Best Laid Plans
By Aris Merquoni

Gargoyles and all related characters property of Disney and Buena Vista.
Mark, Jake, and Special Agent Lise Glass are all mine.

This is the sequel to _All's Fair_ and to _Love and War._ I wrote this
mainly because there are always things that happen after things have
happened. I hope you enjoy it; it's quite a change from my normal style of
doing things. ;)

On with the show...

-- -- --

"Let's do something completely frivolous and romantic."

Matt levered himself up onto his elbows and stared down at his lover
quizzically. "Don't tell me," he said. "You want to turn me into a gargoyle
and fly off to Paris with me."

Demona chuckled, reaching up to tickle him with the tips of her claws. He
bit back a startled laugh, and after a few moments of struggling managed to
pin her hands to the bed. He still marveled that he was able to do that,
even though technically she was letting him. Fifty-four, and he felt better
than he had twenty years before.

Of course, twenty years before he'd been in an emotional tailspin, half
wanting to chase his partner, and half wanting to throw himself into the
Hudson. And then there was Demona... ah, yes.

Suddenly happier than he'd been in years, he leaned down and kissed her.
She responded enthusiastically, wrapping her tail and her legs tighter
around his hips. He reveled in the sensation, for the moment forgetting any
mention of foolish romantic ideas.

As soon as their lips parted, Demona grinned and said, "Let's get married."

He stared at her. "What?"

She giggled. "You know, something completely frivolous and romantic. Fox
said she'd let us use the great hall in the castle."

"You've been *planning* this?" He rolled sideways, both to keep his weight
off her and to rest his arms. "Why?"

"Why not?"

"Demona..." he searched desperately for an argument. "I'm fifty four years
old."

"And I'm a thousand and fifty four, give or take a few decades. And you'll
live to at least a hundred and fifty four. What's the problem?"

"It's just..." he made ineffective gestures, which turned into caresses.
She pressed against him, and he rested his hand on her shoulder. "I didn't
know you wanted..."

"Oh, I know, it's silly. But..." She shrugged, seeming embarrassed. "I
guess I've sort of fallen in love with you, Matt."

He couldn't help himself. He started chuckling, then laughing. Demona
stared at him, then started laughing herself, somewhat shakily. "She's
*sort of* fallen in love with me," he repeated. "Sort of. God. Well," he
attempted to put on a straight face, "I guess I've sort of fallen in love
with you, too. Or at least I could like having you around. Do you want a
ring?"

"Oh, of course," she said. "I need to show it off and get envy from my
co-workers."

Matt frowned. "Demona... you own half of a multi-billion dollar
international conglomerate. You don't *have* co-workers."

"Spoil my fun, will you?" She rolled away from him, pouting. "Well, I can
show it off to Fox."

"Riiight. I've *seen* the rock that David got her. There's no way I'd be
able to afford something like that."

"Well, you could move in over here." She grinned. "It'd probably be a good
idea, anyway. And you'll have to do it eventually."

He shot her a look. "This is just an excuse to keep me on hand twenty-four
seven, isn't it?"

"Of course. I could use a man around the place."

"All right, all right. I'll move in, I'll marry you... anything else you'd
like, Empress?"

"Empress... I like that. Can you get the Illuminati Society to set me up
with a small country to rule?"

Matt laughed. "Sure. Will Grenada do?" They snickered for a bit, and he
smiled and shook his head. "God! Mr. and Mrs. Bluestone... it's probably a
good thing mom isn't alive to see this. It'd give her a heart attack."

"Mrs. Demona Bluestone," Demona said thoughtfully. "It does have a nice
ring to it, doesn't it?"

"Goodnight, Demona."

--

"Warehouses," Special Agent Lise Glass said as she flattened her back
against the wall. "Why does it always have to be warehouses?"

Special Agent Jacob Maza smirked harshly. "Just lucky, I guess," he said.
He looked back at the burning truck in the parking lot, then at the dark
interior of the warehouse. "You first, or should I?"

"Me first, rookie. Cover my back."

Jake let the comment roll off him as he stepped into the warehouse behind
his partner. It looked like any other warehouse he'd ever been in; dark,
with stacks of crates arranged in a regular pattern. It gave him the
impression of moving through a miniature version of New York City with all
its skyscrapers.

A creak from the other side of a stack of crates. Glass glanced back at him
and made the hand symbol for a pincer attack. Jake nodded and backed up to
creep around the barrier.

Creak. Snap. A muffled voice, cursing in ... something that wasn't English,
anyway. Jake's hand tightened on his gun as he came to the corner.

Quick glance around the corner. Figure in the dim light. Pull the gun
around- "Freeze, FB-" -recognition- "Mark!? What the hell?"

His erstwhile half-brother grinned slightly. "Konban wa, Jake. How's life
treating you?"

Agent Glass had stepped around the other side of the tower of crates by
this time, and shot a quizzical look in Jake's direction. "You know this
guy?" She did a double-take, then amended, "Gargoyle?"

"Yeah." Jake grimaced, remembering the flash-crack of the US Army transport
going up in flames. "That scene in the parking lot, Mark. You have anything
to do with that?"

"Well, yeah." He grinned again, wider. "I didn't expect to get chased
after, though. Bad planning."

"On the ground," Jake snapped. "Dammit, Mark, I don't feel like giving you
time to sharpen your conversational skills. Do you have any weapons?"

Mark smirked as he lay down on his stomach. "No. Do you trust the answer?"

Jake hesitated a moment, then knelt and started patting him down. Mark
winced a couple times from his treatment, but didn't complain. No weapons;
not that he expected any. "All right," he said as he finished. "Get up."

Mark pushed himself to his feet, rather more slowly than he'd gone prone.
"Quite a homecoming," he commented.

"I thought you were kicked out of US territory," Jake said.

"I was *strongly* encouraged to make my residence elsewhere," Mark replied.
"But this *is* the Land of the Free, so they can't do much to me."

"Plus you cross borders illegally."

