The banging on the door hadn't gone away. Jill raised her head sleepily--the Nat-Pack were stirring. Amy's hand was fluttering away and Jill was just as happy she didn't readily recognize what Amy might be signing. Mary G.T. had managed a single snore and then lay still--they'd checked for a pulse every now and again, just to make certain she was still with them. Leslie's head popped out of a sleeping bag and she sat up, rubbing her eyes and Jennie groaned from the other couch.

"Guess it's up to me," sighed Jill, after seeing only the briefest signs of life from Amparo. Peeling herself from the futon, she grabbed a blanket as she passed and threw it around her. Her hand reached for the chain on the door--

And then she stopped, cold. Nat was still at work. What if it was Nick? What if it was another vampire . . . like LaCroix? With so many Nat-Packers being ex-Cousins, it wasn't out of the realms of possibility for LaCroix to come 'collecting.'

Then again, LaCroix or another vampire probably wouldn't bother knocking . . . .

"Who is it?" she asked grouchily, as the pounding started again.

"Delivery for Nat-Pack Central," said an unfamiliar voice.

"Yeah. Why don't you just say 'candygram'?" countered Jill.^*

By now the Natpack had begun to regain consciousness . . . or some form thereof. When Jill looked over her shoulder, she met Leslie's gaze. "What do you think? How would somebody know we were here?"

"Process of elimination," said Amparo. "It's only logical. We'd be where Nat is."

"Could be from one of us--like Selma," Leslie offered. She slid out of the sleeping bag and knelt on it. "Can we afford not to open it?"

The knocking started again.

"For God's sake, somebody stop that bloody noise!" declared G.T., who promptly turned over, let out a slight snore, then fell into unconsciousness again.

"Oh, let's open it," said Amy. "It could be something nice."

"Yeah. Right." Jill picked up a light wooden chair by the door. "I'll hang back here, so I can bash him if he tries anything."

Shaking her head, Amy pushed her hair to either side of her face, walked to the door, and opened it a crack. "Yes?"

"Delivery." A largish hand turned a clipboard sideways and thrust it through the door. "Just sign here, lady."

"Lady?" Amy giggled as she took the clipboard. "He called me 'lady.' Isn't that cool?"

Leslie was at the door, as was Amparo. (Jennie was still checking on GT--sometimes it took a while to find a pulse, especially after drinking 25 year old scotch, which Nat seemed to like almost as much as GT.) Leslie peered over Amy's shoulder. "Is that really . . . McDonalds?"

"McDonalds?" Amparo frowned. "Well, it looks like it. One hundred cartons of--wait a minute, it's smudged."

"It's food," corrected Jill, still holding the chair aloft and feeling more than slightly grumpy because of it. Sometimes Nat-Packers just had no sense of self-preservation! "Maybe the FoD's sent it. They usually cater wars."

"They'd send us something better than McDonalds," Leslie countered. "FoD's have standards."

There was another series of loud knocks at the door, followed by a bellowing voice, "Lady, just give me the clipboard, okay? Me and the boys've got ten more trips this morning. You don't want to see the Toronto P.D. go to work without their egg McMuffins, do you?"

There was a 'yipe' from the couch. Jennie was sitting on the floor, GT's arm around her neck, pinning her. "Yep," she declared, voice hoarse, "she's still alive."

"Don't forget, we'll have to feed Sharon when she gets back," warned Amparo.

Jill grinned. "Jail food being what it is, she'd go through at least forty cases of anything in no time."

"One minute," Amy called. She carefully placed her signature at the bottom of the clipboard, closed the door, then pulled back the chain.

The Natpack breathed a collective sigh of relief when they saw four deliverymen with handcarts of boxes standing in the doorway. "Thanks, lady," said the delivery man, as he took back the clipboard. He tucked the pen in his top pocket, dropped the clipboard on the pile of cartons, then wheeled the cases into the hall, forcing the Nat-Packers back. "Where do you want it?"

"The dining room?" suggested Amparo, stepping aside as the parade of dollies moved past her.

The men worked quickly, dumping their load, then heading out for the next batch. "We'll have to make a few trips," called the delivery man over his shoulder.

After freeing Jennie from G.T.'s somnambulant grip (actually, Jill helped, once she put down the chair), Leslie peered at the writing on one side of the box. "I think it says 'fish sandwiches.'"

Amy wrinkled her nose. "Ick. You know, you go into McDonald's every five years and get one of those things, because you can't remember why you don't like them. Then, as soon as you taste it, it's even worse than you remember."

"Uh, oh," noted Jill. "It says 'frozen' fish sandwiches."

The Nat-Packers stared at one another in horror. "But they can't all be fish sandwiches," groaned Amy.

