* * *

"Previously, on Gargoyles..."

Samantha: "Hey, Bluestone! Call me Slick. Most people do."
Matt: "Then you call me Matt."
Samantha: "I'll think about it."

~ Relatively Speaking ~

Sarah: "I still can't get over your alter ego."
(Show Owen changing into Puck, "The Gathering Part Two")

~ Weekend Off ~

Samantha: "I managed to get off work tonight. Can't ask for much more."
Rachel: "You actually didn't have to drive tonight? What'd you do, whack Eddie over the head with a crowbar?"
Samantha: "On Christmas? I don't think so." (grins) "Blackmail. I threatened to tell his wife he was cheating on her again."

~ Relatively Speaking ~

Fox: "It looks as though most of our security is intact, except for those on the upper floors."
(Show the helicopters descending on the Eyrie, "Weekend Off")

~ Weekend Off ~

Random: "Wait a minute - what are you doing like that? I thought you liked the eight-hairy-legged version better."
Anansi: "Ask de bird-boy."
Random: "Lost a bet again, did you?"
Anansi: "Eh, how was I supposed to know cab drivers were dat crazy?"

~ Relatively Speaking ~

* * *

Avalon

"So the little prince sleeps," Phoebe murmured.

Selene eyed the image in the Mirror. "Untouched by destiny still."

Luna arched an eyebrow. "Even our Lord himself has failed to bring him home."

The Three exchanged glances at that. Oberon and Titania, once the holiday feasting had drawn to a close, had been engrossed in a battle of wills. Which generally meant that each one was trying to ignore the other more effectively. Their lord was so absorbed with his frustration that he hadn't bothered to consider how Titania had known, nor to listen to his handmaidens' appeal. Random had wisely stayed out of sight.

But the issue of the child remained. Even distracted, Oberon was a force to be reckoned with. In fact, he was more protective of himself than ever. Overthrowing him had long ceased to be an option, so impressing their Lord would have to do. Not that he was thrilled with them at the moment for letting his last attempt reach Titania's ears.

"If only he would listen to us," Selene added. "He would see that it was not we who betrayed him."

Luna had to chuckle. "Sister, you know that will never happen until he considers it on his own."

Selene scowled. "I cannot wait that long."

"We have waited hundreds of years," Luna pointed out.

"Then we may wait a thousand more," Selene snapped. "He is too busy ignoring our Lady to give us an audience."

Phoebe had remained silent during this exchange, eyes fixed on the image in the Mirror. "But she is ignoring him as well. And us."

The other two turned and looked at their golden-haired sister, who was smiling slightly, a glint in her blue eyes. "What are you saying?" Luna asked curiously.

"If we wish our Lord's attention, we shall offer to make amends. To bring him what he desires." Phoebe answered.

Selene smiled.

Manhattan
January 11

The light turned green. And stayed that way for a while.

Samantha Denaro groaned and leaned on the horn. "Green light!" she shrieked, sticking her head out the window, heedless to the frigid air. "That means move your ass!"

In front of her, the half-asleep guy at the wheel jerked awake and sped through the light. She followed just before the light shifted from yellow to red, swerving slightly as a car almost clipped her back bumper. "Tourists."

The young couple in the back seat exchanged glances. When she pulled up at the curb in front of the Hyatt, they hastily handed over the money and hopped out of the car without a word, looking grateful to be out.

Sam sighed and started to pull out of the space when a sedan suddenly pulled up an inch behind her bumper, sandwiching her in between two very expensive cars. There was no way in hell she was getting out without having to pay for damages. The car in front was empty and illegally parked, and the driver was getting out of the one in the back with his passengers. Sam scowled and opened her door, ignoring the blast of cold air and the honking of passing drivers as she did so. "Hey! Excuse me!" she shouted.

They turned, and she mentally kicked herself, taking a deep breath. I'm not going to lose my temper. Not with the Police Commissioner in the group. "You mind backing your car up a few feet?" she finally asked, trying and failing to keep the irritation out of her voice.