"That, too."

Glass had been studying Mark all this time with narrowed eyes. "You're
*that* one," she finally exclaimed. "Television, about a year ago. You shot
up the ceiling of the United Nations. They were talking about it for weeks."

Mark nodded, smiling a bit sheepishly. "I'm afraid I lost my temper, Agent..."

"Lise Glass."

Mark cocked his head to one side, then smiled. "Oxford."

Her eyebrows rose. "Yes."

"Then it would be Ell eye ess ee? Not a?"

"Correct again, Mr..."

"Marcus Bluestone. Call me Mark."

"If we can get back to the point, here," Jake said irritably, "Why the hell
did you blow up that truck?"

Mark narrowed his eyes. "Wouldn't *you* like to know?"

Jake frowned. "You're not going to tell me."

He laughed. "Jake, come on. You're Big Brother now."

Jake froze, fingers of his free hand clenching involuntarily. It wasn't
until after a moment that he recognized the reference to _1984._ Still, he
was shaken - and he had the sneaking suspicion Mark had meant to do just that.

"We're going to have to take you into custody," Glass said. "Hands behind
your back."

Mark snorted. "I get back to the States, and I get arrested. What a day."

"Mark, you *blew up a truck.*"

He rolled his eyes as Agent Glass fixed the handcuffs around his wrists.
"You'll *have* to excuse me, I'm *not* at my best / I've been gone for a
month, I've been drunk since I left, / And these so-called vacations will
soon be my death / I'm so sick from the drink, I need home for a rest," he
sang bitterly.

"Shut up," Jake snapped. "You have the right to remain silent. I suggest
you use it."

"Yeah? You also have the implied right to beat the shit out of me," Mark
said. "In fact, up there in the chain of command, I'm sure someone would be
quite happy with you if you did."

Jake said nothing, but shoved Mark in the back to propel him toward their
car. Mark stumbled, but readily followed the indicated course. "Do I get a
phone call, at least?" he asked.

"You *get*," Jake said tightly, "to sit in the car while my partner and I
discuss this."

Mark shrugged philosophically, and climbed amiably enough into the back
seat of the rented Ford Gemini. Jake slammed the door and turned to his
partner with a sigh.

Agent Glass was standing next to the car with her arms crossed, wavy black
hair tugged slightly by the wind. Jake sighed again and pinched the bridge
of his nose.

He supposed it was a grand joke by his superiors. He'd already gained a
reputation as a troublemaker when he signed on, because of rumors about his
temper. He didn't know what Lise Glass had done to deserve him as a
partner, but she'd taken the assignment well enough, and they'd settled
into their partnership with good grace over the last year.

It was kind of funny, he thought as he studied her. Chocolate skin, black
hair, strong Indian/Asian features - she matched him better than anyone in
the department for ancestors abused by the British. Though he figured he
had the market cornered on African/Native American/Irish/Gargoyle better
than anyone else. But even when they'd been called to bible-belt towns and
had to face hostility from xenophobic townspeople, Lise had always been
able to handle herself with a composed and professional demeanor. The
harshest comments rolled off her back without leaving a mark.

Maybe they'd been paired up in hopes she'd teach him something...

"So who *is* this guy?" she asked.

Jake grimaced and pulled himself to the present. "He's... kind of a rogue
warrior. Tries to do good, that sort of thing."

"So you know him."

"I..." He shrugged. "Our families are friends."

"Not to mention that you're related?"

The careless way she threw out the comment made him miss its importance and
nod - and then twitch, a full-body shudder that he felt all through his
spine. "How the hell-"

"Hey, calm down, rookie. It was a guess. You look enough alike, anyway."

Jake took a deep breath and leaned against the car again. "Most people
don't even notice he's half-human, much less that we have the same color
hair."

Lise nodded, slowly. Her eyes flicked away, staring off into some middle
distance where the rest of the world didn't exist. After a long silence,
she spoke again. "So what do we do with him?"

"Turn him in, I guess. And hope he stays in jail and out of trouble for a
while."

Glass frowned at him, but shrugged and opened the driver-side door. "All
right, then."

"So, do I get that phone call?" Mark asked as Jake climbed into the
passenger seat. The custom-mold on the seat back was broken, and Jake
smacked the controls a couple times before giving up and turning on the
safety net.

"When we get the paperwork filled out," Glass said, saving Jake from having
to answer. He sent his partner a silent prayer of thanks as she started the
car. The hum of the engine turned into a moan as they rose off the pavement
and headed toward the main complex.

"Can I ask what a couple of FBI agents are *doing* on a military base in
northern Virginia, anyway?" Mark said.

"Nope," Jake replied. "Can I ask what you were doing lighting off the gas
tank of a military vehicle?"

"You can ask. You won't get an answer."

Jake sighed and stared out the window. The burning truck backlit the
buildings as they coasted over the compound.

--

Jake wasn't any happier a few days later, when he went at Alex Xanatos'
request to personally get Mark out of federal prison. Lise came with him,
possibly more out of curiosity than actual concern for her partner's welfare.

He looks like hell, was his first startled thought when two guards
appeared, escorting Mark between them. He doesn't look like himself, was
his second. Mark looked.... haggard, for lack of a better word. His hair
was still halfway down the back of his neck, but it was noticeable now -
flattened to his skull and hanging limply, instead of pulled back into a
tail. His eyes were focused on nothing, and his steps were leaden, walking
forward at the insistence of the guards and little reason else.

"Mark?" he said, surprised.

The half-gargoyle looked up, blinking a few times before his eyes focused
on them. "Oh, hello," he said. "Come to gloat, I suppose?"

His voice was flat and carefully neutral, completely void of the life it
normally carried. Even Lise noticed, shooting him a surprised glance. "What
did they do to him?" she murmured.

Mark was signed out with brisk efficiency, and suffered Jake and Lise as
bodyguards until they left the building. When they reached the sunlight,
Mark looked around as if coming out of a daze.

Jake cleared his throat. "What *did* they do to you?"