The deliverymen had just arrived and were unloading more boxes around the conscious and semi-conscious Natpackers.

"Are they all fish sandwiches?" asked Leslie.

The deliveryman just stared at her. "Yeah. One hundred cartons of frozen fish sandwiches. Jeez, don't you people read what you sign?"

Amy grabbed his sleeve and was dragged after him as he headed for the door. "No! You have to take them back. We don't have any freezers that big!"

The deliveryman stopped and the other deliverymen pried Amy from his sleeve. "Sorry, lady--you signed for them, they're yours now. We got fifty more cases to bring up, then it's your problem."

"What are we going to do with fifty cases of frozen McDonald's fish sandwiches?" asked Leslie, horrified.

Jill shrugged as she pried open one of the cases, just to check the contents. "Warm up the oven and have a fish bake?"

"Too bad Sydney's with Selma," said Amparo sadly. "Although he probably would have gotten sick from overeating."

"All you need is one of these to get sick," corrected Amy. She held her fingers over her nose. "Amb I crabzy or are dese startding to smellb?"

Jennie grabbed the top box, steadying it when the stack nearly toppled and fell on Jill. "Wait a minute--they're whitefish, aren't they? And tuna's a white fish, isn't it? You don't suppose we could use these in case--?"^**

The delivery men were back, trundling down the hallway with the next load of boxes. From the doorway they heard Nat's voice saying, "What in the world is going on?"

G.T. let out a snore, turned over, and fell to the floor with a thump. Leslie moved back in surprise and the boxes began to fall like dominos, sending Natpackers and frozen fish sandwiches scattering around the room, just as Natalie walked in.

"Hello," said GT brightly, sitting up and bushing her red hair from her face with one hand. "Have I missed anything?"

^* Old Saturday Night Live joke from back when it was funny.

^** Obligatory tuna war joke. Watch the Friday the 13th bloopers.

Sharon jerked awake from a light sleep for about the twentieth time for the night, and finally decided to give up. Pulling herself upright she massaged her neck.

Then she stopped in mid yawn.

Did they serve people coffee in these jails?

This was a bad thing. There was another human being in the cell with her. They'd brought her in last night on a drunk and disorderly and she'd spent several hours singing Carpenters tunes at the top of her lungs.

Still, Sharon didn't feel right about offing her in a fit of caffeine withdrawal. At least she'd known the words to the songs, even if she couldn't carry a tune.

She wasn't hungry--the NatPack had brought her dinner, and Nat had dropped by with a couple burgers at around midnight. Jamie had also brought her some food earlier, and Christine had dropped by late last night with some fresh sushi. Not bad all things considered, but now the lack of caffeine was becoming a real concern. The lack of food wouldn't be a concern for a couple more hours.

Rising from the bed, she walked over to the bars and tried to look out. There was a guard at the far end, and Sharon wondered if he'd get her some coffee. She doubted it, an stood there in the cell trying not to panic when a thought struck her.

"Hey!" she called, getting the guards attention. He took his time walking down the short hallway between the holding cells and stood in front of her expectantly. "I didn't get my phone call," she said.

"What?" he asked incredulously.

"I didn't get my phone call," she repeated. "I get one phone call and I didn't get it. I'd like to make it now please." A couple members of the NatPack had been there when she'd been arrested, and assured her that they'd take care of bail as soon as it was set. At the time there hadn't been any need to call anyone.

He gaped at her for a moment, then shrugged. "I'll check with the sargeant," was all he said, before turning and shuffling back down the hallway.

Sharon turned and began kicking her heels in the cell, until a small noise in the corner caught her attention. Her cell mate was up, and Sharon thought it only fair to warn her of the impending danger.

"You're life's in danger," she said without preamble.

The woman lifted a hand to her forehead and mumbled something fairly incoherent.

Amused, Sharon sat on the edge of the bunk. "Tell me something," she said. When the woman didn't respond, she continued "How would you go about tormenting someone who has an oral fixation?"

This got the woman's attention, and she opened her eyes to stare at Sharon in shock before starting to speak.

In horror, Sharon held up her hand. "Scratch that! This is still a PG rated list." Abruptly she rose from the bunk.

Luckily the guard returned and unlocked the cell. "OK," he said. You get one call. Make it snappy."

"Benny?" Sharon said to the sleepy voice on the phone. "Benny, wake up and listen carefully. I need three things." She listened for a moment. "Yeah, I know. Don't worry! Listen!

"First, get out your phone book and call a local deli near here. Have them deliver a couple cups of coffee. This is very important. They told me I only get one with breakfast, and you know that's not enough." She paused. "I'm in jail, OK. Long story. Don't ask.