The driver raised an eyebrow. "We'll only be a minute, miss."

Yeah, I know what your idea of a minute is. She shoved the thought away and spoke through gritted teeth, hoping she looked as tired, frazzled, and worthy of at least some sympathy. "Please." The word tasted bitter on her mouth. Society types. Always acting like the world can be put on hold just for them.

He shrugged and went back to move the car. Sam sagged with relief and slid back into her seat, starting up the engine again as she pulled back into traffic, waving a half-hearted thanks before dodging someone who'd forgotten that he couldn't drive on the left side of the road in America.

Recognizing the cab number, she groaned. It was tempting as anything to report Lenny, but she'd save it for an emergency.

There was a fare up ahead, but before she could even switch lanes someone else was pulling up. The midtown traffic was worse than usual, even for a Friday night. It was Sunday night. After trying and failing to get out of the lane she was in for the sixth time, she swore under her breath and finally slid into the turn lane, turning off 57th and heading towards Rockefeller Center, away from the theater district.

"Yeah, yeah, all the fares are there," she muttered at the rearview. "Not that I can catch any of them."

She checked her meter and turned right, heading towards a section of traffic that didn't seem to have a lot of cabs around. That was because there didn't seem to be a lot of fares either. Muttering under her breath in Italian, Sam took out the cap her sister had given her for Christmas. "Lucky cap my ass," she scoffed, glaring at the cartoon on the front. "'Beavis and Butthead,' of all things." Ray had equally weird taste in TV, boyfriends, and Christmas gifts.

Shrugging, she put it on anyway. It couldn't get any worse in the next three hours. So many mental cases hailed cabs it was amazing. At least none of them had turned into giant spiders in the back of her cab, though. Sam shuddered, remembering that weird black guy she'd picked up the week before Christmas. Now that was strange. She'd been so freaked that she'd pulled her shotgun on him until he changed back and dropped him off at the curb. But not before she'd made sure he paid his fare.

Shaking her head, she gave up and turned onto 3rd Street, reluctantly joining the flow of traffic headed for Greenwich Village. Traffic might be slightly lighter, but she might be able to catch fares there. Soon she spotted someone trying to flag her down. Guy in his thirties, neatly shaven, clothes that looked a little too good for the guy wearing it, a few gold piercings.

Could be a pimp, but he wasn't dressed outrageously enough, and most of their business was north of here at this hour. Didn't look like the ideal fare, but at this point it didn't matter. She pulled over and he scrambled in. "Chelsea Park."

The drive was silent for a few blocks. A light drizzle was starting to fall, and Sam scowled; if the temperature dropped a bit more, it would turn into freezing rain. Her passenger jerked up. "Wait, uh, forgot something. Turn onto Lexington, will you?" His hands were shaking, and she had the feeling that she shouldn't have bothered.

She glanced at him and obeyed, her right hand steering and her left reaching down beside the seat. For once, she didn't have her shotgun in the cab with her. There was just a can of pepper spray, which was the only thing she could use without the cops getting on her case. It figured that this was the night she didn't bring the gun along.

Nothing happened and she turned on 34th Street, back in the crush of traffic. Sam glanced up again in time to see him pulling a baggie out of his pocket, and caught a glimpse of white powder. "What the hell?" she exclaimed as the sound of sirens reached her ears.

He jumped and pulled out a knife, but he was either stoned or drunk and she had pulled to the curb before he could pull the metal out. With swift reflexes, she grabbed his wrist and twisted, causing him to drop the knife. Wrenching his arm free, he kicked open the door and dashed out onto the sidewalk.

"Oh no you don't!" She threw open her door, switched the off duty light on and the meter off before slamming the door. "I'm not getting aiding and abetting because of a dealer."