Mark smiled harshly, still not looking his way. "Oh... the normal. Put me
in a cell, asked me a few questions. What guards normally do in prisons, I
suppose."

Jake reached out a hand to Mark's shoulder, trying to make some sort of
contact. "Mark..."

The half-gargoyle whirled, trapping Jake's hand in a grip like a vise. Jake
found himself nose-to-nose with his half-brother, in less time than it'd
taken him to finish his name. Mark stared at him for a few seconds, then
murmured, "I have no control right now, Jake. None. Don't push me, or I
won't be able to keep from killing you. And *I don't want to go back there.*"

He released Jake's wrist and went back to staring at the skyline. "So," he
said as Jake rubbed feeling back into his hand, "Am I supposed to hoof it
from here?"

"No, Alex said he'd send a car."

"Nice of him," Mark commented as a hum from above marked an incoming
vehicle. The three of them looked up to see a black limo with a stylized
red X on one side circle, then land. The back door opened, disgorging Flynn
Skye, who didn't look too happy to see them.

"Mark, you look like shit," was his first comment after getting to his feet.

"I feel like shit," Mark replied. "What's up, Flynn? In the doghouse?"

Flynn's mouth tightened in concern, but he strove to keep his voice light.
"No, Alex wanted to be sure you were okay. C'mon, get in. Your mum said if
we're not back by nightfall she'll kill us both."

"That's mumsie," Mark quipped, but it sounded leaden. He climbed past
Flynn, who waited until he was inside before turning to Jake.

"What happened? I mean, I know I didn't know the bloke all that well before
he left, but..."

Jake shook his head. "I don't know. He was fine a couple days ago."

"When you arrested him?"

Jake gritted his teeth in anger. "He blew up a truck, Flynn."

Flynn smiled thinly. "So I hear. Well, you Yanks could do with a truck or
two less, I'm sure." He climbed back into the car and shut the door. A
moment later, it lifted back into the sky, hovered for a moment, then
turned north.

Lise raised an eyebrow. "And that was..."

Jake shook his head and shoved his hands in his pockets. "A friend of Alex's."

"Alex Xanatos?"

"Yeah." His hands were clenched into fists. He forced himself to relax.

Lise was watching him intently. Finally she smiled, and waved her keys at
him. "Come on. Let me buy you a drink."

He grimaced. "Is it that obvious?"

"What, that you got knocked on by his friend for doing your job? Yes." Her
expression softened as she put a hand on his shoulder. "C'mon. I know a
place where we can talk a while. Or, if you don't want to talk, we can
drink until I have to autopilot you home. Okay?"

Jake had to smile. "Okay, partner. Lead on."

--

Matt waited impatiently as Xanatos' car pulled up out of the main stream of
traffic and into the castle's airspace. It wasn't that he was worried, it
was... well, that...

Okay, so he was worried.

He was a cop, for Chrissake. He wasn't supposed to be raising kids that
went around blowing up government property. Of course, he hadn't really had
a hand in *raising* Mark, had he? And yet...

When Mark had run into the United Nations session and given them a
tongue-lashing on the merits of people first, politics second, he'd felt a
bizarre sense of pride in the kid. What the hell had Mark felt was so
important that he thought it worth getting thrown in jail for?

All thoughts of that nature were driven out of his head when Mark stumbled
out of the car. Mark took a few steps forward, then stood and swayed
uncertainly on his feet in the middle of the courtyard. "Hey, dad," he said.

Matt felt his heart lurch and stepped forward, catching his son by the
shoulders and then pulling him into a hug. He was scared, suddenly, scared
for what might have been, knowing that prison was no place for good people
to go, and whatever else he'd turned out to be, Mark was good people.

He finally broke the embrace when Demona moved closer, traded places with
her without question. He watched as Flynn got out of the car and shut the
door, then waved the driver off the castle's stones. The car soared into
the air with a whine, stirring the air with its passage, then slowly
sinking over the edge like a stone in murky water.

"I'm okay," Mark finally protested. "I'll be fine, just... Gods!" he pulled
back from his mother's arms, shaking his head. "What a box! I needed to get
*out* of there, is all."

"Well, you're out of there." Matt looked back at the castle, catching Alex
as he walked out to meet them. Alex was dressed in a business suit which he
was rapidly dismantling, tugging off his tie and jacket and handing them to
Owen. "And it took some doing. What the hell was *in* that truck?"

Mark sighed, then glanced at the wide blue-purple-yellow-red skyline.
"Let's go inside."

They turned and entered the castle, Demona's arm still wrapped around
Mark's shoulders. Owen had set up a gathering of chairs around a lit
fireplace, and was in the process of wheeling up a drink cart when they
arrived. Alex picked out a shotglass, poured a measure of clear liquid from
an unmarked bottle, and shoved it in Mark's unresisting hand. Mark, for his
part, managed to swallow without hacking up his esophagus, which had looked
to be beyond him. He then collapsed in the chair nearest the fire and
stared at the ceiling for a few minutes while everyone else made themselves
comfortable.

"Mom... you remember those barrels labeled 'industrial-strength joyjuice'
that you stashed in a warehouse in northern Virginia?" he finally asked,
sounding as if he wished she wouldn't.

Demona visibly paled, then nodded shortly. Alex looked from her to Mark and
back again. "Is this something we should know about?"

She laughed shortly. "Almost before your time, Alex... it's the remainder
of a particularly nasty disease capable of killing any sentient creature it
infected."

Matt jerked more upright in his chair. "Good Lord... you had *more* of that
stuff?"

Demona held up a hand. "It wasn't bonded to the secondary virus, so it was
nearly harmless... you wouldn't catch it even if you bathed in the stuff. I
wouldn't recommend drinking it, but even that should be safe..."

Matt shook his head. "Sorry. I still remember how close that was."

"*You* remember? I was there, and it still boggles me how remarkably stupid
I almost was."

"Almost?"

