew open and he looked over to see a very worried captain. Nodding and gesturing for the other man to follow, Blair took off after his sentinel. Captain Banks strode hurriedly through the bullpen and out to the stairwell, hoping against hope that he wasn't about to find a bad situation going on with his best team. --------

SVS-20: Lightning Strikes Twice by Rogue, Part 1