The Power to Hurt

Michelle Fields

Copyright September 2000

This story contains dialogue and spoilers from the LFN episode "All Good Things."

Sonnet 94

They that have the pow'r to hurt, and will do none, That do not do the thing they most do show, Who moving others, are themselves as stone, Unmoved, cold, and to temptation slow, They rightly do inherit heaven's graces, And husband nature's riches from expense; They are the lords and owners of their faces, Others but stewards of their excellence. The summer's flow'r is to the summer sweet, Though to itself it only live and die, But if that flow'r with base infection meet, The basest weed outbraves his dignity: For sweetest things turn sourest by their deeds; Lillies that fester smell far worse than weeds.

---William Shakespeare

Part One

"You're an X-Ray man, you got white wall tires, iodine tan, cheap unpleasant desires. You're an X-Ray man. You got an X-Ray in mind. You're not satisfied with looking at me, you're always checking out the girl behind. You're an X-Ray man. You got secret plans for me..." Mahleah sang along with her Walkman as she jogged. God, she loved Liz Phair. She was definitely going to work a number into the show.

Across the gardens she saw Michael on a bench and waved. He raised a hand in acknowledgement. He was meeting her for a game of chess before they had to go into Section. Word had gotten to her that he was the reigning chess champ among her new companions and so she'd challenged him. Unfortunately for him, she was enjoying her run too much to quit yet.

Michael sighed as he saw her dart down a side path. He didn't mind playing chess with Mahleah; in fact, he looked forward to it. Considering her background, the match should prove to be an intriguing challenge, yet he couldn't help being skeptical, not of Mahleah as it happened, but of Nikita and Walter who seemed quite interested in setting up this game. No doubt, a wager was involved. He rather suspected Birkoff and Mick were mixed up in the plot as well. From her comments he assumed Nikita had taken his part. Walter would have put his money on Mahleah. That left Birkoff and Mick. He had no clue who they were rooting for.

He glanced up as a figure sat down at the end of his bench. He restrained himself from showing any signs of surprise or recognition. The tall figure in the leather jacket was the person he had seen Mahleah watching on a barge one night. Later the same man had in turn watched Mahleah perform at "The Copperhead." She had come home late the next morning dressed in the same clothes she'd worn at the club, serenading the streets of Paris. Nikita had informed him the man's name was Duncan.

What was he doing here? Surely Mahleah wasn't crazy enough to be seeing him again. She had to know that sooner or later this relationship would come to the attention of Madeline. If, as he thought, Duncan was a man from her past, there would be hell to pay.

He examined his benchmate surreptitiously. Thick dark hair, dark brown eyes, long legs and broad shoulders - Mahleah's secret lover was a very handsome man. Michael had seen for himself that Duncan was both graceful and lethal while working out. Actually, in the few minutes he had observed the other man's katas, he had recognized some of the movements from Mahleah's own training sessions. He remembered her saying that her teacher had been the standard by which she judged all other men and though she'd been speaking facetiously about his sex appeal, he realized she meant that statement on another, more serious, level. If this was the man of whom she'd been speaking, Duncan was the person who had shaped her personality more than any other. He wondered about the age difference, but perhaps the man hid his years well, and Mahleah liked older men anyway.

********

Duncan saw Michael subtly observing him. He expected no less from any man who would be Mahleah's backup when she faced terrorists. He wondered where the blonde beauty was that Michael had been so absorbed in the last time he'd seen the operative. Mahleah had reassured him that her connection to Musashi, as she affectionately referred to Michael, was strictly platonic.

The concern now with "Musashi" was whether the operative could be trusted. Duncan was unsure if Michael had spotted him at "The Copperhead", or if this scrutiny was just an automatic reflex. Assuming he made the connection to Mahleah, would he report this liaison to his superiors? Mahleah considered him a friend, but when it came down to choosing between Section security protocols and her safety, on which side would Michael come down?

One thing was for certain: Duncan had no intention of just letting her go. She was no longer his student, it was true, and was certainly capable of making her own decisions. Yet he wouldn't support the one she had made regarding him. He had always been a part of her life and would continue to be so. She had complained once that her existence had always seemed to center around him and her own life was continually set aside to accommodate whatever emergencies he encountered. Well, this time it would be different.

**********

Mahleah was recalling a recent visit from Joe at "The Copperhead." He had inquired when she planned to see MacLeod again and was annoyed when she informed him she didn't plan to do so anytime soon.

"Are you trying to tell me the two of you didn't get together the other night? I don't believe you," he had stated categorically. "I saw the way you looked at each other - I've been burnt by flames cooler than that."

She had tried to appear nonchalant, but couldn't help grinning widely. At his knowing look, she had even blushed a little.

"Uh huh, yeah," he had nodded, "nothing happened. Right, and that's why you look like the proverbial cat who's had the cream thoroughly licked from her whiskers."

"Joe!" she had exclaimed. She cleared her throat, "I think that's supposed to be the cat that licked the cream off her whiskers."

He had raised an eyebrow, "Really, well I have no doubt that happened too."

She smiled at the memory. Oh, it had been a glorious night for certain. She didn't know where she would find the willpower to resist if he tracked her down again.

She darted back out onto the main path just as a pain shot through her leg. She'd added a little burst of speed thinking of the night she'd spent with Mac and overstrained her muscles a little. She stopped for a moment to let them relax and heal.

As her leg began to feel better, she began stretching the muscles, still singing along with the music coming from her headphones, "I'm gonna tell my son to grow up pretty as the grass is green and whip-smart as the English channel's white...when they do the double-Dutch that's them dancing...."

She was near the edge of the pond, and she noticed a young girl sitting on the bank crying. Walking over to her, she saw the problem. Her little toy boat had floated out of the reach of her short arms. Smiling, Mahleah went to rescue the little mademoiselle in distress.