Mark cleared his throat. "As much as I hate to cut into your past
reminiscing, I think that the sooner I tell you what the hell I was doing,
the sooner you'll let me sleep."

Instant quiet. He sighed, then said, "I was looking over all those boring
staff messages when I found one that informed me--two months too late--that
someone had sold it."

--

"God. I don't even really *know* Flynn all that well, and it still hurts."
Jake slouched down further in his chair and stared into his drink. Was it
the sixth or the seventh beer he'd had? He hadn't thought Lise would
succeed in getting him drunk, but something in his mind was definitely not
working right.

"Where'd you meet him?" Lise said, leaning forward to rest her elbows on
the table.

"Africa." Jake looked up and grinned at her blank expression. "I know. It
seemed like a good idea at the time. It really did. But we landed in the
middle of a coup or something, and Mark... well, he did that hero shit
again. Anyway. We picked up Flynn with the reporter. He was the cameraman
for Mark's *other* famous news clip. The shorter one."

"What... what the hell were you originally doing in Africa?" The waitress
came around again and gave them a querying glance. Jake tossed down the
rest of his drink and ordered the next round. The waitress gave him a
disapproving look, but shrugged philosophically and collected their empties.

"I don't know," Jake replied. "It was Mark's idea... get my mind off things
or something..." he sighed. "Just get away from it all..."

"Things?"

He sighed, buried his face in his hands. He didn't even look up when the
waitress put down another glass in front of him. "Yeah. Things."

"Like what?"

He sighed again, looked up into Lise's concerned gaze, and shrugged. "Ah,
hell..." Wondering if alcohol was loosening his tongue. "I guess it's
gotten around... I was dropped from Quantico my first time through. I
punched a guy out. I was... not doing too well after that."

"Hunh." Lise shook her head, then asked, "Who'd you punch?"

"Tim Hilton."

"Him? He got shot last week, you know."

Jake blinked. "Again?"

"Yeah. Apparently he's also on reprimand for not taking a hostage situation
seriously enough... hence the new bullet wound in his leg."

Jake snorted and took another swig of beer. "Can't say I'm too sad to hear
it."

"What'd you hit him for, anyway?"

"Mouthing off about..." he hesitated, finished with, "Friends of mine."

Lise toyed with her glass, staring moodily into the reflected light on the
tabletop. "I didn't want to say anything, but I did some looking into your
background when we were paired up. Just general curiosity, you know? There
were some rumors, and Maza-"

"Isn't an incredibly common last name, I know." Jake sighed. "Yeah. My
mother is Elisa Maza, who was very quietly working as a supporter for PIT,
and who helped to prove the Quarrymen as a front for several terrorist
attacks."

"And who was also picked on the media for a few months before they got
tired and looked for easier prey?"

"Yep."

"Interesting family you have."

Jake barked with laughter, then noticed her raised eyebrow. "You including
Mark in that?"

"Mmmmm." She took another drink. "How'd you end up with a half-gargoyle..."

"Long story," he said, ignoring her implied question.

Lise nodded. "Right. So... are you doing any better?"

Jake grimaced at his glass. "If I was doing any better than this, I'd be
passed out by now. How about that autopilot ride home?"

"That sounds good to me." Lise insisted on swiping for the check, and he
let her, mostly because he wasn't sure he had the manual dexterity to
operate the scanner any more.

As they stumbled out to the car, he realized that he knew nothing more
about Lise than he had at the beginning of their partnership; but sometime
in the last year, he'd decided to trust her implicitly. As he slipped into
semi-consciousness in the passenger seat of her car, he decided it didn't
matter, as long as they got home in one piece.

He'd almost fallen asleep when a sudden whine of gyros and hiss of
maneuvering brakes jerked him back into reality. Lise cursed fluently, then
hit the manual cutoff and swung the car back into line, ignoring the
warning beeps from the computer. "What was *that?*" he said as the
screeching of airbrakes echoed in his ears.

Lise growled and put the autopilot back on. "Damn skylarker. You know, I
never trusted this autopilot..."

"Well, do you trust the autopilot more than your brain on drugs?"

She laughed. "Touche. But hell... we've only had flying cars as a race for
about fifteen years. I keep thinking there aren't enough safeguards."

Jake shrugged. "Well, when enough morons smash their brains across the
ionosphere, they'll toughen up regs, I'm sure. Give it time."

"I liked you better asleep."

Jake smiled and obligingly closed his eyes, letting the scenery drift by
outside.

--

General pandemonium.

Matt, for his part, managed to stay calm. Somehow. "What... do... you...
mean?" he said, very carefully, as nearly everyone else in the room wound
themselves up into a state of nigh-hypersonic panic.

His voice managed to cut through the gibbering panic, and the others
quieted long enough for Mark to get his breath back. "Ah... just what I
said. Someone found them and sold them."

"Who?" Demona growled, her eyes glowing angrily. Matt was suddenly very
glad that he was outside her field of view.

Mark waved a hand. "That's already been taken care of. Don't worry." He
took another drink, then sighed. "Anyway, it was sold to an intermediate,
who either knew what it was or quickly figured it out, and they sold it to
the US government."

Alex frowned. "What would- never mind. I can think of a few things."

"So could I. Which is why I armed myself with a few tanks of compressed
oxy, and enough Semtex to vaporize it all. I put *that* in the truck with
the happyjuice, then lit the gas tank." He shrugged. "Far as I know, Jake
and his partner weren't in on whatever it was, and just managed to be in
the right place at the right time." He rolled his eyes. "Or however you
want to put it."

"However we put it, *you're* going to sleep." Alex pried Mark's glass from
his unresisting fingers, then tugged on his arm until he got up. "Come on.
I had Owen open up a room for you, and you're going to crash there until
you look normal."

"I'm going to tax your room service."

"Good. Come on."

Matt glanced at Demona as their son was successfully shepherded out of the
room. She still looked as though she wanted to throttle someone, but was
mollified somewhat by Mark's assurance. "You gonna be okay?" he asked after
a couple minutes had passed and the steam had cleared.

