Early morning sunlight filtered through the filmy white cloth
hangings that draped Tangerine Fairchild's antique four-poster bed,
waking the beautiful and wealthy young woman from a night of restful
sleep. Pushing aside her luxurious down comforter, Tangerine rolled
out of bed and entered the lavishly appointed bathroom just off her
bedroom suite. After taking a long, hot shower, washing her pale skin
till it glowed creamy pink, she wrapped herself in a sinfully soft
bathrobe and blow-dried her waist-length, wavy red-orange hair.

After getting dressed, Tangerine had breakfast: fresh fruit and toast
with jam. She ate in her breakfast nook, looking out over the wide
lawn in front of her house that stretched out into the forest beyond.
Occasionally deer ventured into the meadow, sometimes approaching the
house as if they knew its gentle denizen would cause them no harm.
But today only a few butterflies flitted over the pansies and
marigolds planted around Tangerine's front stairs.

After breakfast, Tangerine retired to her study. She had decorated it
herself, though she had no formal training but an eye for color and
artfully placed detail. Impressive-looking books lined the oak
shelves, a leather couch sat against one wall, and natural light from
the window fell over Tangerine's shoulder as she sat at her
unbelievably fantastic computer, called up Wordpad, and began to
type.

The phone rang.

-----

"Tangerine Fairchild," said the low, sultry voice on the other end of
the line.

"Agent Fairchild. This is Captain Simon Banks," said Simon, grateful
that he had reached the one person who might possibly crack the case
even his best detectives couldn't solve. "From Cascade, Washington--
we worked together several years ago on the Packard case."

"Of course I remember you," said Tangerine, making Simon flush with
pleasure he knew was irrational. Currently divorced, Simon had been a
married man when he'd first met the lovely Tangerine Fairchild, and
so he'd never acted on his powerful attraction to the beautiful,
mysterious, strong-willed supermodel who'd renounced her career in
the fashion industry to devote her life to criminal profiling. "But
it's not Agent any more, it's Doctor-- I'm retired from profiling,
Captain," Tangerine continued. "So I don't know why you're calling
me. Unless this is a personal matter?"

Her tone was inviting, playful, and for a moment the several brutal
murders plaguing his city were wiped from Simon's mind. Then he shook
his head. "Sorry, Doctor Fairchild, but there's some seriously
disturbing killings going on in my city-- the Mayor is breathing down
my neck, and I could really use your help."

Simon knew Tangerine had a good heart; with only a little more
convincing, she agreed to come to Cascade immediately and begin
investigating the case. All too soon he had to hang up the phone, and
then he stood up, crossing around his desk to look into the bullpen.
Now came the hard part: telling the lead detective on the case, Jim
Ellison, and his unofficial partner, Blair Sandburg, that an outsider
would be coming in to assist them.

Hopefully Jim wouldn't feel too insulted. Simon did have full
confidence in his abilities, of course, but Tangerine Fairchild had
always been in another class entirely. It was just a bad time,
really. Up until last week, Simon could have depended (though he
never would have said so) on Blair Sandburg to smooth over any
disagreements or misunderstandings that might occur.

But Jim and Blair's friendship had been visibly strained, lately, and
Blair himself seemed strangely withdrawn. Something was wrong,
something neither Jim or Blair seemed to know how to put right by
themselves. And though he was proud to count both men as his friends,
Simon didn't quite know how to deal with it either. Shaking his head,
Simon left his office, heading for Jim's desk.

-----

Jim Ellison watched Tangerine Fairchild closely as she strode regally
around the grimy, puddled parking lot that was their latest crime
scene. She was wearing a tailored hunter-green pantsuit. Light
glinted off her charming, wire-rimmed glasses, and her magnificent
hair was pulled back into a ponytail that hung down almost to her
waist.

He'd had to act surprised when Simon had introduced them. But he
should have known, Jim thought to himself. He should have known she'd
walk back into his life one day. But when she'd walked into the
bullpen, it had been a shock. He hadn't put it together before that--
Simon had only said they'd be working with a Doctor Fairchild, and
Tangerine had only gone by her first name as a fashion model/super
spy.