*******

Duncan saw her retrieving the little sailboat and his heart ached. Mahleah was so good with children. He knew the hard facts of Immortal life were still sinking in and wondered if the loss of motherhood had hit her yet. There were times like these when he wondered if four hundred years of life, or even four thousand for that matter, was enough compensation for such a void. Immortals could adopt children, it was true, but then they were forced to accept the harsh reality that they would most likely outlive those sons and daughters by hundreds of years. Most preferred not to pursue such a painful course of action.

He saw Michael follow his gaze and decided to speak, "Striking woman."

********

Michael looked at him, then back at Mahleah who was receiving a grateful hug. "Yes, she is," he replied, deliberately misunderstanding the comment. "Especially if she catches someone staring at her."

He saw Duncan look startled as if not expecting him to know such an intimate detail. His response, however, was non-committal, "I meant she's very beautiful."

They both studied her closely and saw the brief, wistful expression that crossed her face as the girl walked away to her mother.

"She doesn't look so dangerous now," Duncan added.

Michael took his eyes from the sight of Mahleah transfixed by this family reunion to examine Duncan's face. From it he read emotions that both relieved and worried him. He recognized the gleam in those dark eyes - his own held it when he looked at Nikita - which spoke of a fierce commitment. There was a bond there that Section wouldn't be able to break

Mahleah started running again as Michael asked, "Would you like to meet her?"

Duncan smiled. "You could introduce me?"

"Yes."

Duncan felt the beginning of the tingle announcing her presence, as he answered, "Not today, I'm afraid. There's something I have to do first."

He rose, and looked back at the level five operative and said, "You're a lucky man."

Michael could hear Mahleah singing as she approached, "Imagining behind your eyes. What'd I see? I saw hips, I saw thighs, I saw secret positions that we'd never tried. I saw jealousy..."

He looked back but the other man was gone. Mahleah stopped when she reached him and looked around her suspiciously.

"Who was just here?" she asked sharply.

"No one important," he said. "Just a man sharing my bench."

She frowned and her eyes scanned the area, arousing his curiosity. Was Duncan one of her "people"? She seemed to feel his presence. He cleared his throat and she glanced at him.

"Are you ready for our game?" he inquired.

Mahleah pulled her attention back to him, "Oh yeah, and you'd better be too."

Just then, his cell phone rang. She waited patiently as he answered and replied, "Yes."

"I have to go in," he told her.

She sighed, "You just got lucky, my friend."

"So I've been told," he said enigmatically.

********

Mahleah returned to her apartment to take a shower and change before heading into Section herself. She came to an abrupt stop in front of her door where a small basket containing strawberries was nestled in the corner. Lying in the center was a red rose.

Part Two

Earlier, in Madeline's office, she and Operations had met to discuss the arrangements for his coming absence from Section.

"So we're agreed then that Michael is the best choice to replace me while I'm at Center?" he asked.

"Of course," Madeline agreed smoothly. She'd noticed that he brushed aside the possibility of her taking control even temporarily. A part of her was annoyed, but the rest of her was amused. Was Paul worried that once she possessed the reins of power she'd never relinquish them?

"This will be an excellent opportunity for me to gauge Michael's fitness for the position," she added.

He frowned, "You expect to have problems from him?"

She shook her head, "No, but the decisions he makes will tell us more about him than anything else he's said or done in years."

He began to smile, "Leave it to you, Madeline, to see this scenario as a psychological test. Is there anything specific you'll be watching for?"

She returned his smile, "It will be interesting to see how the group dynamic changes in general during his tenure as Operations, but more specifically I'll be looking at the choices he makes. Who will he choose to replace himself for instance?"

Operations looked thoughtful, "Well, he should probably pick Wallace, but something tells me he'll go with either Nikita or Mahleah."

She agreed, "Considering the fact that he and Nikita have recently established a closer personal relationship, she will probably be his first choice."

"Well, there's something to be said for a lover protecting your flank," he laughed. "Nikita does have more experience than Mahleah."

"Mahleah would be the better candidate," Madeline pointed out. "Despite Nikita's experience, she lacks emotional control and aside from the Zalman incident Mahleah's demonstrated an admirable calmness. She's liked and respected almost as much as Nikita but I suspect she possesses a degree of ruthlessness that we've so far been unsuccessful in cultivating in Nikita."

"You've convinced me, but will Michael see things your way?"

"Possibly, I think he will be aware that promoting Nikita could lead to accusations of favoritism. He and Mahleah seem close as well."

"They make a good team," Operations commented.

"So do Michael and Nikita," she countered, "but Nikita appeals to the aspects of Michael's personality that we've tried to eradicate over the years. Mahleah is similar to him in ways that could be beneficial to us, and they have become friends recently."

He considered the situation, then told her, "I look forward to reading your report when I return."

Part Three

As Nikita strolled over to talk to Walter, he asked, "So has Mahleah whipped Michael yet?"

She shook her head, "I think they got interrupted, besides Michael's going to win, Walter. How could you have any doubts?"

He looked at her knowingly, "Oh, but you've never played her, I have. Mind you, I'm not a champion player but I've won more than a few games in my day. She checkmated me in ten moves and I'm convinced she could have had me at least five moves before but she didn't want to hurt my feelings. I think Michael will be more challenging, but she will win."

Nikita laughed confidently, "I think my twenty bucks are safe."

His earrings swung as he shook his head at her, "Why do you think Mick bet for her? He knows a sure thing."

"Well, Birkoff thinks Michael will win and he's probably run a sim on the possibilities," she countered.

He stepped closer to her, "Speaking of possibilities, what do you think the brass are doing with him? He's been in Madeline's office for a while now and that can't be too healthy for anyone."

