As they sped toward the cabin together, Michael noticed Mahleah studying him.

"What?" he finally asked.

"Nothing," she said with a sigh. "It's just been a hell of a week. You don't know what I felt when I saw them torturing you."

"It had to be done."

"You're still not used to the friendship concept, are you? You sound surprised that I care."

"I'm sorry you were upset. You should never have seen the interrogation."

"Walter's the one you should apologize to. Zalman spent half the night warming up on him before he got his hands on you."

Michael turned to her for a second, and she realized that he hadn't known. Part of her anger thawed but something was still bugging her.

"The other night when I saw you at Nikita's: was that part of the mission?"

"Yes."

"And you let me believe it was personal. Does Nikita know the truth?"

"Yes."

"Well, at least you're improving in that respect."

Silence descended upon them for a time, then Michael spoke again, "I wish I could have explained to you the other night."

She studied him as she said, "Forget about it. I'm just disappointed that the two of you haven't gotten your act together yet. Especially since....." she stopped herself.

"Since?" he prompted.

"Nothing, I just wanted the two of you to be happy, that's all."

He was quiet for a moment and then replied, "I'm trying to follow your advice: always tell her the truth, be more open about my feelings and take things slowly."

Her jaw dropped open, then she composed herself and said, "Good," with a great deal of satisfaction.

When they reached the cabin, things went according to plan. Zalman's team had played dead, he had confessed to Nikita that he was Red Cell, and Michael was in time to prevent him from hurting her. Mahleah had been present for backup and felt a little sorry she wasn't needed. As they escorted Zalman from the building, she looked at him and said, "I hope they let me debrief you."

Michael saw Zalman turn pale, and knew this would be an effective threat to use against the man. He'd heard about Mahleah's actions in the hallway and if Zalman wasn't cooperative he would take great pleasure in asking Mahleah to join him.

************

Madeline and Operations were having dinner, and Madeline decided the time was right to chastise him just a little for his actions during the recent Zalman profile. They bantered for a few moments and he complimented her by saying that she always exceeded his expectations. That concluded, she informed him of the interesting effects his profile had on their newest operative.

He frowned, "If she's going to let her emotions get in the way, this relationship needs to be nipped in the bud immediately."

Madeline smiled at him, "It's already arranged. Mahleah knows how we feel about it, and just to make sure I had a talk with Walter."

"What did he say?" Operations asked with curiosity.

"He wasn't pleased but faced with the unpleasant alternatives he agreed to end the relationship." She almost laughed. "Of course, I was told in no uncertain terms that despite any orders to the contrary he would always be friends with her."

"Do you think it will be enough?"

She was thoughtful as she answered, "I believe it will. Their attachment is based upon mutual respect more than passion. It was more a matter of two lonely people finding companionship than a whirlwind romance."

He nodded, "Good. I'd hate to see her lose momentum. Do you foresee any other problems with her loyalties?"

"As I've said before, a bond between operatives can be beneficial to Section if handled in the right way. I think her budding friendships with many of our key personnel will prove advantageous in time. For instance, she seems to have become friendly with Michael."

"They made a good team on the De Longis mission," he admitted.

"Yes, they did," she agreed. "Michael is the frontrunner to replace you - I think its not too early to say that she could become his second in command."

Operations smiled, "He might prefer to give that job to Nikita, but I agree. Mahleah would be the better choice."

"It will be tricky, but we should begin to clear that path," she suggested.

He nodded, then laughed, "Presuming of course, that she wouldn't rather have my job than yours."

************

Mahleah left the White Room with a smug grin on her face. Zalman had tried to give Michael a lot of bravado which ended when the class five operative calmly invited her to join the proceedings. Of course it helped that she brought Tora with her. Oddly enough, the prisoner couldn't tell them enough about Red Cell after that.

"Nice job, Musashi," she thought. "Truly devious."

Her smile vanished as she thought of the disagreeable task before her. She wandered into Systems and spotting Birkoff decided to give herself a few minutes' reprieve before speaking to Walter.

Birkoff grinned at her when she walked up beside him. "I see Zalman broke," he commented.

"Yeah, he just needed a little persuasion," she said nonchalantly. "I need to get out of here soon. They're expecting me at the club tonight."

"Yeah, well, before you go could you give me some advice?" he asked a little shyly.

"What's that?"

"Well, I met this woman the other day and we're supposed to go out tonight and I was wondering if you had any suggestions on where I could take her?"

She sat down in the chair beside him triumphantly. "You have a date? Tell me all about her? What's her name? Where did you meet her?"

"Her name's Claire and we met at Christophe's the other night," he admitted. "She's twenty-two years-old and an art student at the Sorbonne. Mahleah, she's incredible. Smart, beautiful, cultured.... I'm doomed."

"What do you mean you're doomed? She must have liked you or she wouldn't be going out with you tonight."

"I don't know -- maybe she felt sorry for me or something. I don't know where to take her. I mean she's so sophisticated."

Mahleah waved her hand airily, "So you're looking for something romantic to do with a sophisticated art student, but you want it to be fun...something both of you can enjoy, right?"

"Exactly," he said eagerly. "Do you have any ideas?"

"It just so happens that I do. There's a Cary Grant film festival going on this week and tonight they're showing His Girl Friday. Take her to that: it's funny, clever, and romantic without being the least bit sappy. If she likes it take her to see Indiscreet tomorrow night, which is much more hearts and flowers."

He looked at her doubtfully. She smiled, "Trust me Birkoff, Cary'll win them over every time, but if she doesn't like it find out what she likes to do."

She glanced toward Munitions and saw Walter. She took a deep breath and patted her friend on the shoulder, "Let me know if it works out, huh?"

She rose and walked over to talk to Walter. He looked at her sadly and said, "We need to talk."

Oh Lord, he's going to break up with me first, she thought. Madeline must have talked to him, too. Maybe it's better this way.

"What about?" she asked.

He swallowed, "I don't think we can keep seeing each other...romantically I mean. After all, I'm far too old for you and we don't want this thing to get too complicated. We said friends with benefits, right?"

She gave him a small smile, "Yeah, friends no matter what."

He sighed in relief that she'd taken it so well and disappointment for the same reason.

"If you think it's best, then that's what we'll do," she told him.

"Yeah, I-I think so."

Both of them had wet eyes but refused to cry.

"Do I get a farewell kiss?" she asked.

He blinked back a tear and said, "Sure, darlin'."

She leaned in and their lips met in a sweet goodbye.

He pulled away and said, "Now, maybe I can get some rest. You've been wearing me out."

She recognized his joke for what it was: an attempt to let them both walk away with both their dignity and their closeness intact. "Balderdash," she scoffed. "Who wouldn't let who get any sleep?"

She began walking away, and he turned to his workbench not really seeing anything on it. She stopped a few paces away, "Hey," she called softly.

He looked up and she continued, "You know, Madeline can be a real bitch sometimes."

He chuckled and nodded. The truth now acknowledged between them, she left to pursue her cover at "The Copperhead."

************

Nikita was uncomfortable. Michael had come over to have dinner with her tonight and seemingly enjoyed the meal. He gave every indication of finally wanting to take a step toward a relationship and now she felt like backing down. So many times she had imagined this moment, and so many times in the years she'd known him had Michael seemed to be taking that leap only for her to discover the whole situation was a Section ploy. She realized that it was for real this time. His complete honesty with her about the Zalman mission reassured her of that. Yet that scared her even more.