Then she noticed something even more infuriating. Tucked under his arm was her favorite leather jacket. "Get back here!" she yelled, breaking into a run. "Give me my jacket back, you prick!"

Naturally, he ignored her, turning and charging down the sidewalk, heading for the nearest subway entrance. Fortunately, he was too busy checking to see how close the lunatic chasing him was to watch where he was going. That, and he hadn't considered the prospect of slipping on an ice patch like the one right in front of him.

He collided with a newsstand display, knocking papers and magazines over, and continued a few steps, unfazed, before something struck him in the back of the head, sending him sprawling as the purse Sam had "borrowed" from the owner hit him in the back. If she hit him with a purse instead of a swift kick to the head, it looked more like he'd stolen something from her. Which he had.

But again he scrambled to his feet, turning and yanking a section out of the metal magazine stand he'd knocked over, wielding it like a club. Sam tossed the purse back to the confused woman, and ducked as he swung once, twice, three times, missing her at each try. Then he rushed her, and she shifted her weight, dropping into a tiger position -

- and without even landing a blow on him, flipped him over her back and onto the pavement. The next thing she knew, she was surrounded by cops.

Matt recognized the voice as soon as he jumped out of Elisa's Fairlane. "I told you, I didn't do anything wrong!" Sam exclaimed as the officer handcuffed her. "He pulled a knife on me and took my jacket! What was I supposed to do?"

"How about shutting up for a change?" the female officer snapped, raising a fist.

Elisa and Matt exchanged glances and dashed over. "Break it up!" Elisa yelled, flashing her badge before the officer could throw any punches. "Maza, 23rd. Remember, Officer? You people called us in."

The woman snorted. "Susan Dockson. Just getting another collar while I'm at it."

"What're you charging her with?" Matt interrupted, seeing the drug dealer being shoved into a car. "You got your man, Dockson."

"Aiding and abetting, what else?"

Elisa's eyes narrowed. "Uh-huh. You bother to ask her why she stopped the cab and chased him down for you while she was at it?"

"Not really," Sam interrupted. "Anyone gonna get something done tonight so I don't die of hypothermia?"

Dockson elbowed her sharply in the back. "Shut up!" She turned and addressed the detectives. "So she plays Jackie Chan just to get out of it. Not to mention grabbing a woman's purse."

"She told you it was okay! I gave it back!" Sam shouted, but she was ignored.

"A lot of his amigos are dropping him anyway," Dockson continued. "Big deal."

Matt grabbed the woman's arm before she could actually do some damage. "Dockson, take the cuffs off of her now. We'll handle this. Go work out your--" for a moment he was tempted to say 'lack of a sex life' but didn't want to get killed - "stress elsewhere. Not on duty."

Jerking her arm out of his grip, Dockson muttered something under her breath and unlocked the cuffs, heading over to the car. "Gargoyle lovers," Matt could have sworn he heard the woman say before she was out of earshot.

He turned back to where Sam was rubbing her wrists and muttering some equally colorful epithets in Italian. "I guess asking how you're doing is out of the question, Slick."

She managed a small smile. "No shit."

"You want to tell us what really happened?" Elisa said as Matt turned and snatched Sam's coat from the nearby cop car. "Just the Reader's Digest version will work."

Matt proferred the jacket. "Trust me. We'll actually listen."

For a moment, she eyed them thoughtfully, then accepted the jacket, pulling it on. "I pick up this guy in Greenwich Village. Said he could pay, I needed a fare, it was a bad judgment call. Saw a little white bag poking out of his pocket and heard the sirens, yelled and pulled over, he tried to pull a knife, I knocked it out of his hand, he took off with my jacket, I chased him, end of story."

Elisa shook her head. "Pretty much what I thought. I'm going to go straighten things out before Dockson starts playing Xena. But they're going to want a statement."

"Oh, joy."

"You just sign your version and that's it," Matt assured her as Elisa headed off. "No big deal." As Sam leaned back against the cab, he glanced at the meter. "How much did he owe you?"