She would have smiled, but his remark cut too close to the truth. She was a little concerned about Michael. Had Madeline discovered the change in their personal relationship? Was he being called on the carpet for breaking some Section code? Their superiors had seen to it that Walter and Mahleah had broken off their romance. Did that now lie in wait for her and her lover?

Walter nudged her and she broke off her reverie to see Michael walking in their direction with Operations. The two men stopped and in full view of everyone, Operations handed over control of Section to Michael.

Nikita watched in shock as Operations left, flanked by two burly bodyguards, and Michael strode toward the perch where Madeline already awaited him. She saw Walter watching her as if evaluating her response to these new arrangements. She hardly knew what to think.

Michael was the new Operations. It was a development that had never entered her mind, which had focused instead on punishment for their defiance of protocol. She'd often heard it mentioned as a matter of course that he was the frontrunner to replace Paul Wolfe, but had never really given it much consideration. Such an event had seemed far off in the distant future. Now it was reality, for a time at least.

*******

Operations and his small posse were waiting for the elevator when its doors opened and Mahleah stepped out. Instead of her usual braid, her hair was swept up on top of her head and was crowned by a lovely red rose. Her cheeks were slightly flushed and a small secretive smile was curving her lips upward when she saw him.

He smiled at her and she nodded cautiously back at him. His eyes swept her tall, curvy figure. She was one of the loveliest women he'd ever seen with her creamy, flawless skin and fabulous bone structure - a rarity just for that quality. Yet she was much more than that it seemed. Her beauty only served to hide a mind as sharp, from all he could tell, as a razor's edge and skills as deadly as a cobra. On top of all that, the woman could sing her ass off (he'd had Birkoff use a satellite to listen to parts of her concerts). Mahleah was indeed unique.

He knew Madeline had expressed the thought that Mahleah could be her replacement. Whenever he moved to Oversight, Madeline fully expected to be promoted as well. Mahleah would, no doubt, make an excellent successor to his second-in-command. In fact, he was counting on it in ways that Madeline was unaware of yet.

"Goodbye," he told her.

She looked at him with curiosity, "You're leaving?"

"Yes, I'll be at Center for a while, but meantime I'm leaving Section in good hands. You'll probably need to see if he has any special plans for you," he told her, entering the elevator. As the doors closed, he watched her walk away thinking, "Regardless of Michael's agenda, I have one of my own."

Part Four

Michael looked down at his new domain feeling Madeline watching him. He knew she would be analyzing everything he said or did while he was in charge. No doubt, her first line of questioning would be about Nikita.

Sure enough, she asked who was to replace him. He had given this considerable thought from the moment Operations had sprung his little surprise. He wanted someone who was not only capable of doing the job, but capable of retaining his trust...someone furthermore who would be willing to ungrudgingly relinquish the position when Operations returned. He thought that eliminated Wallace who was ambitious and had no especial ties or reasons to show loyalty to him.

That left him with two valid candidates: Nikita and Mahleah. Either woman would be perfect for the position and he knew he could trust them both: not something he could say about many people in Section. Nikita had been an operative longer and he couldn't envision her betraying him. Mahleah, on the other hand, possessed a more subtle nature than Nikita, when she chose to utilize it. That could be useful to him, yet he hadn't fully made up his mind until he saw the details of the Odessa mission.

Instantly he knew what he would do. Wallace would lead the Odessa team, and Nikita would be temporarily promoted. He could not and would not order Nikita to her death again. It had twisted his heart into knots on the Shays Mission knowing that she was not expected to survive. He had done everything in his power to ensure her safety then, and now that they finally had overcome all their mental blocks to come together, he assuredly wouldn't send her to an almost certain death now.

Mahleah would be safe as well, since she was considered too valuable in her long-term undercover assignment to risk on this hazardous profile. She would not be expecting to succeed him anyway. The only one doing that was probably Wallace. It was a shame to lose him, for he was an excellent operative despite his hot temper, but better him than either of the women who, between them, kept the keys to the remnants of his heart and humanity.

His decision made, Michael saw Mahleah walk over to Munitions. He sensed Madeline was a trifle disappointed that Mahleah wasn't chosen instead of Nikita. Inwardly he wondered how the woman would feel if she fully understood his friend. Perhaps, though, she perceived more than he realized, and had finally found an adversary worthy of her steel. There was an old saying about keeping your friends close and your enemies closer.

He saw the bright red of the flower in the unsuspecting operative's hair and frowned slightly. He had a job for Mahleah but first they would have to have a little chat.

*******

When Walter saw Mahleah, she was frowning.

"What's wrong, darlin'?" he inquired. "Heard the news already?"

She blinked, jostled out of her thoughts, "What news? Oh, you mean about Operations going on a vacation? Yeah, I met him in the elevator."

"I seriously doubt his visit to Center will be quite that pleasant, but he's gone. Isn't that reason to celebrate?"

"Definitely," she said rather vehemently. "He just looked at me like he had been on a month long fast and I was a steak dinner. There are just times when you want to hide behind a blanket and a raincoat and that was one of them."

"Well, maybe you'll have better luck with his replacement," Walter said sympathetically.

"I hope so. One more leer today and I swear I'll get violent," she declared.

He waggled his eyebrows comically, "Oh please, by all means, get rough with me."

She laughed feeling better already.

"Don't worry," he reassured her. "This Operations will be too busy watching Nikita."

"I hope Michael doesn't catch him," she chuckled, then realization dawned, "oh, it is Michael."

"Uh huh."

Her face brightened immediately, "That's wonderful. Could we possibly make this a permanent arrangement?"

"Let's wait and see if the power goes to his head first," Walter suggested.

"Oh, I'll kick him in the butt long before that could happen," she said half jokingly.

Birkoff came over to them and told her, "Mahleah, Michael wants to see you in the perch. He says he needs to have a talk with you."

She crossed her arms and raised her eyebrows, "Well, that sounds interesting."