She sighed, then stood. "I'll be fine. I would just greatly appreciate
something to tear to pieces about now."

Footsteps from the interior hallway made them both turn to the doorway.
Elisa Maza walked past the doorway, then did a double-take and stepped
back. "Hi, guys. What's up?"

"Elisa!" Demona said, grinning hugely and holding out both hands. "It's so
wonderful to see you! Up for a sparring session?"

Elisa looked from Demona's over-dramatic smile to Matt's stricken
expression and back. "Okay. What'd I miss, here?"

Matt made a couple handwavy motions. "Mark got back about fifteen minutes
ago."

"Oh." Elisa looked back at Demona, whose broad smile had faded away
completely. "I hope this isn't some maternal angst thing. Jake's a big boy,
and he makes his own choices in whom to arrest."

"No, nothing like that." Demona shrugged. "Come on, I'll fill you in and
then you'll want to attack *me*. And I have some residual anger to work out."

The two women left, and Matt was left scratching his head. "All right. My
life has achieved new levels of surreal," he muttered. Then he grinned.
"But hell, I guess I wouldn't have it any other way."

--

Saturday finally arrived. Jake took his time getting out of bed, getting
dressed, and decided that Saturday was a great day to lie on the couch and
revel in his independence. Which he did.

Stretching out on the couch, he curled his toes and reflected that there
was nothing more beautiful than being able to hear yourself think. Ahh,
yes, peace, quiet, and or-

Ring. Ring. Briiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing

-der.

Grumbling silently to himself, he reached up hit 'voice-only' before the
third ring finished. "Hello?" he said as politely as he could manage.

"Hey, Jake? It's Matt."

Jake kept himself from staring at the phone in disbelief by sheer force of
will. "Uh... hi, Matt. What's up?" Oh, God, it had to be about Mark. It'd
be about Mark, wouldn't it? "Look, if this is about Mark..."

"Huh? Oh, no, no. Don't worry about that. Hey, you're just doing your job."
Jake blinked a few times in surprise while Matt kept talking. "Even if you
knew the whole of it... well, don't worry about that. Anyway, I just wanted
to give you the news... and the invitation."

"Huh?" Jake was reaching new levels of confusion, and it was starting to
get annoying. "What's going on?"

"Demona and I are getting married."

*So that's why he's giddy,* Jake thought analytically before exclaiming,
"What?!"

"Yeah, finally," Matt said. "The real actual invitation with all the
information on it's going to get there soon, but I wanted to tell you as
soon as we had the plans finalized."

"Gee. Congratulations." Crazy uncle Matt hooking up with Psycho Bitch from
Hell... well, compatible personality types, anyway. "So, when's the big day?"

"The seventh. Just a couple weeks. Can you get up here?"

"Uhhh..." He shook his head. Why shouldn't he say yes? He had plenty of
vacation time. It wouldn't be too much of a bother to head up and see his
parents... and Aurora. "Sure thing. I'll need to check with my superiors,
but as long as I don't get bogged down..."

"Right! Right... well, great. I'll see you there, then." The line went
dead. Jake stared in the phone's general direction for another few moments,
then dropped his head back to the couch.

"Uh," he said aloud. He almost thought he'd feel better if Matt *had*
chewed him out for arresting Mark. At least that would be expected.

It wasn't that this was so much a surprise. He *knew*, intellectually, that
Matt and Demona had been sleeping together for a long time. He could almost
wrap his brain around it. But the prospect of them *married* was... too
weird to consider.

And what was that about "even if you knew the whole of it?"

Jake decided he'd deal with that later. Right now, he needed to talk with
his boss and get approval for a few vacation days. And, he grimaced,
looking down at himself, that probably meant he should get dressed.

--

The sun drifted lower, lower, then sank completely behind the glittering,
metallic horizon. With a roar, the leader of the Manhattan clan broke free
of his stone skin and faced the night.

His second in command nodded a greeting as Goliath stepped down from his
perch. Brooklyn would be able to lead the clan at any time, but was
respectful enough to never broach the subject of Goliath's retirement. He
would do that, sooner or later, but not until the time was right.

Hudson lowered himself to the walk with a sigh. Goliath turned to him in
concern. "How are you faring, old friend?" he said quietly when Brooklyn
had started organizing the patrols.

Hudson grimaced, reaching down to scratch Bronx behind the ears. "Well
enough for this winter, lad," he replied. He brightened. "That medicine for
joints that Xanatos came up with did to the trick, I'll give him that. And
I've a mind not to be moving too much this night."

Goliath patted his friend on the shoulder and let him go inside. As for
himself, he watched as Brooklyn assigned the younger gargoyles a patrol,
hovering unobtrusively in the background and very happily pawning off
authority.

Finally, the clan had been split up into pairs and assigned portions of the
city. "And watch out for flying cars!" Brooklyn growled at them as a final
admonition, to be met with laughter and reassurances from the children.
Terrence and Aurora hopped off the parapet and headed west, talking easily
with each other.

Brooklyn shook his head and walked over to Goliath when the rest had
dispersed. "They don't believe me," he said. "They think it's a game, just
because of laws restricting use to safety lanes. One of them's going to get
hit, I just know it."

"Funny," Goliath said, raising an eyebrow ridge. "I happen to remember a
young gargoyle I once knew who wouldn't believe similar warnings about
motorcycles."

Brooklyn managed to grin gamely, even while turning an interesting shade of
crimson. "Yes, well," he said, coughing, "I suppose... ah, hell. Boys will
be boys."

Goliath smiled. "Indeed." Suddenly, the night was far colder. Was it just
age that let him feel the chill? Shaking his head, he turned to go inside.
"Good work," he told his second. He hadn't been saying that enough.

The hallway he was traveling passed a number of sitting rooms, designed by
the original architects as meeting places for the functionaries and minor
lords to discuss business before bringing it before the Prince in the Great
Hall. Ambling along almost silently, Goliath was able to make out the
conversation taking place in one of these convenient cul-de-sacs before he
came upon the doorway.