She shrugged. "Twenty-one bucks. Made a few wrong turns."

He fished around in his pocket and found a ten, two fives, and eventually four quarters. "There."

"Forget it, Bluestone. I don't take charity."

"This isn't charity, Slick. We owe you this." Matt glanced over to the crowd of officers. "Elisa was right. You did nail this guy for us, without even pulling a knife. The least I can do is pay the fare he cost you."

She hesitated, then took the money and stuffed it in her pocket. "Why three cars for that loser?"

"That 'loser' happens to be in charge of a strip of crack houses," Matt answered.

"Him? He doesn't look the type."

"Exactly, and he knew it. We think Dracon's got something to do with this, or even the Quarrymen. Now that we've got this guy, he'll probably tell us who's backing him."

Sam glanced over at the thief, who was being shoved into another squad car. "Not really the loyal type."

"No kidding. Pretty desperate, too." Matt grinned. "If it weren't for you, he'd have slipped away by now - or worse, if he'd gotten in someone else's cab, he'd have a hostage." He paused. "Speaking of which, he didn't have a knife on him."

She jumped up. "I forgot. He dropped it in the cab." Before she could open the door, Matt caught her arm.

"Don't pick it up. We'll get the guys in gloves to grab it as evidence." He waved another officer over as well as another man with a kit of some sort.

"Oh, hell, you've got to look through there?" Sam scowled. "Damn it, I've got a shift to finish!"

Matt sighed. "The knife's in there, guys. You don't have to go over the whole car, do you?"

"Just the back," one said, and Sam moaned. "Gonna take about an hour, though."

Before she could blow a fuse, Matt tapped the guy's shoulder. "Keep it simple, all right? Just get what you need and get the hell out of there. Twenty minutes."

"Don't need to confiscate the whole cab," Sam added, and Matt snorted.

"What she said. They just might if we let them," he added in a lower voice, turning back to her. "The new Forensics people we got call themselves 'thorough,' which really means anal as hell."

She sighed. "As long as they keep it simple. It's been a lousy night." Suddenly, it occurred to her that forgetting the shotgun might have been a good thing after all.

"Twenty minutes, they'll be out. Scout's honor." He glanced at her head. "Nice hat."

Sam whipped it off her head self-consciously. "Oh yeah. I kind of forgot about that. Ray gave it to me for Christmas; said it was a 'lucky cap.' I haven't had much luck tonight."

"Come on. I'll see what I can do about that statement. Elisa's probably scared the living hell out of Dockson by now." He started towards the ring of cop cars, and Sam followed.

Until something occurred to her. "Wait a minute. Did you hear what she called us?"

"Gargoyle lovers?" At his words, she clenched a fist. "Figures. Yeah, I heard it too. I'm not surprised, really; Dockson's got more attitude than some of the junkies she's grabbed off the street. It doesn't mean she's a Quarryman, though." Sam muttered something in rapid Italian. "What?"

"She's a bitch."

"Tell me something I don't know."

"Don't say it. There are laws against beating on someone for that, right?"

"Unfortunately. But if you do see her in the hood or with a hammer, go right ahead and pop her one." Matt had to smile at her surprised expression. "What the hell, most of it's public knowledge. Seems the Mayor and the Commissioner both decided that the Quarrymen were a menace. After the weapons shipment in December, and someone tipping the DA's office off about them being behind that Macy's riot, this is only going to push them farther away from ever supporting the Quarrymen."

She yawned. "That's something I'm glad to hear. Maybe this night won't be so bad after all."

"Tired?" As Sam nodded in response, Matt's eyes lit up. "You know, there's a diner about a block from here. Open all night, and they make great coffee."

Sam paused, considering the offer. It was tempting, but she finally shook her head. "Gonna have to pass on that one. Sorry, Bluestone," she added, "but I'm running behind tonight."

"Take a raincheck?"