Part Five

As Mahleah stepped into the perch, her hands stuck in her jacket pockets, Michael darkened the windows. Let people talk, for this meeting he preferred privacy. Knowing Mahleah as well as he did, he predicted she'd react in one of two ways: coolly, even eerily calm; or, fiercely, possibly even violently, passionate. If she picked the later, he'd rather no one witness her outburst.

She glanced at the tinted windows and smiled mischievously, "Planning on holding a private celebration, Musashi? Whatever will Nikita think?"

He frowned for a moment at her use of the nickname, and then got down to brass tacks, "Madeline is keeping a file on a man named Duncan MacLeod."

She froze, her eyes widening momentarily, then she said calmly, "Yes, she's mentioned the name to me before."

"So far she only appears to know about your past connection with him. There's no mention of your recent rendezvous."

"How do you know I met with him?" she asked, though she already knew the answer.

"He came to the club several days ago and you spent the night with him," he stated.

She didn't bother to deny the obvious. "So are you going to forbid me to see him?" she asked sardonically.

"I have the authority to," he informed her. "I could also put you in abeyance if you refuse to cooperate."

Her dark eyes flashed and she stepped closer to him, her hands coming out of her pockets and resting lightly by her sides.

"Yes, you could," she said in a low voice. "By all means, begin your reign by canceling one of your only friends. That will certainly inspire confidence in your leadership."

He stood his ground, "If Madeline discovers you've been seeing someone from your previous life, I might not have many options."

"Oh," she said, "I thought you were left in charge, not Madeline. My mistake, I suppose."

He blinked, but then pointed out, "I only have temporary control of Section."

"Yes," she agreed, "but it's up to you to set the tone of your stay in the perch. If you're smart you'll keep the respect that the other operatives have toward you."

"I intend to try."

She paused, struck by a thought, "Is it really my relationship that you're concerned about, or its discovery?"

He let his silence speak for him.

She smiled warmly, and stepped closer to him. "Since it's really me that you're worried about, I'll tell you the truth: I haven't seen Mac since that night at 'The Copperhead.' Someone left me a flower at my door, but I don't know for certain it was him."

He could read her sincerity in her face, but his fears weren't allayed. She leaned in and kissed his cheek, "Don't worry Musashi, I won't do anything you wouldn't."

As she walked out, he thought, "That's what concerns me." He knew the lengths he would and had gone to in order to keep Nikita in his life and he judged that Mahleah would be no different. He wasn't only worried for her well being though. MacLeod could put Mahleah in a compromising position and he needed her to be invulnerable for the assignment he was pretty sure he would have to give her.

As he mused, his eye caught sight of a scrap of paper lying on the floor. He frowned and bent to pick it up. It was a piece of stationery folded several times. He remembered Mahleah pulling her hands out of her coat pockets when she began to get upset with him. This must have fallen out and she didn't notice it was gone. He hesitated before he opened it. Inside he read:

"My heart is too full to find the words I want to say, and I've never possessed any delusions of my poetic abilities so I'll use the work of someone much more able to express the emotions I've felt since you left.

Don't go far off, not even for a day, because - because-I don't know how to say it: a day is long and I will be waiting for you, as in an empty station when the trains are parked off somewhere else, asleep.

Don't leave me, even for an hour, because then the little drops of anguish will all run together, the smoke that roams looking for a home will drift into me, choking my lost heart.

Oh, may your silhouette never dissolve on the beach; may your eyelids never flutter into the empty distance. Don't leave me for a second, my dearest,

Because in that moment you'll have gone so far I'll wonder mazily over all the earth, asking, will you come back? Will you leave me here, dying? "

The letter was unsigned, but Michael had no doubts who it was from. His question was: would Mahleah be able to resist such a plea?

Part Six

Mahleah was halfway to the club before she missed her letter. When her fingers didn't feel its weight in her pocket, she pulled out the linings of both trying to locate it to no avail. She too remembered pulling out her hands and being upset in the perch.

Oh God, she thought, I've left it right there for Michael to find. Good going, girlfriend, now he'll be even more paranoid about the whole situation.

She had been very touched by the basket of her favorite food in the world, the rose and the letter tucked inside, yet she was also shocked by the fact that Duncan knew where she lived. He was too intelligent to be seen with her there, but she hadn't even sensed him around. If she really wanted to stay away from him, she was going to have to think up some strategies soon.

When she walked into "The Copperhead", Tony waved her over to the bar. "This arrived for you today," he announced, holding up another rose and an envelope.

Her heart sped up. Obviously, Mac was going to pursue her. She took a deep breath and opened the envelope with fingers that were not entirely steady. While she read, Tony poured a bottle of Clearly Canadian over ice for her.

The letter contained another poem in Mac's bold handwriting:

You sing, and your voice peels the husk of the day's grain, your song with the sun and sky, the pine trees speak with their green tongue: all the birds of the winter whistle.

The sea fills its cellar with footfalls, with bells, chains, whimpers, the tools and the metals jangle, wheels of the caravan creak.

But I hear only your voice, your voice soars with the zing and precision of an arrow, it drops with the gravity of rain,

your voice scatters the highest swords and returns with its cargo of violets: It accompanies me through the sky.

She sighed. Maybe MacLeod didn't have the gift of poetic expression himself, but there was nothing wrong with either his taste or his knowledge of literature. His hundreds of years of experience with women wasn't hurting him any either, or the fact that he'd known her all her life. She was susceptible to the beauty of words and he was using that weakness to seduce her without even appearing.

She smiled ruefully. It was an effective plan: soften her up with Pablo Neruda, then add his considerable powers of persuasion personally. Unfortunately, it was working. Her cheeks were flushed, her palms were moist, and she was breathing heavily. If he were to walk in the door right now, he would find an easy job lay before him.

She swallowed, and took a drink of her water. One taste and she sat it back down and demanded, "What flavor is this, Tony?"