She'd given him a warning look, and shaken his hand, pretending to be
meeting him for the first time. Obviously Tangerine's status as a CIA
spook was still not public knowledge, and so Jim played along.

He thought back to their wild and torrid affair.

Tangerine had been under deep cover, pretending to be the fashion
model she surely could have legitimately become, and Jim had been
running surveillance on a Russian embassy building. The attraction
had been instantaneous, animalistic. The sex had been passionate, and
sweaty. And also wild. Not to mention torrid. And always heightened
by the thrill of danger.

And yet now, watching Tangerine kneel by the spot where two corpses
had been discovered, Jim only felt a remnant of his past wild torrid
lust for the woman. All his desire-- and if he was going to be
honest, all his heart-- was engaged elsewhere; with his partner,
Blair Sandburg, who was at the University this morning. It wasn't
like Blair to skip out on a hot case, but then, he was being really
weird lately.

Perhaps he'd sensed Jim's strange new feelings and was trying to
distance himself. Jim didn't really have a clue. He'd have to find a
moment to talk to Tangerine later, he thought. Besides being smart
and strong and a great lover... she'd always been a good listener.

Jim approached Tangerine as she stood, dusting her hands off with a
thoughtful look on her strong, intelligent face.

"We're looking for a left-handed white male. Probably lives alone--
someplace he owns," she said confidently. "He's very neat, perhaps
obsessively so. He has a job where he works with his hands, but
doesn't have to work with people-- excuse me," she said as her watch
beeped. She blinked at it, then shook her head. "Crap. I gotta go.
Nice seeing you, Jim. By the way, I couldn't help observing before
your partner left this morning that you seemed to be having some
trouble. Here's my advice-- take it slow. Let him know you care about
him as a friend. Stuff like that," she said matter-of-factly, patting
Jim on the shoulder as he gaped. "Good luck, right? I'll see you
later."

-----

"Hi, Harry!"

"Hermoine!" Harry Potter said as one of his best friends came dashing
down the hallway at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, her
black robes flying. "I missed you on the Hogwarts Express this year,"
he said, smiling. "It didn't seem like the beginning of school
without you on the train. Did you Apparate?"

"Oh, yes, my parents just love it now that I've got my license,"
Hermoine said. "It's so convenient to be able to just blink in and
out, you know? They didn't want me to leave until the last minute.
Where's Ron?" she asked, looking around for the redheaded boy who
usually completed their trio.

"I... he's in the classroom already," Harry said with a shrug,
glancing towards the room where Defense Against The Dark Arts had
been taught for the past four years.

"Why aren't you... oh, don't *tell* me you two had a fight over the
summer," Hermoine said, and rolled her eyes. "Boys! I can't leave you
alone for a minute!"

"It wasn't a fight exactly," Harry said, then sighed as Hermoine
grabbed the elbow of his robe and dragged him through the door.

When it became obvious that despite her best efforts, Harry and Ron
wouldn't do more than make small talk with each other, Hermoine gave
up, directing her attention to the front of the room. "I wonder who
our new teacher is going to be?"

The clack of high-heeled leather boots in the corridor outside caused
everyone to fall silent before anyone could answer, and then a tall,
milk-pale woman in flowing hunter-green robes swept into the
classroom. She had wavy reddish-orange hair that fell to her waist,
and was gathered back from her face by two gold clasps set with
rubies.

"Good morning, class," said the regal, dignified-looking woman.
Striking grey-green eyes complemented silver spectacles swept over
the class appraisingly. "Welcome to fifth-level Defense Against The
Dark Arts; I will be your teacher this year. My name is Professor
Tangerine Fairchild; you may call me Professor or Doctor Fairchild."

Ron leaned over, cupping his hand over his mouth as if to muffle a
yawn, and murmured, "How do you think she does that?"

"Do what?" Harry whispered back.

"Use semi-colons when she talks out loud." Ron replied, quietly awed.

"I don't know," said Harry, then glanced down at his book, sudden joy
rising within him. Ron was *speaking* to him again!

Instantly he decided that he liked Professor Fairchild better than
any Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher they'd ever had.

-----

After a fascinating introductory lecture that completely won over
every student, surprising them all when the bell rang to end their
time together, Professor Fairchild asked Harry to stay after class.