"You don't give up, do you?" At his smirk, she grinned. "Tell you what. Let's just say I owe you a cup of coffee some night when you aren't chasing down the scum of the city and I'm not working my ass off."

His shoulders sagged a bit. "Which will be when?"

"Sometime soon." She put the cap back on. "I'll let you know when you earn it."

The next few hours were uneventful by comparison. It took the forensics people about half an hour to get done and let her get on her way. There wasn't anything incriminating, since all the prints on the knife were his. So it turned out that she just had to sign a deposition. Elisa had warned her that if push came to shove, she might have to testify, but only if something happened to all the evidence they had already.

But it probably wouldn't happen, and this probably wouldn't be made public. Sam had the feeling that Dockson really didn't like the idea that a cab driver had beaten them to the punch. She smiled at that thought.

She smiled even wider at what Matt had said. At least the cops were against the hammerheads. For a guy with a badge and a UFO fixation, Bluestone wasn't that bad.

Still grinning, she stopped in front of the apartment building to drop off the yuppie couple in the back seat, who had spent the first twenty minutes bickering and then sat in silence the rest of the drive. Sam had been very careful with those two in her cab. A wild turn and she'd have them on her case. But they paid the fare with tip and got out, too tired to fight.

And with tip, she was done for the night. "Yee-ha," she muttered, shutting the meter off and turning back towards the garage. It was around two a.m., and the traffic had lightened a bit. She turned down a maze of side streets until she found the road she wanted, one that was usually empty at this hour. The drizzle had turned to slush, and the less traffic, the better.

Her radio buzzed. "This is 366."

"Hey, Slick?" It was Lenny, for Chrissakes. "Uh, that was you back by Rockefeller, wasn't it?"

"No, it was Barbara Streisand."

"Huh?"

Moron. "Si, Lenny, it was me. What do you want?"

"Could you not tell Eddie? You know he'll kill me--"

Her attention was diverted as he rambled on, the patter of the rain interrupted by the sound of a helicopter. Leaning forward to get a better look, she saw that it was a helicopter indeed, pursuing a trio of winged shapes. And they were heading in her direction. Oh, damn.

"--after that whiny DA Yale called in and started bashing my driving, he's been out to get me--"

The shapes and the helicopter seemed to be getting lower, and from the flashes she could tell it was firing. She switched her attention back to the road, and tapped at the brake, trying not to go into a skid. The rain was picking up.

"--really needs to see a shrink, ya know? I mean, it's one thing to get pissed about me doing his daughter, but I swear to God I couldn't do a thing about that motorcycle cutting me off." Lenny stopped to breathe.

A familiar prickling feeling emerged along her spine, the sensation she usually got before all hell broke loose. "Look, I gotta go," she shouted. "You behave, I'll keep my mouth shut." With that, she hung up and took her foot off the gas.

At that moment, something landed on top of the cab with a thud as she swerved to the right, barely missing hitting a light pole. She could hear a muffled shout, and a red tail appeared briefly in her rearview as the cab sped down the alley, evading the helicopter that had been tracking her passenger.

The alley opened right by 24th Street Park, and fortunately, the street was fairly empty. Sam managed to hang a left and pulled over at the curb, kicking her door open and jumping out into the rain. Hands on hips, she glared at the red gargoyle crouched on the roof, still hanging on for dear life. "Well, well, if it isn't the 'Soul Man' himself."

Brooklyn covered his face with a hand. "Aw, hell, I'm never gonna live that one down."

"You're the one who got smashed at the Christmas party," Lex added, gliding and landing on a streetlamp.

"Do me a favor, will you?" Sam asked Brooklyn. "Get off my cab. Gently." As he unhooked his claws, she moaned as she saw the small dents in the roof. Not that it would hurt anything, but Eddie was going to notice them. "Dammit, red, couldn't you have aimed for the trash cans? Nobody cares if they get dented! How am I gonna explain this one to Eddie?"