Michael could see her nervousness and understood the reasons for it. He intended to keep to his plan though: let her see how he felt and give her the time she needed to accept it. He poured them a glass of wine.

She looked at him and decided to put her cards on the table, "You know it can't be casual between us?" she asked.

He agreed and raised his glass in a toast. She wasn't ready, though and sat hers down. He decided to give her a break and went out on her balcony. The wind was blowing briskly, and the air was decidedly sharp. He looked at the sidewalk below them and saw Mahleah standing in front of the building as if uncertain whether or not to enter.

Nikita joined him and saw their friend, "Poor Mahleah," she said softly.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"Didn't you hear? Walter broke up with her today. We all think it had something to do with Madeline, but does it really matter why? She looks so lonely."

Worse than that, Michael thought, she looked lost. As they watched she tucked absently on the end of her braid and let her hair escape into the wind. She tucked her hands into the pockets of her long coat and began walking away.

"Where is she going at this hour?" Nikita wondered aloud. "It looks like it could storm any second."

"I'll find out," Michael told her.

*************

Duncan MacLeod had had about as much of Amanda as he could take in one day. Ever since he had come to Paris she had been practically inseparable from him: helping him run down leads in the search for Mahleah, trying to cheer him up when he grew frustrated and depressed, expressing her love for Mahleah in every way she could and her claim on him just as often.

Really it was amusing. Amanda had always been a little territorial but had never seen fit to see Mahleah as a rival until now. Suddenly for whatever reason, that had changed, but the interesting thing was that she still cared for her competition. They had been friends since Mahleah was eight years old and had caught Amanda robbing the hotel they had been staying in while on vacation.

The two of them had a genuine bond and Amanda had passed along to the young pre-Immortal tips both expert (and illegal), about picking locks, and amateurish, in belly-dancing. Amanda liked to brag about being a dancing girl in Constantinople but MacLeod remembered her being the worst dancer in the palace prized for her other skills. Luckily, he had been around to counteract any impulses towards thievery she might impart to the young girl and Mahleah's Oriental dance instructor purged her of any bad habits left over from those days while performing.

Yes, Amanda sincerely loved Mahleah and wished her the best - as long as it was away from his bed. Her warring psyche was causing havoc with his nerves. Despite the inclement weather he had found himself drawn outside on the deck to lose himself in one distraction she would neither resent nor interfere with: his katas. So he concentrated on the discipline of the forms which freed him temporarily from anger, grief, guilt, pain, sorrow and frustration.

Mahleah stood far enough away that Duncan couldn't sense her but she could still watch him flow from movement to movement. She hadn't consciously realized where she was going when she left her apartment and let her wandering feet lead her eventually to the barge. The very sight of him made her heart constrict.

Tonight she had found a small measure of success at the club. They had managed to double the normal audience from a dozen to two. She had found satisfaction in losing herself in the music, letting her soul "drift away" as the song goes.

It wasn't until after the last note died that she realized what bad shape she was in tonight. Their last number was the Springsteen classic "Backstreets" and in rehearsals they had tried it over and over and over again until she was satisfied. It was a favorite and every time the guitar made its first entrance before the lyrics began she felt her breath catch and her eyes moisten.

Tonight had been no exception and she found herself pouring every ounce of herself into the song. When the echo of the last line and chord faded away, she found that she felt numb. She was beyond drained - more like empty.

She said her good-byes and started walking home, refusing rides from the guys. She didn't really want any of them to know where she lived, and besides she preferred to walk. Unhappily, walking also led to thinking and that wasn't pleasant tonight.

She and Walter had broken up because of some idiotic Section rule or possibly even worse because of a whim or mind game of Madeline's. It wasn't that she was in love with him, although she cared for him dearly - it was the fact that he made her day a little brighter, always encouraged her to be herself and reminded her of the goodness that could be found in the human heart. She would miss him, not as a friend because she knew that was remain, but as a lover. She would miss their intimacy and his presence in her bed. He was a tender, thoughtful lover and she treasured watching his sleep at night when all the anxieties of the day were gone. Yet, in the end her feelings for him were comfortable not passionate, friendly rather than romantic, companionable not soulful. And so, feeling lifeless and aching with a terrible longing, she'd gone aimlessly from place to place until she found herself here.

Watching Duncan she wondered if Madeline hadn't done the right thing for the wrong reason. She had sensed that Walter's feelings for her were growing more intense, so perhaps it was better, after all that they end that side of their relationship now before he got hurt even worse than he had.

With the clouds hiding the moon she stood in the dark and gazed at Duncan, remembering. Each fierce move he made on the deck of the barge brought forth a corresponding memory of gentleness from her mind. She could feel the softness of his hair as it slipped through her fingers, could smell his familiar, strange strawberry odor. She didn't care if the smell was only in her head; it was always associated with him. She recalled the way he would catch his breath when she touched him, whisper soft words in her ears before he kissed her, call out in Gaelic when they climaxed...the way he would wrap his arms around her for the rest of the night and wake her in the morning with sweet kisses that were better than any alarm clock ever made.

Involuntarily, she took a couple of steps forward and realized that she couldn't resist going to him tonight. Her mind told her she was insane but with trembling hands, and shuddering breath she knew she was going. Just as she started to take the inevitable step that would most likely put her within range of his Immortal senses, she saw a figure come out on the deck. It was Amanda.

MacLeod finished his workout and came out of his last stance to find Amanda behind him, holding two cups of hot coffee.

"A peace offering?" she mildly asked.

He smiled and took it. His mind felt clearer and his heart more at peace for the moment. He sipped the coffee and was preparing to follow Amanda into warmer quarters when something stopped him. He was never sure why he turned around, but just as he did the wind shifted a cloud just enough for a small beam of moonlight to briefly illuminate a figure walking rapidly away.

His heart sped up. Was that long hair blowing in the breeze?

"Mahleah?" he said aloud.

"Where?" Amanda looked but saw nothing. Coffee left behind, Duncan ran off the barge and into the night following the unknown shadow. Unfortunately, he was not the only one.....

************

Mahleah's favorite spot in Paris was in the small square behind Notre Dame. Ever since she was a child and had visited the city for the first time, she would go there if she felt troubled and sit on one of the benches to think things through. At night the gates were closed but as they were not very high, she'd never had trouble getting over them. She usually had to share the spot with lovers who sought its romantic atmosphere but tonight the weather had kept them all home.

For once, it brought her no peace. Her emptiness had been filled with pain and a sorrowful rage. She slipped off the bench to her knees screaming, "No!" Then she repeated it over and over again as she beat her open palms against the ground.

A dark-clad figure came over the fence and quietly made its way towards her, but her hearing was still very sharp. She rolled herself to the side and confronted the intruder with a knife drawn from a boot, only to discover a friend.

"Michael?" she asked blankly. "What are you doing here?"

He pulled her gently to her feet. "I could ask you the same question," he replied.

"I-I'm just out for a walk," she stammered.

He said nothing, but examining her battered hands, pulled out a handkerchief and wrapped it around her bloodiest palm. She trembled and when he'd finished tried to pull away. He caught her again and held her near him. He saw the first tears fall and brushed the hair off her face. The tears fell faster and he wrapped his arms around her. The storm inside her broke loose and he felt her shake with great racking sobs against him.