"Harry, I don't suppose anyone's ever mentioned me," she said warmly,
"but I was very good friends with your mother, Lily, before she...
well, before she passed away. You have her eyes."

"Thank you," was all that Harry could think of to say, but the new
Professor only nodded.

"Friendship, Harry, is a very important thing," she said sincerely.
"A lot of people tend to-- excuse me," she said as high-pitched trill
emanated from a pocket of her robe.

Harry blinked as she fished a cellphone out of one of her deep
pockets. He'd never seen a witch or a wizard who carried a cellphone
before. Professor Fairchild just smiled. "Sometimes Muggle technology
can be a bit more convenient than magic. Hello?" she said, then
raised a finger and moved a few steps away from Harry.

"Oh, hello, Knight Kenobi! No, no, of course I have time to talk.
Just-- just speak up a little, I don't think our connection is very
good... You wouldn't believe how hard it is to get cellphone service
to Coruscant," she said, laughing, "the roaming fees alone will
*kill* you... Oh-- sorry-- hang on, Obi-Wan, I've got a beep...
Hello?" There was a pause, and then Harry's eyes widened further as
Professor Fairchild switched to fluent Japanese. "Ah, ohayo gozaimas,
Hiroyuke-san!" she said, and then Harry totally lost the flow of
conversation.
-----

"Fukui-san!!" Ota gasped.

"Yes, Ota?" Fukui said.

"Since our Iron Chef's main entree unexpectedly caught fire he's been
desperately trying to recoup!" Ota said quickly. "With less than
fifteen minutes left to prepare a stunning dish, we see him now *on
his cellphone*-- who could be be calling for advice?"

"I don't know, Ota," Fukui mused. "We'll have to wait and see..."

-----

"Yeah, yeah-- right, and then you add the carrots on top," Tangerine
coached. "No! Wait! Diced, not grated! Yes, that's it, you've got
it... Will you be all right now, Hiroyuke-san?" Tangerine asked.
"Really? You're sure? All right then, I'll talk to you later. No, no
need to thank me, just let me know how the battle goes. Bye!"

With a sigh, she pressed the 'end' button and clicked her cellphone
shut, then winced. "Aw, crap, I just hung up on Obi-Wan." She glanced
over at Harry guiltily, then realized that luckily, she'd still been
speaking in Japanese. She switched back to English apologetically.
"So. Harry. Um... What was I saying?"

"Something about friendship." Harry said.

"Right! Good! You're a sharp kid, Potter," Tangerine said. "Yes. The
bonds of friendship--"

Her cellphone rang again.

"Ooh," said Tangerine, "excuse me *just one second...* Hello? Oh,
Detective Kowalski, hey. Did my record label send you that advance
copy of my CD? Oh, they did, great. Did you like it... oh, that's so
sweet. Oh, well, I hardly think I'm in Tori Amos' league. Oh, Ray,
stop it, I mean it," Tangerine said, blushing slightly. "It's just a
demo... Look, did you listen to track four like I told you to? Oh,
you did," she said knowingly. "Well, yes, I certainly *was* inspired
by some real people that I know, and I think you know who I meant,
too... Uh-huh? Well, then, what's the problem?"

Tangerine brought a hand up to her mouth and clicked one perfectly
manicured fingernail against her teeth as she listened, nodding and
making affirming noises occasionally. "Well, Ray,  I think you should
tell him what you just told me. Yes, I do. Look-- you know what might
help? I have this beach house on the west coast and I'd love to fly
you and the Constable up there, you know, as sort of thanks for
helping me break that smuggling ring. No, you did too help," she said
insistently. "No, I'm not just being modest, I really couldn't have
done it without you-- look, I think it'd be nice for you two to get
away and just talk, you know? Anytime's fine, I never really use it.
E-mail me, okay? Hey, great. Talk to you later."
 
She hung up, then turned to Harry and squinted at him through her
glasses. "Umm..."

"Friendship," Harry prompted.

"Right!" she said, pointing at him. "Harry, basically what I want to
say is this." There was a quiet beeping noise. "Dammit." Tangerine
fished her pager out of her pocket and checked the short message.
"Aw, Harry, I gotta get this. Could be nothing, could mean trouble
for the entire galaxy. But you get my point, right?" she said,
putting both hands on his shoulders and gazing meaningfully into his
eyes.