"Second, that little job I had for you. Well, she's here, too. She came by to see me last night. She was bragging about staying in a five-star hotel here in the city so she shouldn't be too hard to find. Everything else should go according to plan.

"Fine, fine!" Sharon said impatiently. "One last thing. I need you to find someone for me. She's here in Toronto. Her name is Jamie M. Randell. She's a cousin. When you find her, call me. Don't let her see you. You know how to reach me."

Sharon listened for a few more minutes. "Cool!" she said, grinning. "I should be out of here in a couple of hours, but I don't want to take any chances. I'll be incommunicado probably until early afternoon, but you know how to find me. Later!"

With a contented sigh she hung up and looked over at the sargeant sitting across from her who was looking at her with a puzzled expression.

"I love it when a plan comes together," Sharon said with a smile.

Time: Almost noon
Place: Nat's apartment

Sharon rapped loudly on the door of Nat's apartment. She no longer had her keys, having given them to Jennie when she'd been arrested, or she would have just walked in. She heard cautious, furtive movements behind the door and rapped again, four times, loudly.

"It's Sharon," she heard Amy say from inside. "She always knocks that way."

"Better check though," another voice said.

"I'm hungry!" Sharon called through the door, which swung aside instantly.

"You're hungry?" Jennie asked brightly. "Do you like fish?"

Cousin Laura looked out the car window and took a sip of her coffee. She had left the Raven about 4 hours ago and had driven straight to the address given to her by her Border Patrol buddy, Linda. Those Natpackers,Jill and Leslie were in that building. She had been patiently waiting for them to emerge from Natalie Lambert's apartment for over four hours. She intended to grab them as soon as they left the security and safety of the Natpack that was crashed out in Dr. Lambert's digs. Yes, they wouldn't know what hit them and soon she would bring them before Uncle for questioning.

Her mission was almost finished and she hoped that if it was successful, LaCroix would let her go home to start preparing for that big test she had next week in her Deviance and Social Control class. War was hell.

From the back of her rental car, something moved.

"Soon, my little one, soon, " she said.

With her "weapon" safely tucked away in its cage, she checked her purse for other essentials. Handcuffs, medication, and her disguse, an "I worked late on my Birthday and no one brought me a cute vampire" button. Yes, she would wear that when she spotted Leslie and Jill leaving the building, so maybe they wouldn't run from her. Suck them into a false sense of security!! After all, when it wasn't wartime Leslie and she did run a certain vampire's fan club.

Suddenely, the door to Natalie's building opened and two figures emerged. It was them! Laura grabbed her purse and quickly put on the button.Then she put the two sets of handcuffs in her jeans backpockets and slowly got out of the car. She opened the backseats' car door and took out the weapon from inside its cage.She slowly made her way towards the women. They were talking amongst themselves and she could faintly overhear them, something about never eating fish again. What was that about? Maneuvering behind them so they wouldn't see her, Laura started to follow them as they walked down the street. Suddenly her weapon made a sound, and Jill turned around. Darn, her cover was blown.

"Laura?" Jill said.

Quickly, Laura attacked. She grabbed Leslie and with a choke hold learned from her days at the police academy, she brought her weapon up under Leslie throat. Leslie gasped.

A cat. A big, furry, fluffy cat! Leslie was very allergic to cats.

"Follow me, or your friend gets it!" Laura said to Jill.

Jill cried, "But, Laura we're friends!"

"Not anymore, Natpacker! Uncle has ordered me to bring you to him--immediately. He knows you both were at the Raven on Halloween night and he has some questions for you. Lets get going, don't want to keep him waiting, do we?"

"If we go with you, you won't hurt Leslie?" Jill said.

"No, in fact if you get in the car, I give her her allergy medication so the cat won't affect her," Cousin Laura sneered.

"Ok, we're coming," and slowly Jill, Laura and Leslie made their way to the car. Leslie hadn't said a word during the kidnapping because she was too busy sneezing her head off and trying to catch her breath because that darn cat was under her nose. It always helps to know your enemies' weaknesses. Uncle would be pleased, as soon they would be at The Raven.

Leslie and Jill were getting really, really tired. After all, one could only listen to Uncle blustering on about how all-freaking-powerful he was, and how he'd make them admit they had trashed the Raven, for so long before one got mighty tired of it. They'd had a tiring couple of days. Of course they were terrified - as Natpackers, they had healthy (though not often used) self-preservation instincts. However, exhaustion was taking first place right now.

Leslie suppressed a yawn, which LaCroix saw. His eyes glowed gold. "You are yawning?"

"Well, I'm tired. Can you get to the point?" Leslie was past caring. Whatever he was going to do, he should just go ahead and do it before she got old and grey.