He said nothing, but gently stroked the long hair and sitting her down on the bench, rocked her against his chest. The fury lasted for some time, but eventually a wet face raised itself and hiccuped as it said, "I don't know what's the matter with me, Michael. I don't normally fall to pieces like this."

"It's okay," he said simply, and since he'd already used the handkerchief, wiped her wet cheeks with his fingertips.

Behind the fence MacLeod watched with a sick fascination. He had been horrified to see Mahleah in such an agitated condition and had been about to go to her, when the stranger appeared. Mahleah had known him and trusted him enough to comfort her through the emotional maelstrom.

"Michael," she'd called him. Duncan examined the newcomer closely. He was tall and well-built with thick brown hair and beautiful green eyes. He strained to make out these details without realizing it or his motive for doing so: Mahleah was a hair and eye girl. He was examining this man to discover his relationship with his former lover.

He saw how gentle Michael was with her - the way he bound her hand, the way he held her closely while she cried, instinctively doing all the things Duncan knew Mahleah found most comforting.

Bryson's report had mentioned that Mahleah had been undercover with a Michael and his description had reported them as being very close. Duncan closed his eyes wearily. It seemed he had found her too late, then. Her heart was already spoken for.

As he watched, Mahleah reached awkwardly for her hair and attempted to gather it for a braid unsuccessfully. Michael turned her around and began plaiting it for her. Duncan swallowed and walked away. He had seen enough. He would return to the barge and Amanda.

On the bench, Mahleah licked her lips nervously. She was unaccustomed to other people braiding her hair. Michael's fingers were gentle and skillful, handling the thick tresses with ease. She knew he was doing it to help set her to rights. With her hair back, her armor would be in place and she would be ready to face the world again, yet what she had told him before about the intimacy of this act for her was true. There was no way for him to know that having her hair stroked was usually a sensuous experience for her, and that a certain spot on the back of her neck was one of her most erogenous zones. When his fingers accidentally brushed it, tingles went down her spine. It was everything she could do not to jerk her hair out of his grasp and yell, "Don't do that, you big dummy! Don't you know it turns me on!"

She forced herself to remain still and concentrate on her breathing. In and out, in and out...regular not ragged. When he finished, she handed him the ponytail binder with a sigh of relief.

He helped her to her feet. She put a hand on his shoulder and said, "Thank you, Michael. I'm glad you were here. I'm not sure why you were, but I needed a friendly shoulder." She took a breath then continued, "So, don't take this the wrong way, but I'd rather you not do my hair anymore, please."

He looked into her eyes for a very long moment and understood. He nodded. She smiled and as they started walking home, she said lightly but seriously, "Some roads, Musashi, were never meant to be taken."

Well, the night had sent her a friend. Maybe it hadn't been the one she was looking for, but he was special nonetheless. Oddly, though, a little tingle at the back of her brain was trying to tell her that she'd missed something....

************

After the movie Birkoff and Claire decided to walk to her apartment. The wind was just starting to pick up and she shivered as she held his arm and pulled herself closer to him.

"We could take a cab," he suggested.

"No," she shook her head. "The evening would be over too quickly."

"You can always invite me in," he suggested and his heart sped up.

She smiled a little shyly, "I could but I have a roommate."

"That's okay, introduce me."

She shook her head, "Not yet. I'm enjoying having you all to myself."

He felt a flush creep slowly from the back of his neck. "I'm glad," he told her.

"I really enjoyed the movie, too. I'm glad your friend recommended it."

"Yeah, I'll have to give Mahleah a big thank you," he said fervently. She looked at him curiously, "Mahleah? That's an odd name."

"Yeah, I guess."

"How strange, I used to know a Mahleah years ago. We went to school together. Surely it couldn't be the same person?" she exclaimed.

He swallowed. What had he gotten himself into accidentally? "I really doubt it," he replied.

"She was a good friend of mine," Claire mused. "Is she American?"

"Yes, I think so."

She gave him a funny look at that response, but then asked, "Small, petite, short red hair with freckles and blue eyes?"

"No," he laughed in relief. "Mahleah's very tall -- probably about six feet, and her eyes are brown."

"Oh, she said with disappointment. "I'd liked to have seen her again."

They had reached her building by this time and she turned to him with a smile, "I guess this is good night then."

"Would you like to see Indiscreet tomorrow night?" he asked hopefully.

"Yes, I would," she said to his vast relief. She leaned in and kissed him lightly on the lips. "Goodnight Seymour."

She ran up the steps to her building as Birkoff stood there with his head swimming. Tomorrow, he could hardly wait.

************

First Team was on its way back to Section from a flash mission, and they were exhausted. They had all been called in at 3:30 in the morning, flown for several hours, waited until the target was tagged and then obliterated his headquarters. The mission successfully concluded, they were on their way home.

Nikita, while as fatigued as everyone else, was glad that for once she had not been the bait for the profile. Instead, Mahleah got to be the one to slip the tracker into a convenient place. The mark had wanted to engage in a little rough and tumble and Nikita thought a member of the team would have to retrieve her, but Mahleah had been fine. The class two operative looked over at her neighbor.

Mahleah had changed out of her trollopy clothes into Mission gear. Nikita knew she had to be exhausted, since she had only gotten in from her other assignment at 3. Remarkably, she was holding together well for someone with half an hour's rest, but after debriefing she had to sing tonight. Nikita didn't know how she would manage.

Mahleah looked around at her sluggish teammates. She was just tired enough to be incredibly wired. She knew she should probably try to take a nap before they got back in Section, but she knew she'd never go to sleep. Realizing that she was also feeling a little loopy, she decided to run with it. Her comrades looked like they could use some fun, and she could stand to warm up her voice.

"Hey, didn't anyone bring any music?" she inquired loudly.

Davis, the operative normally in charge of smuggling rock on board their flights, shook his head. "There wasn't any time," he told her.

She shrugged, "Oh well, we'll just have to make our own fun, won't we?"

They looked at her curiously. She stood up and began pacing. "You know I was going through my music collection the other day and I ran across some songs that would fit into a collection entitled 'Section's Greatest Hits.' You know songs that sum up the mood and attitude of our superiors so superbly. For instance, the old Eurthymics' tune, 'Would I Lie to You.' Do y'all remember that one?"

She saw nods and a few smiles, and said brightly, "Good, 'cause we're going to sing it."

Startled looks met her statement and she continued to work on them. Nikita walked over to Michael and sat down beside him. She looked at their mutual friend with amazement.

"What is she up to?" she mused.

"She's rechanneling her energy in order to perform tonight," he informed her, as his fingers flew over a laptop keyboard. "She's also tired enough to be a little silly."

"I don't know whether to cheer or be scared," Nikita said with amusement.

"Both probably," he told her, then looked up briefly. She was startled to see a flicker of something in his eyes - could it be laughter?

Mahleah came over to them. "Okay, I need your services," she said sweetly. "Oh, don't panic, Musashi, I know you'd rather be boiled in oil first, but Nikita you're coming with me."

Nikita found herself amongst her other team mates...all of them looking a little dazed. Michael put down his laptop to enjoy the show. Mahleah raised her hands and directed them:

"Would I lie to you?
Would I lie to you honey?
Now would I say something that wasn't true?
I'm asking you sugar, would I lie to you?"