Brooklyn winced. "I'm sorry. And I guess I owe you for saving my butt back there. But it was either that or get shot."

"Yeah, no problem." She sighed. "Speaking of which, they're gonna figure it out soon. I'd get your tails out of sight now."

"Thanks!" Lex shouted as they glided into the night. With a moan, Sam leaned back against the cab and shut her eyes for a moment, then opened them again to find herself in the spotlight of a helicopter. Instead of cringing or running, she rolled her eyes and threw up her hands in disgust.

Which was probably why they didn't shoot, since that wasn't exactly guilty behavior. A pair of figures in blue, one tall and well-built, the other short and wiry, rappelled to the ground and headed towards her. "Where did they go?" the taller one said.

"Excuse me?" She pretended to be blinded by the light. "If you guys are cops, I'm sorry, this thing just landed on my roof."

"Real funny." The shorter one pulled out his hammer. "Listen up, chick. We want to know where the diablos went. Like the one that landed on your car. The one you screamed at and let fly off."

The taller one grabbed his partner's shoulder. "Put it away. Now." He turned to Sam, hood still on. "Look, we just want to know where it went. After it smashed your car, you oughta want to get it back."

Sam narrowed her eyes; the voice sounded familiar, but she didn't drop the act.

"It dented my cab because you idiots were shooting at it low! You could've killed someone!" Sam threw up her hands. "Hell. I don't care about them," she fibbed. "I'm just not in the mood to get shot by a bunch of people dead set on killing those things." Shorty shut off the hammer. "Look, I think they went that way," she said, pointing east.

Brook and Lex had gone south.

The two men nodded. "Sorry to bother you, Slick," the taller one said, "but we gotta buzz."

Her eyes widened. "Slick?" It suddenly clicked. "Max! Dammit," she shouted as they climbed back into the helicopter, "I know it's you!"

She was drowned out by the helicopter as it sailed into the air, heading east with her brother inside.

"Okay, fire me another one."

"Hello. My name is Inigo Montoya. You kill my--"

"--father. Prepare to die. That was the third one from 'Princess Bride.' Can't you come up with any hard ones, Lenny?"

Before Lenny could answer, another cab entered the garage at a moderately high speed, turning into its designated spot with a screech of tires right next to the cab the two men were sitting on. "Here comes good old 366," Lenny sighed. "And Slick is pissed. I think I'm in trouble."

Sam threw open the cab door, grabbing the cash box and slamming the door shut. She was dripping wet and looked ready to kill. "EDDIE! Where the hell are you?"

Lenny's friend nudged him, taking a bite of his Snickers bar. "Oughta change the number to 666."

"I heard that, Charlie!" She was stalking towards the office as she spoke. Eddie Marcus, a medium-sized, pudgy, gray-haired man, opened the door just in time to see one of his best and most fear-inspiring drivers coming at him.

The most profound response he could think of came to his lips. "Uh-oh. What are you doing back late?"

"Take a guess." She threw the cash box at him. "I want off the night shift."

Eddie caught it despite the force of her throw. "Get real, Slick. You know I can't do that."

"Yeah, right! You let Charlie shut the meter off to pick his kids up from basketball practice. You let Lenny drive even though we all know he's certifiable. You let Nico drive with a fake ID. You let that little incident with Frankie and that hooker slide - hell, the last four incidents! The least you can do is gimme the day shift, because I've earned it!"

"Oh, really?" He chomped on his cigar and tried to look intimidating, but it wasn't easy with her.

"Look at the box!" She waved over at the small crowd that was gathering. "I make more in one night that any of these guys! And I guarantee, I'll do much worse than tell your wife about Tiffany. Much, much worse."

Eddie's face became white as the stack of papers on his desk. "If I were you, Ed," Lenny muttered, "I'd give her what she wants."

"Fine. You start at nine a.m. Monday."

"Forget it, Eddie. Nine on Tuesday."

He knew better than to refuse.