He grinned as he said, "Strawberry/Watermelon."

********

Nikita found herself bored beyond belief in DRV. She couldn't believe Michael had stuck her here in the most monotonous job in Section. If he pulled many shifts in this place it was no wonder he kept a blank look on his face sometimes. She seriously doubted he did, though. How could the top field man keep his edge by sitting on his rear staring at little dots on a screen for twelve hours?

When she heard the team had returned from the Odessa mission, it gave her an excuse to stretch her legs, but the excursion was not as pleasant as she would have imagined. Her comrades turned their backs on her and refused to speak. She had no idea what was going on until she spoke to Birkoff and discovered Wallace was dead.

An unpleasant explanation had already crossed her mind about her recent promotion, but she had thought that surely Michael wouldn't have given her the position just because she was his lover. Madeline wouldn't have stood for it. Now, she feared he had an ulterior motive, and that worried her. How was she supposed to work with people who perceived her as nothing but Michael's mistress? She'd never be respected again. Hell, she wouldn't be able to look herself in the mirror. Danger was a part of her job description, and she refused to be wrapped up in cotton balls and put on a shelf somewhere. If their relationship were going to survive he would have to see that.

******** There were no flowers, notes, or strawberries waiting on Mahleah's doorstep when she arrived home. Part of her was relieved and another part was disappointed. Had he already given up, just when he was doing so well? She had enjoyed the turnabout in their relationship. Years before she had been the one to pursue him. It was now nice to be the wooed instead of the wooer for a change.

Shrugging her shoulders, she climbed her stairs and went into her bathroom. She brushed her teeth, cleaned her face, and combed out her braid, then donned a nightgown and returned to her bedroom. When she turned on the bedside lamp, though, she spotted a piece of paper lying on her pillow. She bowed her head for a moment, letting her hair hang forward to hide her face. Obviously he was getting bolder all the time.

Sweeping her hair back with one arm, she picked up his latest missive and moving to the window, read:

I crave your mouth, your voice, your hair. Silent and starving, I prowl through the streets. Bread does not nourish me, dawn disrupts me, all day I hunt for the liquid measure of your steps.

I hunger for your sleek laugh, your hands the color of a savage harvest, hunger for the pale stones of your fingernails, I want to eat your skin like a whole almond.

I want to eat the sunbeam flaring in your lovely body, the sovereign nose of your arrogant face, I want to eat the fleeting shade of your lashes,

and I pace around hungry, sniffing the twilight, hunting for you, for your hot heart, like a puma in the barrens of Quitratúe.

*******

Outside and across the street, Duncan MacLeod looked up at the window where Mahleah stood silhouetted in the lamplight, reading his letter. He could tell that her hair was down and falling over her shoulders, covering her breasts. He smiled thinking he was glad because he wouldn't want just anyone onlooker to notice what a spectacular view she was providing. Her thin gown was translucent in the soft light and her long legs were clearly outlined.

As he watched, she extinguished the lamp, but he could still see her faintly at the window. She pressed her hand once to the glass, and then disappeared.

"Good night, mo chridhe," he whispered before beginning the walk home.

Part Seven

Full of trepidation, Nikita walked into the perch, half expecting Michael to chastise her for intruding on his new territory. It didn't matter; she had to speak to him. She didn't like the feeling that she had slept her way into a safer position and she was going to make him see that.

He surprised her though by his approachable demeanor. He appeared glad to see her and willing to listen, so she began:

"Wallace's death on the Odessa mission - you had to know the profile was skewed."

"Yes," he responded calmly.

"I don't want special treatment," she said firmly.

He hesitated for a moment then inquired, "Would you prefer to be dead?"

Her heart sank. He was confirming her worst fears.

"So it's true. You promoted me to keep me off the mission."

He sensed the hidden anxiety behind the statement and told her what she needed to know, "I promoted you because you're qualified and I need someone in that position I can trust."

She began to feel relief but wanted to ensure that he saw her point, "If you treat me differently it's unfair to others and to me."

He knew where this was headed, but asked anyway, "What do you want?"

"Whether I take your place or not, I want to be back in the field."

"All right," he agreed. He'd known he wouldn't be able to keep Nikita in DRV long.

She smiled as a weight was lifted from her shoulders, but realized that because of her conflicting feelings on the subject, she had yet to comment on his newfound fortune. She'd correct that oversight now.

"I haven't officially congratulated you yet, so I'll do it now... congratulations."

He looked pleased, "Thank you."

"How's life at the top?"

He glanced down at the main floor before answering, "I have a lot to learn."

She took this as her cue to leave, "Well, I'll let you get back to work then."

She started to walk away until she heard his voice calling her back.

"Kita..."

He walked toward her and she swallowed, recognizing the look. He'd darkened the windows, but she still couldn't believe he would kiss her in the perch. She wondered absently what Operations would say if he knew.

His lips were so soft and inviting and his kisses so sweet. She responded, but had to open her eyes to see if it was for real. Was this Mr. "Be Patient"? What she saw convinced her. Michael, she had observed in the past, had a habit of keeping his eyes open when kissing a target. It was his way of evaluating a seduction. When she looked at him now, though, his eyes were closed and he was giving himself completely in his touch. For him, this moment was as real as it got. She closed her eyes again and surrendered to the almost alien emotion she felt emanating from him - hope.

Part Eight

Tonight there had been another note waiting for her in the bar, but this time she tucked it into her jacket pocket unopened. Tony said nothing but grinned at her. She licked her dry lips and began her routine warm-ups.

As she walked home much later, she could sense someone watching her. Not sense in the very tangible warning way that announced an Immortal had moved too close, but she could still feel a distinct presence nonetheless. Eyes were following her every movement. She became self-conscious about every swing of an arm or leg, every turn of her head. The usually unnoticeable weight of her braid solidified and each time it brushed her back, her skin tingled.