Mahleah cut loose with her part and the people who had never heard her before let their jaws hang open. Michael was rather impressed by the fact that she was a cappella, singing without the benefit of music, and doing a fine job. Her voice inspired the other Section ops to put forth more energy. In fact, she stirred them into a small frenzy.

Michael let a small smile form on his lips as he wondered what Operations would make of all this.

************

Several days later, Mahleah was having lunch at "The Copperhead" and trying to get to know her target's sister a little better. They had been discussing music and Teresa confessed that she wished the band would play a different kind.

"Not that I don't think you're great," she hastily added. "I'd just like to hear something a little more modern, you know?"

Mahleah laughed, "Modern? As relative to what exactly?"

Teresa blushed, "Well, you know join the nineties or something. Spice things up a little."

"If you mean with electronic music or hip hop I'm with you, but I don't think anyone else would be very enthusiastic," Mahleah told her. "Your father likes his music straight-up, old-fashioned, rock and blues."

"I know," the teenager said with a frown, "but there's so much more out there. Although," she brightened, "I love the way you rock. You're so cool. All the things you see guys normally doing in a band, you do too. I love it."

"Thank you," Mahleah replied. "I guess they need to remember your age more often. I guess to you someone like Madonna is considered a classic pop artist?"

"Sure."

"And in your mind U2 and Bruce Springsteen are as old as the Stones?"

"Well, aren't they?"

"Not hardly, sweetie, not hardly."

Teresa studied the singer for a moment and then hesitantly asked, "Am I making you feel old?"

"Yes, but I suppose I'd better get used to it. For the record I remember when U2 were a group of teenaged boys from Dublin trying to get people to listen to 'I Will Follow,' but I digress. I'll see what I can do to update the lineup."

Teresa brightened, "How?"

"Well, no one's likely to turn hip-hop, but maybe I can coax a little trip-hop out of them. I'll at least try to add a few dance numbers to the repertoire."

"Oh, that would be great!" Teresa was enthusiastic.

Mahleah looked up and saw Tony watching them carefully. He smiled and turned away. She turned her gaze back to Teresa and cautiously asked, "Teresa, why's your dad so mysterious sometimes? It seems like he wants to keep his life story a closed book."

Teresa moistened her lips, "I think he just doesn't want to think about the past. It hurts too much. It's only been a few years since Mom died and it was a pretty traumatic experience."

"What happened to her?"

Teresa swallowed, "She was murdered."

"I'm so sorry," Mahleah automatically said, her mind whirling. How did this fit in with Shawn? "Did they catch the killer?"

"No," Teresa squirmed in her seat. "Things have never been the same since, really. My brother fought with my dad then ran away from home and we eventually moved here."

"Why did he run away?"

"I'm not really sure," Teresa looked behind her. "I think I'm needed in the kitchen. I'll catch you later, okay? And work on those new tunes!"

After the girl had left, Mahleah sat there wondering what had happened to Teresa's mother and whether those circumstances had caused Shawn to become an assassin. She saw that Tony was watching her again with a small frown. She smiled at him and he smiled back, but his eyes were thoughtful.

***********

Birkoff noticed Mahleah strolling by and called out to her, "Hey, just the person I wanted to talk to."

She smiled and sat down next to him, "How are things going, Birkoff?"

"Great," he told her.

"I gather the relationship with what was her name, Claire, is working out, then?"

"Oh yes, it's great. In fact, I wanted to invite you to dinner with us tonight."

"I'm sorry, Birkoff, I can't. I'm singing tonight."

He looked at her thoughtfully, "You need some rest. It seems like you're always busy lately."

She nodded ruefully, "Yeah, if I have downtime, I still have to perform and if I have a day off from the club, I'm sent on a mission. Well, it could be worse. I love to sing, so that's not a big hardship. They could have me working as an exotic dancer or something."

He laughed, "True. I wish you could come though. I invited Nikita to meet her and I would have invited Walter, but..."

"He's not back from his month's downtime, I know. I wish I could come. Bring her by the club some night. I'd like to check her out - see if she's worthy of you."

He colored faintly then remembered, "Oh yeah, I thought you had a rather unusual name, but Claire thought she might know you. She went to school in America with a Mahleah."

She studied him intently, "Really, I don't seem to remember knowing any Claires. I thought you said she was twenty-two. That's a few years too young to have gone to school with me."

"Oh, it wasn't you," he chuckled. "The girl she was talking about looks nothing like you. She was short and small, with red hair, freckles and blue eyes. That couldn't possibly be you."

"No," she agreed, "that's not even in the ballpark." Her eyes were thoughtful, though. "Why don't I see if Michael is willing to go with you?"

He looked at her dubiously, "I don't know, Mahleah. That might not be such a good idea."

She grinned, "Afraid he'll steal your girl? Don't worry, his mind will be on Nikita."

"But Michael would never come," he protested.

She stood up, "Leave it to me. I'll convince him."

She walked away toward the class five operative's office and Birkoff swallowed. Michael tended to be quiet and reserved (which would kill the mood) or charming (which usually meant he was handling a Valentine target). Either way, he wasn't sure how well Michael would fit into this little group.

Mahleah knocked on Michael's door and entered when she heard, "Come in."

He looked up and asked, "Yes?"

"Are you busy?"

"I can take a break."

"Hmm, well I've come to beg a favor from you," she said with a twinkle in her eye.

He sighed. When people normally came to him for favors it usually involved complicated Section business with Mahleah, however, it could be just about anything. "What do you want?" he asked.

She sat in the chair in front of his desk, letting her long legs dangle over the arm. "I want you to go on a sort of double date tonight."

He stared at her, silently demanding an explanation.

"Birkoff has a new girlfriend by the name of Claire. He has invited Nikita to have dinner with them tonight. He asked me to go as well, but since I have to sing, I had to decline."

"You want me to fill in for you?"

Her mouth twisted mischievously. "Oh, I hope you do much better than that!"

Her face grew more serious. "Yes, I'd like you to attend, but there's another reason. Claire mentioned to Birkoff that she used to know a Mahleah in school. Now, she's too young for us to be old classmates and her description didn't match me, but I wonder..."

"What?"

"Her description...not one feature came even close to matching me. It was if someone picked my complete opposite physically speaking."

"You think she does know you someway," he stated.

She frowned, "I'm not sure, but I'd like you to meet her for me, give me your opinion of her character, tell me what *she* looks like."

He examined her face as he asked, "Does this have to do with 'your people', like Kassim?"

She pursed her lips, "I don't know, and that's what worries me." She shrugged. "I could be paranoid, but I'd rather have Birkoff safe then be wrong."

"I'll see what I can do," he promised.

She rose, smiling, "Thanks, Musashi. Hope it won't be too much of a hardship to spend the evening with Nikita."

She went to the door, but before she opened it glanced back slyly and said, "Don't do anything I wouldn't do."

Straight-faced, he replied, "That leaves me plenty of options."

**********

"If I'd realized Michael was going to be here, I would have worn something else," Nikita thought. Birkoff had told her Claire was a little shy and so she'd dressed rather conservatively in order to make the girl feel at ease. Now she thought of a little red dress hanging in her closet and sighed. Oh well.

Oddly enough, Michael was still in his basic black although he'd changed his dress shirt for a more casual sweater. She would have thought he'd take the opportunity to add a little color to his ensemble, but apparently not.