Jill started to giggle. LaCroix turned to her, angry - and mystified. Puny mortals - Natpackers yet - did not giggle at him. Why, his own faction was often afraid to even look him in the eyes. The Cousins understood their place. He was about to deliver one of his brutal, cutting oratories when Jill cut him off with a wave of her hand.

"Oh, stop," she said, managing to control her giggles. However tired you were, it still wasn't a good idea to laugh at an angry, ancient vampire. "If you're going to kill us, or try to mesmerize us, just go right ahead. We're not going to tell you a bloody thing - you should excuse the expression. We're tired and just want to get some sleep. So do your whammys and we'll take it from there."

LaCroix looked at Jill and Leslie, mouth agape. These were women who should be cowering at his feet. Instead, one was yawning hugely and the other one was definitely suppressing laughter.

This was not what he had expected. He turned away from them, running one hand over his head - and heard Leslie gasp. "Jill!"

LaCroix whipped back around to find Jill staring in his direction, a glassy look on her face. She shook her head groggily, seeming to come out of a trance. LaCroix's eyes narrowed.

Suddenly, the front door flew open, and in stalked two women. One was a willowy strawberry blonde; the other a pale brunette with a really cute haircut. The brunette pointed at LaCroix imperiously.

"Let them go, LaCroix," she said, in a tone of voice that could only have come from a mother.

Since it had been a few thousand years since LaCroix had seen his mother, he just sneered. "Who are you, and what are you doing here?" He looked at their chic, though impractical, outfits. "Apparently, you're Ravenettes."

"Got that right," the blonde said. "I'm Sheryl, and this is Jillby. We're friends of these poor, deluded Natpackers, and have come to take them home."

"How did you know they were here?" LaCroix asked silkily, the menace in his voice chilling the air.

"We have our sources," Sheryl sneered in return. She tended to ignore menace, and it was really none of his business. Walking over to a bar set up on one side of the room, she gestured at the decanters. "I need a drink. Do you have any gin?" She held up one bottle. "This stuff is crap! Where's the Bombay Sapphire? Janette had far better taste in liquor."

LaCroix turned, ready to tell this Sheryl person that - Ravenette or no - he was going to have to kill her for her impudence, when he heard Leslie gasp again, and start to laugh. Spinning around, he saw both Jills staring at him glassily.

"Oh, God," said Sheryl, exasperated. "Not again." She snapped her fingers. "Snap out of it, chickies."

"Snap out of what?" Used to being the master of every situation, LaCroix realized he had no idea what was going on here. And he didn't like it.

Sheryl snickered. "Pardon the indelicacy, but... It's your butt."

"My what?"

"Your tush, your bum, your rear end, Lucien. When these two see your posterior, it's like they're looking at some venerated object. They become completely unable to take their eyes off of it." Sheryl shook her head. "I mean, it's a good tush - but not that good."

Not since the clamshell scene in War Four's faux episode had LaCroix felt so completely at a loss for words. Unable to resist, he turned his back towards the Jills, watching them over his shoulder. He watched as the Jills turned into staring zombies with bemused grins on their faces. One of Jillby's hands drifted up involuntarily; it almost looked like she was holding an invisible gin and tonic.

"Transfixed. Immobile." Leslie rolled her eyes.

"Like deer in headlights," added Sheryl. "It's really very sad. Ravenettes are usually so much more...independent."

"And Natpackers usually have better taste," Leslie mumbled. Her hand flew to her mouth as LaCroix turned his head and glared at her. "Whoops - sorry..."

Sheryl walked over to Leslie, and they regarded the riveted ones sadly. Sheryl took a sip of the drink she'd poured herself. "Apparently, the same thing happens when they catch sight of Duncan MacLeod's tukus," she confided to Leslie. "It's a good thing he isn't in this War, too, or we'd never get them to move."

As horrified and disgusted as he was, LaCroix was beginning to see the potential in this situation. Yes, there were two mortal women gaping at his backside. It made him feel so cheap. So violated. So used. He was more than just a sexual object, after all. However, they also represented two of the factions that might be responsible for the torment that had been visited upon him.

Granted, his range of motion would be somewhat limited, but he could essentially keep these two in thrall for whatever amount of time was necessary - as long as he kept his back turned.

He smiled.

They were drawn by the power of his butt. This was a power he had never considered.

Leslie was watching LaCroix's face. As his eyes began to gleam a horrified feeling swept over her. "Sheryl!" she whispered, then realized that LaCroix could hear her anyway. She raised her voice. "Sheryl, he's going to keep them this way! Frozen!"

"Oh, f**k, oh dear," Sheryl said, growing even more pale than usual. "We have to do something!"

"What can we do?" Leslie stood, biting her lip, thinking. She grinned. "Got it!" She ran over to Jill, who was still staring vacantly at you-know-what, and began to sing into her ear.