Summer had arrived and the air seemed moist and humid. She could feel its heat creeping into her clothes and small beads of sweat were forming on her skin. The warm gaze following her made her aware of every time fabric rubbed across her body, and the way her silk blouse softly caressed her upper torso. Once a breeze, so light it was like a butterfly kiss, danced across her flesh, through the thin material, and tickled the small hairs on the back of her neck. She shivered and walked faster before she ended up a melted puddle on the sidewalk.

Reaching the sanctity of her apartment, she drew in its cool air with relief. Yet, even now she remained acutely self-aware of her body's responses to outside stimuli. The chillier air molecules seemed to be insinuating themselves into the layers of her clothing and rapidly penetrating to her inner core. She shivered again.

"This is crazy," she said out loud. "I'm doing all his work for him. I'm seducing myself."

Oh, but wasn't anticipation half the battle and half the pleasure? She pulled the letter out of her pocket and scowled at it before deciding it was a useless gesture. She slipped off her jacket and stood, envelope in hand, biting her lip.

Finally, she went to her stereo and turned on the CD player, letting the machine pick the disk to play. She headed upstairs as the soulful strains of Sam Cooke followed her.

She laid the letter on the sink in the bathroom and began filling her tub and lighting candles around the room. She added her favorite vanilla-scented oil to the water as well as bubblebath.

She slipped off her clothes and pinned her braid to the top of her head, then grabbing the letter, sank into the hot, soapy water with a sigh of contentment. She closed her eyes and relaxed for a few moments sensing the delicious contrast between the temperature of the water and the coolness of the rest of the room.

She knew only too well that her resistance to Mac was down to token gestures only at this point. Frankly, she was ready to give in whenever he wanted her. Michael had been worried about her, but he didn't know about her Immortality. So what if they canceled her? Granted she wasn't ready to leave Section yet - she wanted to see it become a better place than the one she'd entered - but if meeting with Duncan carried that price, why shouldn't she take it?

She opened her eyes and gazed at the paper in her hand. Sam Cooke's singing "That's Where It's At" came floating in to her, and she smiled remembering another occasion when the music had been used to set a romantic mood.

Finally she tore open the envelope and discovered that Duncan was escalating the eroticism of his poetical choices:

Full woman, flesh-apple, hot moon, thick smell of seaweed, mud and light in masquerade, what secret clarity opens through your columns? What ancient night does a man touch with his senses?

Oh, love is a journey with water and stars, with drowning air and storms of flour; love is a clash of lightnings, two bodies subdued by one honey.

Kiss by kiss I travel your little infinity, your borders, your rivers, your tiny villages; and a genital fire - transformed, delicious -

slips through the narrow roadways of the blood till it pours itself, quick, like a night carnation, till it is: and is nothing, in shadow, and a flimmer of light.

At the bottom, he'd added a postscript, "The moonlight's lovely, m'annsachd. Won't you come join me?"

Part Nine

Michael left the Oversight meeting and his various conversations with a new agenda. From George, he'd learned that Paul Wolfe would have no part in the decision of when he was replaced or who his successor would be. It was an obvious ploy, but rather effective. George wanted Bergomi and he was willing to play hardball to get him.

The incredibly sweet moment with Nikita before the meeting had reinforced Michael's desire to have a little more control over their destiny. If Bergomi would get him one step closer to that freedom, he would obtain him.

It wouldn't be easy, he knew. He had confidence in Nikita and the rest of his people, though. If it could be done, this was the group that would succeed with Nikita in charge.

That left one other problem: Madeline. She, no doubt, would not be eager to have him succeed in a task she had declared impossible. She would bring all of her formidable talents to stopping him and, if that failed, to reporting him. He had to see that she was unsuccessful on all counts and he thought he knew just the ally to assist him...

Part Ten

Mahleah let the note slip from her hand and leaned back, deep in thought. Closing her eyes she could feel steam from the water rising up to flush her cheeks, or were they blushing for another reason? A memory was beginning to creep irresistibly from her subconscious and she let it wash over her, flowing through her mind as the soft, sudsy water caressed her bare flesh.

She had been living in Paris on Mac's barge and the day had begun in the most pleasant way possible as he woke her with a kiss and made her terribly late for all her appointments. The rest of the day had not gone as well. Her unstable and fractious first student Philip Johnson had gotten out of control and she'd broken off their training. She'd been late for rehearsal at Joe's and been forced to reveal her secret tutorship of Philip to Mac on the way home.

To her surprise, his chiding was light and his lecture short. He was relieved to know what she'd been hiding from him and promised to help her resolve the whole situation later.

########

Mahleah stood on the deck of the barge gazing out at the stars but not really noticing their beauty. Her mind was still racing with the outrageous behavior of her student and her own stupidity for agreeing to teach him in the first place.

Granted she'd felt sorry for Philip, who had lost everything: money, position and prestige - once he'd become Immortal. Yet she'd known that his interest in her had never been healthy and keeping their sessions a secret from Duncan had been a strain on their burgeoning relationship.

Lately it seemed that she had spent more time with her problematic pupil than with her lover. She couldn't believe that after the long wait she'd had to be with this man in such an intimate way, that she'd risked ruining it all with Philip, who couldn't appreciate her sacrifice and expected more from her than she had to give.

Yesterday she'd spent a wonderful fun-filled afternoon with Mac and Richie and she'd never been happier. This morning, well actually this afternoon, Duncan had woken her with sweet kisses and languorous caresses that soon developed into a lively hour of love making until she'd dashed away to train with Philip before going to rehearsal. His insanely jealous behavior had pushed her too far and his violence was the one-drop of lava too much for Mt. Vesuvius.

She'd stormed out and would never return. Things were out in the open between her and Mac and that's the way they would stay.