Not that he looked bad in black, she admitted, in fact no one else wore it half as well. He was doing his best to make Claire feel comfortable, too, even if his warm glances at herself were causing her to feel decidedly uncomfortable.

Birkoff was relaxing as well. His fears about Michael joining the party were proving themselves to be groundless. Instead of being overly smooth, or politely distant, Michael was friendly and interested. He took the pains to draw Claire out without making Birkoff feel threatened. It had been an interesting evening.

Michael, himself, was a bit confused. Claire remained a puzzle to him. She seemed in every respect to be just what she said, a shy young Art student from America. He had casually dropped Mahleah's name into the conversation, but she didn't rise to the bait. She had told them of friends back home, her family, and her ambitions. He intended to check some of the verifiable details, but everything seemed to be completely genuine. Why, then, were his instincts telling him she was hiding something? Could Mahleah's suspicions be right?

They rose to leave and Michael hailed a cab. Birkoff and Claire decided to walk. Nikita expected Michael to get in with her, but when he didn't she got back out and asked, "Aren't you going to see me home?"

Oh, how he longed to say yes and more, but he had a promise to keep. Besides, what if he got to her apartment and she decided again that she wasn't ready for more? He sighed, and brushed his thumb lightly across her cheekbone and down the side of her face.

"Not tonight," he told her with regret. "I have something I have to take care of."

She nodded, sensing he wasn't telling her everything. Maybe he was supposed to be back in Section and he'd taken a break just to be with her? Probably wasn't true, but that's what she would tell herself.

"I'll see you tomorrow, then," she said wistfully, and got into the car.

Michael watched as it drove off, wondering if he was a complete idiot. He saw Birkoff and Claire in the distance and silently headed toward them.

"I like your friends, Seymour," Claire told him, as they walked hand-in-hand to her apartment.

"I'm glad," he responded, then added, "Um, you don't like Michael too well, I hope?"

She laughed, lightly, "No, he's too good-looking."

"You have something against good-looking guys?"

"Obviously not, I'm with you," she teased. "No, I mean he's too good-looking. I've had a couple of bad experiences with men who looked like that. They're usually hiding something and break your heart."

He noticed sadness in her tone, and asked about it.

She leaned her head against his shoulder, "Yeah, I was in love with a man named Jean once. I thought it would last forever but he left me."

"Why?"

She smiled bitterly, "Another woman of course."

They had reached her building. He walked her to the door and said, "Well, Jean was incredibly stupid. I can't imagine leaving you for anyone."

She smiled slightly but he saw tears glistening in her eyes, "Thank you," she whispered.

He bent and kissed her, hoping to alleviate her pain through his touch. Her lips were warm and responsive, but when he leaned in to kiss her again, she stopped him.

"Much as I'm loving this, I have an early class in the morning," she said regretfully. "Rain check?"

"Absolutely," he promised, and kissed her hand lightly.

Michael watched everything from the shadows.

Hours later, he walked into "The Copperhead." Mahleah was onstage, finishing a number. She brightened at his entrance, and when the song was over, came to his table. Teresa was there taking his order.

"Michael!" she exclaimed, and gave him the ritual Gallic kiss on each cheek and sat across from him. She looked at the teenager who was regarding him with wide eyes. "Teresa, this is my best friend Michael. He was the first person I ever got to know in Paris. Michael, this is Teresa."

He shook her hand and she gave a little sigh, then hurried to get his drink.

"So, what did you find out?" Mahleah asked him.

"She seems harmless enough," he told her.

She frowned. "You don't sound completely convinced."

"I think she's hiding something, but it may be innocent. Perhaps she is seeing someone else on the side?"

"Only a Frenchman would consider that innocent," she scolded. "What does she look like?"

"Tall, about 5'9", thin, long dark hair, brown eyes."

"Nearly any of that could be faked," she mused.

He handed her an electronic device and punched a button. She saw a dinner table and a young woman fitting his description. She looked at him questioningly.

"I thought it might help," he said.

"Leave it to you to wear a camera at dinner," she chuckled, then turned her attention back to the small screen. She examined Claire's features intently, looking for any sign of recognition. There was none.

She sighed and looked at him, "I've never seen her before in my life."

************

When Mahleah heard a knock on her door, she found Nikita on the other side.

"Hey," she greeted her. "Come in, I was just fixing myself some breakfast."

"I didn't know if you'd be up yet," Nikita told her.

"Yes, and wonder of wonders, I actually don't have to go into Section today," Mahleah smiled.

"Well, I've been there already and decided to leave for the day. Operations was in one of his moods." Nikita settled herself, along with a large pad of paper, into one of the kitchen chairs.

Mahleah finished slicing up strawberries for her cereal, poured milk over it and asked, "What happened?"

"The woman we were supposed to be working with killed herself," Nikita sighed. "Operations seems to feel we're responsible somehow."

"Glad you're out of it for a while then," Mahleah said cheerfully.

"Anyway, I've been meaning to ask you something for a while now, and never got around to it."

"What's that?"

"I draw, well, I sketch a little anyway, and I was wondering if you'd let me sketch you."

Mahleah raised an eyebrow, "Seriously?"

Nikita waved her sketchpad, "Seriously."

"Sure," came the response. "I'm honored. I've only been an artist's model once, I think, and that was by accident."

"How did you accidentally become a model?" Nikita asked with interest.

"Oh, I was just sitting on a bench one day and it turned out this guy was drawing me. He came up and asked me out and we did the town up proper."

"So what happened with him?"

"Someone else got to first base before him," Mahleah said dismissively. "So, how do you want me?"

"Do you know you're always doing that," Nikita said with exasperation.

"Doing what?"

"You start an interesting story and then refuse to tell the end."

"I did tell you the end. I started out with one man and ended up with another."

"And?"

"And what?"

"Details, details, I want to hear more. Why do you have to be so mysterious all the time?"

Mahleah sighed. She walked over to the picture window and stood in the sunshine. Nikita loved the pose and surreptitiously opened the sketchbook and began drawing.

"I met Tim when I was mourning the death of an old friend. He convinced me to slip into a little black dress and go club hopping with him. We drank a boatload of champagne and danced. Eventually another old friend of mine dropped into the club we were at and grew concerned with my condition."

"Because you don't drink," Nikita pointed out. "Normally, that is. Hey, is this the guy you ended up spending the night with? You only gave me a few details before."

"Yes, Tim left - I never knew why, and to tell the truth barely noticed - and I finished another bottle of champagne with Mac."

"Mac?" thought Nikita. "Wasn't that the gorgeous guy in the dress shop?" She refrained from asking...guessing that to do so would cause Mahleah to end her tale.

"He took me home, his home as it happened, and I revealed some feelings that I had been suppressing for him. He was a little hesitant about making out with me since I was so tipsy, but I changed his mind in a hurry. Unfortunately for him, just when things were getting exciting, I fell asleep. There, end of story."

"I'm sure there was more to it than that," she was informed, "but I'm also sure that you're not going to tell me, so I'll leave it."

Mahleah turned, "Bright girl." She saw Nikita was drawing and sighed, "What is it with people sketching me on the sly?"

When Mahleah arrived for her gig that night, she saw a familiar face at the bar. Walking up to the bearded man with a cane, she greeted him, "Hello, Joe. I've been wondering when you'd show up."

