He sat in the bar, nursing his drink, alone. He ignored everyone else in the bar, only focused on his drink, occasionally signaling the bartender to fill his glass. He sighed as he pulled his wedding ring from his finger and put it on the table. So this was the end after all – his ex-wife was getting married. He really thought that they would be together again after the divorce. But apparently, he was wrong.

The saxophone player was playing the saddest jazz ever, and it annoyed him. But he listened to jazz because after all, he chose this bar. This was his second time in this bar; he liked the atmosphere and the music. But today was not the day, as the music didn't brighten his mood. He saw the owner of the bar was walking around with his cane as he greeted some of the patrons. He was an old guy, maybe around 70 years old. He knew it was the owner because the waiters talked to him and he seems running the whole thing. He heard one of the patrons greeted him. He seems like a nice guy who had been experienced a lot of things.

He drank his whiskey and remembering why he was in that bar.

Rosalie called this morning and told him that she was getting married to a bank manager. And she invited him to her wedding. A freaking bank manager named Chad or something. Who the hell cares? He knew that their marriage was over, including the relationship. "Let's be friends," she said. Yeah, right. That would never happen. After all these centuries, it was still hurt. It wasn't surprising but hurt nonetheless.

He knew that it was his fault; all the secrecy, the excuses, and his stubbornness that made her divorce him. But he couldn't tell who he was… that he was an immortal.

Maybe it was really his curse.

So here he was, in this jazz bar, drowning his sorrow. He sighed and drank his whiskey when suddenly he sensed an immortal.

Bollocks.

He really didn't want to face an immortal right now. Couldn't they just let him wallow in peace? He paid for his drink and was ready to leave when he saw who walked into the bar and greeted the owner of the bar.

A woman with a short bob haircut widened her eyes when she saw him.

For a moment they didn't know what to do. Should they fight?

He decided it was better to be friendly. He gave him a wan smile and greeted her. "Amanda."

Amanda bit her lip and gave him a sweet smile. "Steven Keane."

"Hey…" Keane approached her and looked at her. She looked the same from more than twenty-five years ago, still have a short haircut, but different hair color. She had blonde hair now. "H-How are you?" Amanda smiled and took off her coat, revealing a very tight red dress. "Good, I guess."

She chuckled, "Umm… yeah. You can say that." She looked at Keane's appearance as well. "You look well, it seems."

Keane put his hands in his pockets and nodded. "Yeah."

Amanda nodded. "I'm glad."

"Are you?" Keane looked at her.

Amanda tilted her head to the side. "Yes."

Before they could say anything else, the owner of the bar approached them. "Amanda, your table is waiting." He signaled at the table in the back. A nervous-looking man with thick glasses was sitting there, drinking a glass of beer. He looked at Keane. "I don't believe we've met. I'm Joe Dawson, the owner of this establishment."

"I notice. You have a great place. I'm Steven Keane." They shook hands. Keane had a feeling that Dawson knew him but he didn't know-how. "I'm a club owner myself."

"Really? In Seacouver?"

"In Paris, darling," Amanda answered for him. "Not your scene, Joe. Lots of grinding and butt wiggling." She winked to Keane. "You're gonna love the place; it used to be a monastery."

"I am more of a Blues guy myself. I used to have a blues café in Paris called 'Le Blues Café', but I decided to move back to the USA permanently. As you can see, I can't do the butt wiggling anymore." Joe pointed to his cane. "I leave that to Miss Amanda to do the… wiggling." He made a face and then said to Amanda. "Please don't make him cry this time? I don't want to lose another customer." He pointed with his thumb at the man in the corner.

"Oh, Joe. It's not my fault that these nerds can't handle me." She turned to Keane and said. "I have a date. Not my type, but…" She rubbed her thumb and forefinger at him. He chuckled watching her doing that. It seems she hasn't changed at all.

Which beg the question: Is she still with Duncan MacLeod?

"Well, whatever you do, don't make a mess." Joe nodded to Keane. "Nice to meet you." He then walked away with his cane.

Keane and Amanda stood awkwardly together before she finally said, "So I guess this is it. I gotta meet that guy and get all of his money." He snorted and shook his head. "I'm glad that you're okay, Steven." She offered her hand and he took it. "See you around."

As they shook hands, Keane said, "Actually… I'd like to see you again." Amanda shot her eyebrows upward. "I feel like we parted in a bad way back then. I hope we can actually… I don't know, be friends?"

"Uhh… we parted in a bad way because you were trying to kill... you were trying to do that thing we do to my friend." She released his hand.

"Are you still seeing Duncan MacLeod?"

Amanda snorted. "And that's where I'm leaving you. Goodbye, Steven." She turned around but Keane held her wrist. She frowned and stared at him, confused.

"Look, I'm sorry. I didn't mean anything by asking. Me and MacLeod… It's water under the bridge. I just… I really liked you back then. I thought I can mend things." He let her go. "Maybe we can hang out sometimes."

Amanda studied Keane. He sounded sincere, but then again he wasn't a bad guy. He was just like Duncan back then – hell-bent with justice with his black and white point of view. He was an honorable man, just like Duncan. She glanced at the bar and saw Joe was staring at them curiously. She sighed. "I got it, Steven. But I don't trust you."

Keane nodded. "I'm not going to be in Seacouver for long. Hope to see you again."

Amanda didn't answer. She turned around and walked towards the nerdy guy in the corner table of the bar. Keane nodded in understanding. He put his overcoat and walked out of the bar, a little bit sadder.