"... but *damn* it, Alex, sometimes I wish I was full human. You have no
idea how much I envy you that. Or Jake."

Goliath paused, recognizing Marcus' voice even distorted by the corridor's
echoes. Alex spoke up a moment later. "Sheesh, Mark, even without wings?"

Goliath moved closer, morally adverse to eavesdropping, yet wanting to hear
more. Especially if it concerned his son. And what was the good of being
clan leader if he couldn't determine what was good for his clan?

"It's not about the wings." Mark heaved a sigh. "It's about being... you
know, the normal gripe about not being fish or fowl. And it's *damn*
annoying to have to get past the wings and tail and blue skin when you try
to make friends."

"You look just fine *with* all the accessories, handsome."

Mark laughed. "Don't let Flynn hear you say that, or he might come after
you with an icepick. Or me."

"No, really, Mark. Why is it such a big deal?"

"You grew up with gargoyles everywhere. You don't think it's so weird. And
I can win over most people quickly. But it's a strain. It's always getting
past that shock in their eyes when they first see you." He sighed again. "I
can't get past it. And it's worse when they know I'm half human.
'Abomination's only the first thing I get called."

There was a long silence. "Is it really as bad as that?"

"Not always," Mark said, "But too damn often."

Goliath shook his head and was about to leave when Alex asked, "So why full
human? Why not full gargoyle? Surely you've bumped into other clans out
there."

"Sure we have," Mark snapped, a whole new layer of bitterness thickening
his voice. "And yes, I got along with them. But dammit, Alex, I don't think
like that."

"What do you mean?" Alex asked, startled.

"Look..." there was a pause. "Humans, right, when you think about
relationships... you have a couple friends that are really close, right?
People you'd trust with your life, that you'd do anything for. People that
are closer than family, in some ways. Right?"

"I guess so," Alex said hesitantly. "I never really thought about it that
way."

"Then you have another group of friends. People you know, send cards to on
their birthdays, maybe ask for favors a few times," Mark continued. "And
further than that, you have acquaintances; people you know from work,
people who live around you, you might not like them all that much but you
know them. Maybe hang out with them occasionally when you have nothing
better to do. But do you see what I mean? It's a hierarchy."

"What does that have to do with not wanting to be a gargoyle?"

"Because, my dear, dear human friend, gargoyles don't think like humans do.
Gargoyles have friends, and then they have *clan.* And *everyone* in the
clan is like a cross between that closest friend and family. If you're part
of the clan, you *are* family, and if you're not, you have to prove you can
be trusted. It's not intentional. They don't *know* they're doing it. But I
hate having to prove myself to everyone in this castle every time I come
home without knowing *why* I have to do it."

There was another long silence. "I never noticed that."

"Oh, it's not big. It's little things. Little stupid things, like... like
humans do, when they make little social groups. But social groups *change.*
Clan doesn't." Mark laughed, bitter in the silence. "And it doesn't help
that my mother's completely insane."

*Now* Alex laughed. "Well, she seems a lot better to me. I mean, she isn't
even genocidal anymore. Why, she's downright courteous."

"Sure. That's noticeable to *you*. But to any right-thinking gargoyle,
she's a flaming lunatic. So am I, for that matter. Gargoyles don't *live*
on their own. Humans need space. Gargoyles don't. With a gargoyle, anyone
who managed to live on their own for a thousand years... why, they *have*
to be insane." Mark snorted. "And the fact that I like to be on my own once
in a while for a night... to hunt, to sleep out, to jerk off, for crying
out loud... why, I must be slightly wrong in the head, too."

"Wow," Alex said. "I never... sheesh, we live in the same castle, but in
two different worlds sometimes."

"Goddess. Sometimes I don't understand humans *or* gargoyles. I *must* be
insane." He laughed again. "Gargoyles don't leave home, they don't talk
back *seriously* to their clan leader, and they don't like being alone.
Humans don't have blue skin and wings and claws and tails. Or a bizarre
need for altruism in every situation. Humans *revel* in self-interest,
dammit, and I can't."

"Ever try being a hermit?"

"'Get thee to a nunnery, go?' Yeah, right. I like people. Gargoyle
instinct, remember? Human instinct, too. 'Man is an animal that lives in
/apolis/.'"

"'Wants nothing of a God but eternity and a heaven to throne it in.'"

"All right, let's quit quoting dead white guys at each other. You had a
flying car modification you wanted to show me?"

Goliath did turn and leave, then, taking a different passageway to another
unoccupied portion of the castle. He wound his way down corridors, thinking
to himself.

'Gargoyles don't think like humans do.' Was that why he'd been feeling
so... alienated? Elisa had never seemed so different, but Jacob...

Jacob wasn't a gargoyle. That was the plain truth, and it hurt to admit it,
even to himself. Jake wasn't a gargoyle, and he didn't think like his
father did... like his father wanted him to.

He supposed it was just...

... what was that screaming?

Goliath stepped closer to the doorway the argument seemed to be coming
from, belatedly realizing that his path had taken him toward the Great
Hall. He poked his head around the doorway and blinked.

"No," Demona said, poking one pointy blue claw at a
miffed-but-beginning-to-look-fearful man in a suit. The man was quite pale
already, and had a new-fashioned asymmetrical beard sprouting from his
pointy chin. The hairs on his chin were blonde, but his head was covered in
thick brown hair.

Fox and David Xanatos were also in the room, watching the altercation. 
They seemed amused. Owen stood behind them, taking notes on a clipboard.

"NO," Demona said again, "I will *not* wear white!"

The man closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and said in a soothing voice,
"But it's traditional. You *must* wear white. It's the whole bridal history
that we must adhere to."

"Jumping over a sword after taking vows is also traditional. I'd much
rather do that than be iced like a birthday cake of an inappropriate color!"

Fox raised an eyebrow and smiled. "Now *that* might be interesting."