************

Immortal and Watcher sat at a table together.

"So, how did you find me?" Mahleah finally asked.

"I have my sources," he said evenly.

"I've met one of your sources, and while she seemed sweet enough I wasn't very impressed with her surveillance skills. Surely, she didn't track me here."

"No, I've removed Jesley from your chronicle. She was a little spooked by her encounter with you. Would you really have tied her up and left on my doorstep?" He shook his head. "Never mind. Forget I asked."

"So, what are you doing here?"

"What am I doing here? Do you have any idea what we've been going through since your disappearance and supposed suicide? Obviously we didn't believe the suicide part, but you completely vanished from the face of the earth. We were about to think that someone had taken your head only no one had found the body yet. Why didn't you let one of us know where you were?"

"I couldn't," she responded calmly, "not without putting you in danger. I told Jesley to explain that to you."

"She did, and from what I've gathered you've been recruited into some sort of anti-terrorist agency, right?"

She gripped his arm fiercely, "How do you know that?"

"Kassim's Watcher."

She thought about it for a moment and laughed, "Bryson."

"Bryson," he agreed.

She resumed her grip on his arm, "Listen to me, Joe. This place I'm working for is extremely paranoid about outsiders even knowing of its existence. They would kill you without hesitation just for being here and having this conversation with me. That's why I haven't let any of my friends know I'm in Paris. It would create dangerous situations for all of us."

"Even for MacLeod?" he asked softly.

She ducked her head, not meeting his glance.

"Mahleah, you don't know what he's been through since all this started. If he were mortal his hair would be white as snow right now."

"I'm sure Amanda is cheering him up," she commented, still not looking him in the eye.

"Is that what this is all about, jealousy? Lord, you two are killing me. First him, now you," he groaned.

"What are you talking about?"

He grew cautious, saying only, "Bryson reported that you were very intimate with your partner. What was his name, Michael?"

She smiled, "Of course I was. According to our cover story we were lovers - we had to appear intimate."

"And since then?"

"What do you mean since then? Not that it's any of your concern, but we're friends. He's in love with my neighbor."

Joe heaved a sigh of relief. Apparently MacLeod had misinterpreted what he had seen the other night. If he could only convince Mahleah to leave this organization, things could get back to normal.

"So why don't you just leave?" he asked.

"I can't."

"Why not?"

"It's not that simple, Joe. The only way any one leaves this place is feet first."

"So, let them kill you. I doubt they'll cut your head off. You'd be free." He frowned as she shook her head. "Why not?"

"No Joe, I'm trying to make up for a little of the havoc I created last year. Besides, the people I've met need me, I think."

"And Mac doesn't?"

She laughed at him, "Duncan MacLeod lived for over three centuries without me. He can make it a few years more."

"Don't you miss him at all?"

She sighed and her eyes looked at him with an acute sadness. "Of course I do, but now is not the time. I wish things were different, but c'est la vie."

He rose, and looked down at her, "If you change your mind, you know the number of my club."

"Maybe someday, my friend," she promised.

************

"Come in," Michael said to the knock at his door.

Mahleah entered and sat down in her usual chair, propping one foot in the seat and letting the other dangle.

"I was wondering if you'd found out anything more about Claire," she asked. He nodded and handed her a panel. She skimmed through the information: Claire Emily Westcott, age 22, originally from New York. Everything seemed aboveboard. She frowned. To all outward appearances, Claire Westcott was an innocent American studying abroad. Of course, to all outward appearances, Mahleah was a struggling writer who made ends meet through a small inheritance and spent her time singing at a small club on the poor side of town.

"There's another name on her lease, a Samantha Stuart. Have you heard Birkoff mention her?" Michael inquired.

"No, but I'll find out," Mahleah told him.

"Why does this girl have you so on edge?"

She shrugged, "Intuition, I don't know. How about you? You told me yourself you think she's hiding something."

He mimicked her gesture, "I'm not sure why."

She smiled faintly, "Well, Musashi, the two of us have survived as long as we have because we listened to our instincts. I'll reserve judgment on Claire until I've met her. I'll see if Birkoff can bring her by the club."

He nodded in agreement. There was another knock at his door and Nikita poked her head in.

"Hope I'm not interrupting."

"No, we just finished our discussion," Mahleah told her.

"Good," she led a pale, dark-haired woman into the office. "I wanted you to meet Sarah. Sarah, this is Mahleah."

Mahleah smiled warmly at the newcomer, "Nikita's been telling me about you, Sarah. I'm so glad to finally meet you."

She studied the woman surreptitiously. Nikita had indeed told her about this woman whom Section was using for her uncanny resemblance to a terrorist. Nikita had said she was dying of cancer and Mahleah thought Sarah looked rather tired and a little withdrawn.

She managed a smile and a weak handshake with the Immortal.

"Madeline has suggested I come see you tonight," she said quietly.

Mahleah raised an eyebrow and looked at Nikita who responded by saying, "Sarah's a little shy and Madeline thought a night out on the town might make her feel more comfortable with her assignments." She looked at Michael, "Would you like to join us? The more the merrier."

He understood her unspoken message, "The more people there Sarah knows the better she will feel."

"Of course," he answered.

Nikita brightened. "I've already asked Birkoff and he said he'd like to bring Claire."

"Oh good," Mahleah exclaimed. "I've been dying for a chance to meet her."

**********

Mahleah sat at the bar of "The Copperhead" waiting for the customers to arrive and the show to begin. Tony sat a glass in front of her and poured a bottle into it.

"I got this in just for you," he told her.

She looked at it suspiciously, "What is it?"

"Try it."

She took a sip of the fizzing liquid cautiously and her eyes widened in surprise, "Wow, that's great!"

"Well, you don't partake of my usual brews so I imported a few bottles of Clearly Canadian water for you."

She was touched, "What flavor is this?"

He held up the bottle, "Peach mango."

"I like it," she took a larger drink.

"You seem rather thoughtful this evening. Anything I can help you with?"

She gave him a brief smile and shook her head, "I'm afraid not. I'm expecting some friends in tonight."

"Well, that should make you happy."

"It does, but the reason they're coming is to give an evening out to a new acquaintance - a young woman named Sarah - who is dying of cancer."

"Oh, I'm sorry," he said quietly.

"So am I," she replied and took another large swallow of her fizzy peach-mango flavored water. "So am I."

He regarded her thoughtfully, "It's rough isn't it? Watching someone die so young when you're so strong and healthy?"

"Yes," she said with a little surprise. He had captured her mood precisely. She was still trying to grow accustomed to the fact that she would live on -- never aging, never getting sick -- barring the moment someone struck her head from her shoulders. Never would she have to face the specters of cancer, heart disease, Alzheimer's, or the indignities of aging in general, personally. She would have to watch, though, as those around her suffered in ways she could never imagine. What had she ever done to deserve the life she led, and not Sarah? She sighed, knowing that such questions would haunt her for an extremely long time.

"There's nothing you can do about it," he chimed into her thoughts perfectly. "It's not your fault that you were blessed with uncommonly good genes."

She stared at him, "What do you mean?"

"Well, I've never seen you sick a day since we met. Even when everyone else around here caught Teresa's cold, you stayed healthy. You've never lost your voice though you keep a pretty rough schedule. There are a lot of people who would kill for your constitution."