"Um, sure, Professor Fairchild."

"Cool," said Tangerine. She pulled off her glasses and tucked them
into her pocket, then lifted her wand and Apparated, disappearing
into thin air.

-----

Obi-Wan felt much better after a long talk with with the incredibly
wise and powerful Jedi Master Tanja-Ren Farchild.

The orange-golden-haired Tanja-Ren had been an old friend of Qui-
Gon's when they were both Padawans, and when Qui-Gon had been near-
fatally injured during the battle with the Sith warrior Darth Maul,
it had been Master Tanja-Ren's fantastically advanced Jedi healing
abilities that had saved his life. Now Obi-Wan was a knight, and Qui-
Gon was training the boy, Anakin Skywalker, and although he knew that
a Jedi must master his fears, Obi-Wan had been feeling very insecure
lately.

Getting a comforting hug from Master Tanja-Ren, who practically
radiated wisdom and serenity, helped. "Now, Obi-Wan, about your
relationship with Qui-Gon. I've known the man for years, and the
thing is, he hates change. He's very good at accepting it, at dealing
with it; as a Jedi, he has to be. But that doesn't mean he has to
*like* it. So this is what you have to do-- hang on just a second,"
she said, and reached for her cellphone. "Hello? Hello? Jim, is that
you? Have you talked to Blair yet? Look, you have to speak up, this
connection is really awful." She growled in frustration, then put her
fingers lightly over the mouthpiece and spoke to Obi-Wan again.

"You have to be forceful!" she told the young Knight. "You have to
let him know that this is what you *want,* what you both want, and
this is what's gonna *happen*, dammit!" Tangerine's eyes went wide as
she heard a sudden click from her cellphone. "Hello? Hello? Jim? Oh
damn... That's not good..."

She checked her watch, then stood up, still cringing slightly.
"Right, um, Obi, um... Just go with what you feel. Yeah. Whatever.
Let me know how it all turns out. I gotta jet."

-----

It was early evening in L.A., and so when Tangerine appeared outside
the old mission-style hotel that currently served as the headquarters
for Angel Investigations, Inc., she took a moment to change clothes,
using her wand to transmogrify her green robes into a chic green silk
blouse, black leather miniskirt, black stockings and green high
heels. She wound her hair into a stylish topknot, stashed her wand in
her handbag, and pulled out a pair of sunglasses, slipping them on
before she walked into the lobby.

Tangerine's eyes widened as she took in the scene that lay before her
eyes, and she rushed to the side of the afflicted girl behind the
counter. "Oh, Cordy-- why didn't you call me earlier!?"

"Well, I thought it would fade, you know, after I washed it a few
times..." Cordelia said, grimacing as she glanced into her hand
mirror, toying with her newly darkened hair. She glanced up at
Tangerine with hope. "You were, like, a fashion maven before you
retired to do the crime thing-- the anti-crime thing, I mean. I just
thought maybe you could--"

"Oh honey," Tangerine said sympathetically. "Of course I can help."

-----

Visiting with Cordelia reminded Tangerine of something else she'd
been meaning to do, so when she was done helping the young actress
revamp her look, she blinked unobtrusively into the corner of Xander
Harris' apartment and stood very still, appraising th scene.

On the couch sat Riley Finn. Anya was kneeling in front of him, and
Xander stood behind the couch, his hands on Riley's shoulders. As
Tangerine watched, Riley relaxed into the sensations washing over
him.

Ah, well, guess they don't need my help after all, she thought, and
disappeared.

-----

Appearing again on the sidewalk outside the apartment, Tangerine
stood and thought for a while, then pulled out her Palm Pilot to
check her appointments. A vampire in the bushes thought about lunging
at her, then decided not to, noting the aura of danger and power that
surrounded the mysterious woman.  "Hogwarts, check, makeover, check,"
Tangerine mused, scrolling down. "Oh *crap*-- I'm late for catching
the serial killer."