"Mmm-hmm," David agreed, before Fox elbowed him in the ribs. The
billionaire's billionaire looked up and caught Goliath before the gargoyle
could make a hasty disappearance. "Goliath, what do you think? White,
pastels, or vanilla icing?"

Goliath gingerly stepped into the hall, hoping that his embarrassment was
not manifesting itself physically. "I... don't think the last would be
wise," he said hesitantly.

"*White*," the man said again, crossing his arms across his chest.

"*No*," Demona said, just as forcefully if not more so. "I'm not exactly
*innocent*. And I don't care if it's not fashionable or traditional or
*what.*"

"Green, I think," Owen said, scribbling helpfully on a clipboard. "Dark
green."

"With white trim," Fox added. When Demona turned an exasperated gaze on
her, she raised her hands and smiled innocently. "Really. It'll make
everyone happy, and it'll look nice."

Demona frowned and looked down at her arms. "Will it clash?"

"No, I don't think so," Fox said. "Especially if you use a lot of white."

Demona sighed and buried her head in her hands. "All right. Fine."

"Okay? Now that we've settled on the color scheme, we need to get the
flower arrangements set." Fox looked around the hall, squinting into the
darker recesses. "We'll need to get some more lights, of course... What do
you think, Jim?"

The other man looked relieved at finally being taken seriously. "Well, if
you insist on dark green, I think we would do well to go with gold..."

David extricated himself from the planners and walked over to stand next to
Goliath. "Well, how are you dealing with all this hubbub?" the billionaire
asked, pointing in the general direction of the gesticulating wedding planner.

"To be honest," Goliath said, "I've been trying to ignore it."

David grinned, nodded, and turned back to where Fox was attempting to keep
Demona from the planner's throat again. "It's so much nicer now that we're
not trying to kill each other, isn't it?" he asked rhetorically.

Goliath smiled. "Yes, I have to agree."

David's grin widened. "Now, see, if you'd just agreed in the first place, I
could have taken over the world and we wouldn't have had *any* problems."

Goliath studied him for a long moment, keeping his face completely still
until David's grin finally wavered and faded. Then he smiled. "I'd quit
while you're still ahead."

Then he turned and left, before anyone could ask his opinion on gold-plated
lilies for the bridal bouquet.

--

Some days later:

"I do."

"I do."

"You may kiss the bride."

And there was much rejoicing.

--

Some hours later, Mark staggered out to the courtyard and stared up at the
lightshow, a glass of very very good champagne in his hand. It was a
beautiful night; the air was crisp but not chilly, the atmosphere was
welcoming, and everyone had managed to get just buzzed enough to enjoy
themselves without worrying too much about the consequences.

"Beautiful ceremony, wasn't it," someone said at his elbow.

He turned, then turned the full force of his grin on the white gargoyle
standing there. "Yeah, I think so," he replied. "And I think the end was
particularly touching."

Winter grinned back. "When they had the musicians start... and with the
thing, with the lights?"

"Yeah. and the way... you know, everything... so romantic."

"I cannot *believe* that she got them to play that song."

"Ha! What *I* can't believe is that Fox actually sang it."

"And I couldn't believe who caught the bouquet."

Mark started to laugh. "And then... when Bronx..."

"Ha!" Winter started giggling. "Don't remind me, don't you dare, I'll start
laughing and I'll drop my drink..."

"'Rapunzel, Rapunzel...'"

"Stoppit!" Winter tittered, a hand across her stomach. She broke out
laughing again as Mark made little clawing motions in the air. Giggling,
she rubber her eyes, took a few deep breaths, and finally got herself under
control. "Oh, Lord, that was..."

"Yeah." He grinned at her, and she smiled again, and suddenly there was a
different light in her eyes. He stepped closer--

And suddenly the murmur of conversation that had been steadily pouring
through the door behind them died off, leaving only the sound of the
current musical number, a waltz. Mark turned to look, then stepped closer
to the door, sure that whatever marvelous occurrence that could stop so
many people talking all at once must be interesting.

As he got through the doorway, he could feel his eyebrows attempting to
hide themselves in his bangs. "What?" Winter whispered at him, and he
beckoned her forward.

The floor of the Great Hall had been cleared away to make a dance floor,
with the musicians clustered at one end. When Mark had left, all the
available men had been engaged in playing "keep-away" with the bride.

The turn had obviously passed to Goliath. And, for a wonder, the entire
Great Hall was still intact.

Mark stared at the single couple dancing for a couple minutes, then said,
"Well."

That seemed to cue the rest of the congregation to start murmuring in that
wow-this-is-a-surprise-what-do-you-think-happened rooba-rooba-rooba. Mark
grinned and led Winter back to the courtyard.

--

Elisa Maza rubbed her hands together, then smiled at the man hovering next
to her. "So how do I look, doc?" she asked.

Dr. Franklin looked down at his chart, quite unconcerned with his patient's
nervous fiddling. Elisa marveled again that she was sitting here, awake,
all right, and not screaming her head off.

"You're doing pretty good, Ms. Maza," Dr. Franklin said. "I see those
Lazarus pills have been working well on you. Other than that, the only
anomaly that I can see is slightly high blood pressure--"

"Purely psychological, I can assure you," she said, smiling slightly. God.
If he'd known how hard it was for her to do this...

But then, he couldn't know. And it didn't seem hard, now. She pushed her
hands through her hair, listened to the rest of the doctor's concerned
babble, and wondered why she hadn't done this a long time ago.

The clinic's secretary was cheerful as Elisa signed out, deducting a
not-too-incredible chunk of money from her account. Elisa took another look
around the office and wondered at herself. She'd come through the lion's
den... and nothing had happened to her.

Nothing bad, at any rate. She hadn't been quite sure what to expect, but
Dr. Franklin had been courteous, kind, and professional. The checkup had
been assisted by a computer not unlike the one she had at home. The office
had been clean, comfortable, and covered in posters of cute furry animals.