"Yeah," she agreed with gallows humor. "I've met a few of them."

She saw Michael and Nikita enter with Sarah and an unknown blonde. She looked carefully but saw no sign of Birkoff or Claire. She walked over to the party.

"Hey," she gave Michael and Nikita hugs, smiled at Sarah, and extended her hand to the unknown, "I'm Mahleah."

The blonde gave her hand a firm shake and offered, "I'm Samantha, Claire's roommate."

Involuntarily, Mahleah glanced at Michael as if to say, oh, so she exists after all. Actually she already knew that since she had spoken to Birkoff earlier. He had mentioned Samantha with a little despair. Claire, it seemed, was very shy and wouldn't ask him to spend the night as long as Samantha was in the apartment. He was hoping she could find romance herself tonight and allow him some privacy with his girlfriend.

"So, where's Birkoff?" she asked the others.

"He and Claire are outside," Nikita told her. "She insisted on paying for their cab ride here."

"Oh," Mahleah said noncommittally. "I can't wait to meet her."

"She's been wanting to meet you to," Samantha said.

"Really, how nice."

She caught Michael giving her an amused look, and arched an eyebrow at him. The eyebrow descended when she felt a tingle throughout her body. She stared at the door with anticipation. Birkoff entered laughing and holding hands with the woman Mahleah had seen previously in the recording Michael had made at their dinner. The brunette was staring directly at her. Mahleah looked into a pair of startled brown eyes and calmly stuck to tradition.

"I am Mahleah Brennan." The words rang out with invitation and challenge.

***********

Claire stood her ground, "I am Claire Westcott, and I am pleased to meet you."

Michael watched the two of them. If he wasn't mistaken that was the same way Mahleah and Kassim had greeted each other. She had mentioned that her people had lots of rituals, perhaps this was one of them.

Teresa popped up, "Hey, your friends made it. I'll seat them near the stage."

Tony came up behind his daughter, "I'll seat them, Teresa. Why don't you go help out in the kitchen?"

She looked at him quizzically, but obeyed. Mahleah spared a moment from her scrutiny of the new Immortal to wonder about this strange request. She gave him a questioning look.

"I'm Tony, bartender and owner of this establishment," he told them all, directing them toward the table in question. "We're happy to welcome any friends of Mahleah's."

He looked at Claire with a small frown. Mahleah examined him. He looked a little pale, and his hands were shaking ever so slightly. What was going on? She could almost believe that he knew.... She glanced sharply at his wrist. He caught the look and deftly moved it to his side. She could see nothing but his wrist watch, but maintained her suspicions.

Everyone was sitting down. Claire was chattering nervously, "So, Mahleah, Birkoff told me you were from the Appalachian Mountains. I hear there's good hunting there if you care for the sport."

She looked at the visibly tense woman and replied, "I'm not a hunter, I'm afraid. The only reason I'd go out stalking something was if it was looking for me."

Claire relaxed, "Oh, that's not likely to happen."

Mahleah laughed, "Glad to hear it."

The others were looking puzzled, but Michael thought he understood the subtext: a truce had just been established. He wondered how they had identified each other. Well, if Mahleah accepted Claire, he would too.

The band went up onstage, and Seth beckoned to Mahleah. She rose, saying, "Duty calls. Sarah, I hope you enjoy the show. Claire, Samantha it was nice to meet you."

She went up to the mike, humming as she went. The band settled in and she picked up the acoustic guitar. "Earlier I was doing some reminiscing and I realized it was an anniversary of sorts for me. On this day several years ago I met someone who would have a big impact on my life. You could say I owe him for saving both my body and my soul. So, these first two songs are for him wherever he is..."

Nikita leaned forward in anticipation, waiting to hear the name. Mahleah grinned slyly and said, "I miss you, Liam."

Nikita sat back, stunned. Liam, who the hell was Liam? She had been so certain that Mahleah was going to say Mac. She shook her head with amusement. Just when she thought she had figured out something new about her friend she was thrown a curve ball.

Onstage, Mahleah laughed inwardly at Nikita's consternation and began strumming the guitar. Luckily for her musical career, both her father and Duncan had emphasized the importance of being able to do two things at once and she felt comfortable singing while she played. She began singing "Wonderwall." By the time she hit the chorus, she'd forgotten all about Nikita, Claire, and Tony.

"Because maybe,
you're going to be the one to save me,
and after all, you're my wonderwall."

Birkoff and Claire got up and began dancing which put Michael, as the only male at the table in a dilemma. He wanted to dance with Nikita, but that would leave Samantha and Sarah at the table alone. Nikita saw his predicament and came to his rescue.

"Michael, why don't you dance with Sarah, while Samantha and I get to know each other better?"

Sarah's eyes grew round and she started to say no, but Nikita eyed her firmly, "Go on out there and have some fun."

Michael gently led the woman from the table. He hoped this would be good for her. She was afraid of people in general, but men more specifically. Madeline had already had him talk to her to ease some of her fears. She trembled as he put his arms around her, but didn't resist.

"I said maybe,
you're going to be the one to save me,
and after all you're my wonderwall..."

The ballad finished, they all sat down and waited for "Liam's" next song. Mahleah put down the guitar as the band struck up something rather pop-sounding Nikita thought.

"You found hope, you found faith - found how fast she could take it away.
Found true love, lost your heart.
Now you don't know who you are.
She made it easy, made it free.
Made you hurt 'til you couldn't see.
Sometimes it stops sometimes it flows, but baby that is how love goes.
You will fly and you will crawl.
God knows even angels fall.
No such thing as you lost it all.
God knows even angels fall."

Mahleah saw confusion spread across Nikita's features again. Sorry, Nick, she thought. I haven't told you much about this one, and you wouldn't believe me if I did. She remembered a special night when she was taken to a Shakespearean themed double feature at the movies. She'd gotten to see "Shakespeare in Love" and "10 Things I Hate About You" that night for the first time and felt old wounds begin to heal. This was her dedication to the man who had soothed those wounds and the song came from "10 Things." All things considered, she found it the perfect choice.

She watched the delicate juggling act Michael had to perform with such an uneven ratio of males to females. Birkoff occasionally did dance with the other women, but most of his attention was on Claire. Mahleah chuckled as she saw Michael finally get to dance once with Nikita.

At the end of the night she rewarded her patient friend with a song she'd rehearsed with him in mind. The party had all settled back down at their table and she noticed that Tony was allowing Teresa to refill their glasses. She looked over at the bar. She was going to have a little chat with him after everyone left.

She turned back to her mike, "As some of you may know, I'm a big Springsteen fan. This is one of my favorites and please don't lynch me because I'm a woman singing it." She picked up a harmonica and blew into it experimentally. Lowering it a fraction she said, "Oh yeah, by the way, Musashi, this one's for you."

She launched into a lively rendition of "Promised Land." Michael listened and Nikita grinned.

"Oh the dogs on Main Street howl, 'cause they understand if I could take one moment into my hands.
Mister I ain't a boy, no I'm a man, and I believe in a promised land..."

For a moment, Michael allowed himself to believe, too.

***********

After the show Samantha wandered over to the band and struck up a conversation with Seth. Ultimately he offered to drive her home and she accepted. Michael and Nikita left to take Sarah back to Section and Claire and Birkoff wandered off into the night together.