She absently straightened the skirt of her silk evening gown. After rehearsal, she'd returned to the barge and finding it empty decided to cheer herself up by wearing this brilliant red dress to sing in tonight. It was off the shoulder, exposing some flesh and had a wraparound skirt that subtly showed off her legs. The bright color had improved her mood but not as much as the look in Mac's eyes when he saw her in it at the end of the evening.

When they arrived home, he'd asked her to stay above deck for a while as he had a surprise to arrange. She'd gone along with the plan, wondering exactly what he had in mind. In the car, she'd promised to start making up the time she'd been missing with him and she was looking forward to fulfilling that vow.

She heard him coming up behind her and turned. He was smiling widely and wearing a robe. She raised an eyebrow.

"Are you ready for me now?"

"Always," he chuckled, "but the surprise is ready, too. Are you ready?"

"Absolutely," she declared and leaned in to kiss him.

He returned the kiss fully, but pulled away after only a few delicious seconds. She made a small noise of protest and reached for him again, but he put a hand on her lips.

"Do you trust me?" he asked.

She looked into those dark eyes and saw nothing but devotion with a small glint of mischief there.

"Of course," she told him.

"Close your eyes," he instructed.

She did and felt him turn her body away from him. Then he wrapped a smooth silky fabric across her eyes.

"Mac?"

"Ssh, mhurninn, it will be okay. Just trust me."

"Okay."

He took her arm and led her inside. She wasn't used to moving around the barge in complete darkness. They were in the bedroom, she thought, when he stopped her and began unzipping her dress.

"No fair," she began protesting. "I want to undress you too."

"Later, Mahleah," he promised. "This is all for you. I know how stressful the past few weeks have been and today was certainly no picnic. So just relax and enjoy it. Listen to the music. I had Richie make me a disk of your favorite songs."

She smiled, thinking how lucky can one woman get? She allowed herself to become uncharacteristically passive, being soothed by the feel of Duncan's hands slipping her clothes away piece by piece and the sounds of Bono coming from the speakers.

Oh sugar, don't you cry. Oh child, wipe the tears from your eyes. You know I need you to be strong and the day is as dark as the night is long.

Feel like trash, you make me feel clean. I'm in the black, can't see or be seen. Baby, baby, baby light my way.

Once she stood naked before him, he took her arm again. Leading her a few feet away, he told her to take a step. He held onto her arm as she lowered her leg and discovered warm water.

"What?" she exclaimed, a little startled.

"It's okay. I've drawn you a bath. I know how you like to soak after a rough day." His voice was soft and gentle and she allowed him to help her into the water, stretching herself to the length of the antique tub.

She could feel the liquid rippling, resettling itself around her body. The odor of vanilla was easily detectable and something else as well. She inhaled deeply and identified it as roses. Her fingers brushed through the foamy masses surrounding her and found something floating in the water. She brought it to her nose - a flower petal. She leaned her head back against the edge of the tub, smiling.

"You'll spoil me," she laughed throatily.

"I certainly intend to try to this evening," he told her.

She could hear him moving beside the tub, but was losing herself in the delightful serenity of the bubble bath. Before she could completely succumb however, he lifted her arm.

"What are you doing?" she inquired.

"What does it feel like?" he countered.

Something wet and textured was running smoothly up her arm.

"You're bathing me?" she exclaimed.

"Yes, mo luaidh. Don't worry, you can return the favor some other day. Now, just let yourself enjoy it."

Her neck followed her arms and then he made her lean forward to reach her back. The sensation of the slightly rough cloth and his powerful fingers combining was melting her skin from the bones. She expected at any moment for her flesh to slide off her skeleton. When the cloth reached her breasts, she bit her lip to prevent herself from calling out.

He paused for a moment to say, "Don't do that. There's no one but me to hear you." His lips brushed hers lightly and his tongue teased hers before he moved away.

He resumed his self-imposed ablutions and she moaned. No one had ever done anything like this for her before and the blindfold only enhanced the experience. By taking away her sight, he'd multiplied her other senses infinitely.

After gently cleansing her stomach, he reached into the water and pulled out a foot and carefully cleaned each toe. When he finished it, he placed a kiss on her inner ankle, then moved up to her calf.

It was becoming harder and harder for her to breathe, especially when he moved up her thigh. He only washed her leg, though, then moved back down to the other foot.

She was disappointed, "Duncan?"

"Don't worry, cariad," he said soothingly. "I'll be back."

He slowly worked his way up her other leg and this time didn't stop at her thigh. She cried out blissfully and felt his mouth come down to ravish hers again in a series of long kisses. His hands never ceased moving and in the middle of a kiss, she grabbed his shoulders as her back arched.

Lost to the shocks coursing through her body, she was dazzled when he removed the blindfold. He maneuvered her to a strategic position, then unbound her hair from the braid that had been coiled up at the back of her neck. She was nearly limp as he poured water over her hair, then began to lather it with her favorite peach shampoo.

"Now you're going in for the kill," she said dreamily. She could hear Marvin Gaye singing, "Sexual Healing" in the next room.

He chuckled, and then said in a low voice, "I know all your weaknesses."

#########

Indeed, he does, Mahleah thought with amusement. Her hair was her Achilles' Heel and having him wash it for her was one of the most pleasurable experiences she could recall.

After she was all rinsed, he'd dried her off with a fluffy towel. Thinking the surprises of the evening were all revealed, she was preparing to reciprocate his attack on her senses, when he'd given her one more.

Leaving her for a moment, he'd reappeared with a box in his hand. Opening it, he'd taken out the most gorgeous diamond bracelet she'd ever seen. As he fastened it around her wrist, she saw the double hearts: one sapphire and one ruby.

"Mac!" she yelped in alarm.

He'd smiled in amusement, "Don't worry, I didn't have to sell anything to buy it. It's yours m'annsachd, to always remind you of us."