Elisa giggled at herself as she stepped out into the sunlight. It was
probably the furry animals that had done it, she decided. The only furry
things in Sevarious' lab had been victims.

She shook off *that* thought quickly. This was no day for thoughts like
that. The sun was shining, the wedding had gone off splendidly, Mark and
Jake hadn't killed each other... yes, things were looking up.

She smiled, letting the sunlight soak into her skin for a brief moment.
Even Demona and Goliath seemed to be friends again. *That* had come as a
surprise, but a welcome one. Matt truly had managed to civilize her.

Looking around for her car, she spotted it wedged against the sidewalk the
next block down. Heading toward it, she decided to take the rest of the day
for herself. *You've conquered your biggest fear, married off your
ex-lover, and reconciled a family argument. What next?* she asked herself,
then answered with another giggle, *I'm going to Disneyworld!*

She never saw the truck that careened around the corner and ended her life.

--

"Goliath?"

He didn't expect that voice upon awakening. Nor did he expect the way his
name sounded, the tone that always leads to bad news.

Goliath turned, slowly, to face her. As if by delaying whatever news he had
to hear, he could deny its truth for a few more moments. He'd want these
moments later.

Demona was standing behind him, looking curiously vulnerable. She'd taken
to wearing more human clothing, recently, but tonight she was wearing her
halter and loincloth, looking achingly like she had when he had seen her
for the first time in a thousand years...

Then he looked into her eyes, and he knew.

"What..." he asked, hoping it wasn't true, hoping anything else was true
but what he knew she was going to tell him.

"Elisa..." she had to fight to get the words out, where once she would have
reveled in them. "She's dead."

For one quiet moment, her words simply didn't make sense. Elisa? Dead? No,
surely not...

Then in the next, her words sank in, and he wanted to die.

"No," he said. "No..."

Demona reached forward, and he screamed in rage and pain, lashed out,
remembering nothing, *feeling* nothing until he felt his claws sink into
her shoulder, and he recoiled, suddenly sick, staring at the blood on his
claws and remembering Elisa and thinking Elisa no it couldn't be Elisa
couldn't be...

He stared at Demona, who was wiping the blood off her shoulder, pain writ
deep on her face. The wounds were already healing. No; the wounds would
never heal. No; there were no wounds. No; Elisa was dead...

He turned and fled into the night sky.

--

Matt heard them return, heard Demona leading Goliath into the back of the
castle, heard the door close.

Then he turned around and wandered back to the sitting room he'd proclaimed
his, sat down, and proceeded to try and get drunk.

God. If anyone had asked him what he thought he'd be doing the day after
his wedding, this would *not* have been the answer. Then again, if anyone
had asked him when he thought his partner would die...

Death. There was something else he didn't want to think about. God.

Take another shot.

This was not how he wanted to be spending his honeymoon.

He blinked blearily at the bottle in front of him, attempting to figure out
how much he'd had so far. After a couple moments he decided the answer was
'not enough.' Take another shot. Damn. Elisa wasn't supposed to die.

And... it wasn't supposed to be like *this*. Old age, happy, with
grandkids; sure. Taking out terrorists who were going to destroy the city;
maybe. Not in some stupid hit-and-run accident.

They'd caught the guy who'd been behind the wheel, who was juiced on
something and none too far from death's door himself. Vehicular
manslaughter carried the death penalty these days.

Take another shot.

Couldn't feel too sorry for the guy, all things considered.

The light from the hallway was cut off, getting rid of one of the sets of
shadows in the room. Matt looked up to see Jake, thin, pale, short on
sleep. He looked through Matt without seeming to focus, then his eyes lit
on the bottle. "Can I..."

Matt pulled another glass from the serving cart and filled it, pushed it
across the table. Jake's legs gave out at about the same time he decided to
sit down, and when he picked up the glass he spilled half of it through
shaking. They sat in silence for a while, drinking.

"Where's your wife?" Jake finally asked, hurt and anger and betrayal all
fighting for dominance in his voice.

Matt wasn't in any mood to be gracious. "Getting fucked by your father."

Jake was halfway out of his chair, eyes blazing, by the time he finished.
"Damn it--"

"You want to check?" Matt snapped, gesturing down the appropriate hallway.
They glared at each other before Jake finally collapsed again, his strength
exhausted.

"But..."

"They're gargoyles," Matt said. Then, as if to a slow child, "We're not.
You'll have to remember that if you decide you're serious about Aurora."

"Dammit--" Jake choked the words back, finished his drink rather than say
anything. Matt waited. "How can you just *sit there?*"

"How do you think Goliath managed it?"

Jake looked as though he'd been slapped. Matt shrugged and answered
himself, "With difficulty, I know. I think he sat in the library and read.
Which is a *much* healthier addiction than this."

"But she had a reason," Jake said.

"Yeah? And so is this. Grief. I could even understand it if I wasn't so
involved." He stared for a moment at the empty bottle, pulled another one
off the rack. Take another shot. "Where's Aurora?"

"With her parents."

"Yeah, should have figured." Matt shook his head. "Ties of blood run
stronger, and all of that."

"But dammit, I..." Jake shook his head, then suddenly cried, "Dammit, *why?!*"

Matt couldn't answer. Take another shot...

--

The funeral was three nights after the wedding.

--

Acknowledgements:

... oh, you guys thought this would be a happy taffeta wedding fanfic.
Shame on you. ;)

Anyway. I'd like to dedicate this to some people:

To Patrick, for encouraging me, and listening to all my evil scheming.

To Ship-chan, for cheering me on when I got evil.

To Shad, for his comments and prereading. And for cheering me up with:
<Shadur> You. Are. [EVIL].
... when I was feeling sorta depressed.

To Jewel, for inspiring me to dig deep and hurt plentifully.

To my mother, for flying down to Los Angeles with me just to see Mamma Mia
again. I love you, mom.

To my father, for being there to pick us up at the airport after said trip.
Love you, too.

And to everyone out there who sends me e-mail; you guys make it worthwhile.
All... Four of you. ;)