-----

It was a rainy night in Cascade; Tangerine was soon soaked to the
skin. Her blouse clung in all the right places and her hair stuck to
her face fetchingly as she dashed through the alley towards the
sounds of men yelling and gunfire. A tall, wild-eyed man with what
looked like Jim Ellison's gun clutched in his left hand dashed around
the corner, then skidded to a halt and pointed the gun at Tangerine.

"Come here!" the serial killer shouted, obviously thinking that a
hostage might help him through this crisis.

"Okay," said Tangerine, her eyes wide with mock alarm. She stepped
closer, shivering, then leaped at the man and kicked the gun out of
his hand. It landed several feet away, and Tangerine circled quickly
to block the killer's instinctive move towards it, her hands raised
in a kung fu action pose. "I'm warning you," she said, "these are
deadly weapons."
 
"I'll take my chances," he said, starting towards her, and then Jim
stepped up from behind him, pressing his extra gun against the base
of the serial killer's skull. "Freeze," said Jim icily. He had a
pretty vicious-looking black eye, the rain had plastered his hair to
the side of his head, and he looked generally unhappy.

Tangerine called for backup while Jim cuffed the killer and read him
his rights. Then she went to pick up Jim's gun from the puddle where
it had landed, handing it to him as officers arrived on the scene and
bundled the killer into the back seat of a police car.

"Gee," she said, motioning to his black eye, "he got you pretty good
there."

Jim glared at her. "Greene's not the one who punched me in the face."

"He's not? Who, um... Oh." Tangerine grimaced at Jim looked at her
meaningfully. "Right. The phone thing, with the, advice, um. *So*
sorry about that, Jim. Just a little mixup. Really. Sorry."

He glared at her for a moment more, then shrugged fatalistically.
They began to walk in the rain back towards Jim's truck. "Um. Look,"
Tangerine said, pushing a wet lock of hair out of her face. "I um...
I have this fabulously appointed very romantic beach house that I'm
not going to be using this weekend... Hmm? Hmm?" she said, nudging
Jim with her elbow.

"Ow. Ow..." Jim said, and Tangerine pulled her elbow back again.
"Yeah, well, thanks but no thanks."

"It has two bedrooms," Tangerine said, glancing up at Jim's impassive
face. "One has a four-poster bed, and the other one, um-- bats got
into it! Very unexpectedly! Big, ugly bats! With the... grr... and
the..." she fumbled as Jim stopped walking and stared down at her.

"Really?"

"I promise you it never fails," Tangerine said. "And, well, look at
it this way, things could hardly be worse," she said as they reached
Jim's truck. Jim narrowed his eyes, wincing as he tried to squint his
swollen right eye. "Ah," Tangerine laughed nervously. "Anyway, just
drop me a note and I'll e-mail you a map."

Jim nodded, then glanced over at his truck. "You need a ride
someplace?"

"No, I'll be fine," said Tangerine. "I'm going home, it's been a long
day." And, she added, but only to herself, I have to get up in the
morning and find someplace that sells bats.

-----

After going home, taking a long, warm shower, and having dinner,
Tangerine curled up in her comfy office chair to check her e-mail.
The two newest messages in her inbox were from Ray Kowalski and Jim
Ellison, both gratefully accepting her generous offer of beach house
vacation space. Both on the same weekend.

"Oh *crap.*" Tangerine clicked back to the first message in the
slight hope that it might say something different. It didn't. She
clicked forward to the second message. It too was stubborn and stayed
exactly the same.

"Crap!" said Tangerine, and then she pondered the situation for a
moment.

Four gorgeous men.

One small, romantic private beach house.

One large, antique four-poster bed, remarkably like the one in
Tangerine's own bedroom...

She quickly logged on to her network server and checked the tiny,
unobtrusive video cameras that she'd planted in every room of the
beach house and also under the eaves of the porch, overlooking the
beach. They were all working perfectly.

Sighing happily, Tangerine set them all to begin recording when their
motion sensors were tripped. There were definitely some perks to
being a an ex-super spy, she thought.

She put her computer in energy-saving mode, turned off her pager,
turned off her cellphone, and left her Palm Pilot on the desk.
Pulling on peach-colored silk pajamas, Tangerine went to bed,
confident in her role as a force for good in the universe, and
looking forward to a long, relaxing weekend.

[end]