As the other band members wished her a good night, Mahleah sat down at the bar and looked at her boss.

"We need to talk," she told him.

"What about?" he asked cheerfully.

"Oh, shoes and ships and sealing wax...."

He grinned, "Sure."

"I have two questions for you Tony. First, why were you so nervous when Claire showed up this evening? Second, how did Joe Dawson know I worked here?"

He frowned, "Who's Joe Dawson?" He paused, thinking. "Wait a minute, didn't you call the man with the cane Joe?"

"Cut the crap," she said pleasantly. "You know exactly who Joe is. Why'd you freak out when Teresa tried to seat Claire?"

"I just got a little nervous. I mean, we need all the customers we can get and I certainly want to make sure your friends come back."

"Uh-huh," she smiled, then grabbed his wrist. "Why don't you take that watch off and show me what's underneath?"

They stared at each other for a long moment then he slowly removed the wide gold band from his arm and held up his wrist. She saw scar tissue where a tattoo had been removed.

"So, when did you leave the Watchers?" she asked softly.

"When my wife died," he told her. "She was a Watcher, too."

Pieces started coming together unpleasantly in Mahleah's mind.

"She was killed by an Immortal?"

"Yes," he said simply.

She let out her breath noisily. "I'm so sorry, Tony. Who was it?"

"His name was Jakob, perhaps you remember him? He was a friend of MacLeod's."

She shook her head, "I never met him."

"Neither did I, but he killed Maria in the mistaken belief that she posed some kind of threat to him."

She bit her lip. Jakob had killed several Watchers in a self-described war. His wife, Irena, also Immortal, had been killed by a gang of renegade Watchers - people who believed that Immortals presented a danger to the rest of humanity and therefore took heads at any opportunity. Jakob, in turn, saw Watchers as enemies of Immortals. Lives were lost on both sides, including Jakob's, before hostilities died down. It seemed that Tony's family had been caught in the crossfire. Is this what had driven Shawn into becoming an assassin?

"His wife died too, you know," she said ever so delicately.

"I know," Tony's eyes were moist. "That's the tragedy of the whole thing. We both lost the women we loved for no reason. I wanted to hate him, but I knew exactly how he felt. My son didn't share my views, unfortunately. He and I had huge fights about it until finally he left."

"How did you end up here?" she wondered.

"As you said, Joe Dawson is an old friend. After Shawn left, he helped me and Teresa find this place." He smiled wanly at her. "So, when you walked in the door, the least I could do was give him a call. He's been frantic for the last few months trying to find you. He considers you a friend not an assignment and besides his worry over you, he's been desperate to help MacLeod, who it seems, is lost without you."

Now, her eyes were moist, but she still had one question, "But why did you get so excited when Claire came in this evening?"

He shrugged, a little embarrassed, "When two Immortals meet for the first time, you never know what could happen. I didn't want Teresa caught in the middle."

She nodded, "I don't blame you."

"I'm still a little edgy being around Immortals and knowing the back-history between you two I didn't know if sparks would fly."

"Back-history? What are you talking about? I've never met Claire before."

He sighed, "You don't know then? When I was a Watcher my assignment was Jean Samuelle, remember him?"

"Of course I do, he wouldn't leave me alone until I fought him. The jerk cost me my fiancé, although really I suppose I did that myself." The thought of Jean was irritating. She'd had no desire to fight him, but he refused to leave her alone. He was dying to create a name for himself and in the end it had cost him. It had cost her as well. Her fiancé, Mark Fleming, had witnessed the fight. She had not figured out a way to tell him about her Immortality until it became a necessity. He couldn't deal with the concept and left her.

"So, what does Jean have to do with Claire?" Really, the only other emotion Jean sparked in her was amusement at the odd coincidence of his having the same last name as Michael.

Tony stared at her, "Oh Lord, you don't know. Jean was Claire's lover. He found her when she first turned Immortal and became her teacher."

***********

Mahleah froze for a second, then grabbed her cell phone and hit the speed dial. She had learned in the past few weeks it was better to have certain numbers pre-programmed. You never knew when time would be a precious commodity.

She walked away from Tony as she spoke, softly but intensely, into the phone, "Michael, I'm sorry to interrupt your evening with Nikita, but I need you to do something for me, immediately. Call Birkoff in...I don't care what you tell him it's for - say you need your boots spit-shined for all I care. He can hate us later. Yes, I know he's with Claire. That's sort of my point here, Michael. Call him in. Actually, if you can go pick him up that would be even better. I can't explain right now and how would you feel if I questioned your orders when lives were on the line? Right, bye."

She closed the phone and hoped it would be enough. Looking at Tony she said, "Let's get Joe over here, now. I need to know everything about this girl."

Seymour Birkoff was blissfully unaware of any of the fear his friends were feeling right now. He and Claire were taking their, by now, usual walk back to her place. Holding hands, they gazed at the moon and chatted about the evening.

"So what did you think about Mahleah?" he asked.

Claire sighed a little, "I don't think she was quite what I was expecting from the stories I've heard. She's rather nice, isn't she?"

He laughed, "I was going to say cool, but nice works too. What was all that business about hunting?"

She shrugged, "You know the crazy things you hear about that part of the world. I guess I just wanted to know what kind of person she was." She hesitated then added, "I like her. Well, I like all of your friends. They seem so warm...so comfortable with each other - all except Sarah, that is."

"Sarah is different," he admitted. "We haven't known her long and may not for much longer."

She stared at him, "What do you mean?"

"She's dying from cancer," he explained.

Tears sprung up in her eyes, "Oh, I had no idea, but she's so young."

"Yeah," he loved that she could be so touched by the plight of someone she barely knew and wrapped his arm around her.

When they reached her apartment, he walked her upstairs. When she unlocked the door, they saw the lights were still out. Claire laughed.

"I thought Sam seemed taken with that guitar player. I doubt she'll be back tonight," she turned to him and his heart sped up. "It looks like we're finally alone."

He closed the door and cupped her face in his hands, "At last." He leaned in and kissed her softly. She responded hesitantly but with growing eagerness.

They backed into the room. Her hands began roaming down his back. He nibbled her earlobe and lost himself in her neck and the cascade of hair trickling down her shoulder. His right hand, at her waist, slowly began creeping upward. She sighed happily. Just before his fingers reached more interesting territory his phone rang. He froze unbelievingly. It continued to chime.

"Who would be calling you at this hour?" Claire asked with a frown.

"I'm sorry, I'm on call all the time. This job has crazy hours," he tried to explain. In fear that he might be keeping Madeline or Operations waiting, he answered.

Michael didn't know where the danger was exactly, but he recognized its flavor in Mahleah's voice. He had sent Nikita and Sarah on to Section and called a cab with his own cellphone. As he spoke to Birkoff he was moments away from Claire's apartment.

"Come in," he told the younger man.

"Now?" Birkoff couldn't help but protest.

"Yes. I will be there in three minutes. Make your good-byes and meet me in the street."

Birkoff sighed and put away his phone. "I'm sorry," he told the woman in front of him. "They need me to come in."

Her mouth twisted in a half-smile, "That figures, doesn't it? We finally get a chance to be together and you have to leave."

"We'll have another time," he promised and kissed her again. "I have to go."

Kissing her knuckles, he backed away and made his way, sadly, out the door.