"As if I'd ever forget," she'd told him as he'd kissed her stomach and gazed up at her with his soulful brown eyes.

"Come here," she'd commanded.

Mahleah stood now and reached for a towel. She dried off and wrapped it around herself, then padded to her bedroom where she had a small safe. Opening it, she took out her bracelet. Madeline had returned it while playing a mind game, but at least she had it again.

She turned it over and read the inscription, "M'annsachd." He had called her that for the first time on the night he'd given it to her. It meant best beloved. Occasionally he called her cariad, which was the strongest endearment in the Welsh language, but usually it was mhurninn or luaidh...words that meant things like darling or sweetheart in his native tongue. Mhurninn was practically a pet name for her it seemed, but m'annsachd...it was special. It was the closest he'd ever came to telling her he loved her before their recent reconciliation.

True, he'd tried to tell her that when he came to see her in Virginia a couple of years ago, but she was still hurt by the loss of Richie and Duncan's disappearance. She had found Mark and so flown into a rage when Mac had begun bearing his heart to her. By that count then, it was only recently that the two of them were secure enough in their relationship to admit such things openly.

She snapped the bracelet in place on her wrist and studied it and its symbolic hearts. She knew what she had to do.

Part Eleven

Mahleah walked onto the street outside her building keeping all of her senses alert for signs of her Immortal lover. She couldn't detect anything, but that same feeling of being watched by friendly eyes remained. She kept strolling.

It wasn't until she stopped outside Darius' chapel that he made his presence known. She didn't go through the gate but was clasping the bars of the fence when he walked up behind her.

"What kept you?" she asked without turning around.

She heard him make a sound of disapproval. "It might not have been me."

"You think after all these years I couldn't recognize your step, mo saighdear-bard?" She smiled. A part of him had trouble relinquishing the job of mentor.

"You could have been wrong."

She turned to face him. "But I wasn't. You know sometimes it seems like I've known you for several centuries instead of several decades, besides you're the one that invited me into the moonlight, remember?"

"Yes, I did," he agreed. "Will you walk with me?"

They moved off at a comfortable pace in a companionable silence. After a few minutes Mahleah tucked her arm into his, pulling herself closer. He smiled.

"So, what brought you to the chapel?"

"In a way it felt like home," she smiled. "It was the first place you brought me in Paris, and it's always good to remember old friends."

"Darius loved you too. If he could see you now, he'd be proud."

She stared at him for a second, "I don't know about that, Mac. Darius always advocated peace and nonviolence. I hardly fit into either category - especially considering my recent past."

"Darius was no saint, Mahleah. None of us are. He went through a dark period too. At least you managed to avoid killing anyone."

They were silent for a while, both remembering Mac's actions while under the influence of a Dark Quickening. He had killed a friend and even years later, had trouble accepting that fact.

"Barely," she finally responded, "and it took an awful lot of help. As far as Darius' ideals are concerned, how far have I actually come? I work for an anti-terrorist agency that deals with death and mayhem on a daily basis."

"True, but while I worry about you, I respect your reasons for staying. It's not easy to influence such people, but I have every confidence that eventually you'll have some impact."

She felt a warm glow flow through her body from her hairline to her toes. Her eyes sparkled in the bright moonlight.

"So, where are we going?" she asked.

"What, you aren't enjoying exploring the streets with me?" he teased.

She stopped walking and ran a hot, caressing look over his body. He felt a chill of anticipation run down his back, as he recognized the almost predatory hungriness filling her face.

In a split second, she had backed him up against the stone wall they'd been passing. She kissed him fiercely, sending red-hot tendrils of desire shooting through his nerves. She gave him one last possessive lick, then pulled away.

"I suggest you find somewhere to go soon, or I'm going to attack you right here," she told him in a husky voice.

He chuckled, "I think you just did."

She made a noise that was half growl, half groan and began to lean in towards him again.

He put a finger across her lips in a mock self-defense.

"Actually, this is as good a place as any," he said. "Once we get over the wall."

"The wall?" her eyebrows shot up.

"Yeah, there's a good spot right down here," she followed him about five hundred feet.

She couldn't tell the wall was any lower at this point than it had been earlier, and said so.

His eyes twinkled as he said, "Oh, it's what's over the wall that counts. Come on."

She eyed him doubtfully as he began scrambling up the stones, and then looked down at her straight skirt and dress shoes.

"You can't be serious," she protested. "You really expect me to scale a wall? I think you have me confused with Ms. 'I really am a cat burglar' Amanda."

He was already sliding his legs over the top, but paused to look back at her.

"Meow," he said mildly, and then teased, "you mean you've forgotten how? What kind of country girl are you? If your dad ever heard that, he'd boot you up himself."

Before the words had finished coming out of his mouth, two shoes came whizzing past his head. She hiked her skirt up and began climbing as fast as she could. Unfortunately, in her haste, she dislodged them both and they fell onto the ground beneath them.

Mahleah felt most of the wind leave her lungs and as it returned, she felt weight on top of her. She opened her eyes to discover that she and Mac were practically nose-to-nose. His body was pinning her firmly to the grass beneath them.

"Very graceful," he complimented.

"Well, at least we fell on the right side," she pointed out as she wiggled slightly trying to find a more comfortable position. As she did so, her skirt pushed up to her waist and the friction re-ignited the sparks between them.

She looked him in the eye and began to ask the age-old question, "So did you land on your katana, or are you just happy...."

His mouth descended to ravish hers in a reciprocal assault of erotic possession. When she could breathe again, she panted, "Well, I guess I know the answer to that."

She drew him in again, and as they kissed, she drew her heel lightly up the back of his leg. She could feel him moan just before he pulled away.

"You don't play fair," he accused.

"Why should I? You don't either."

He got up suddenly to her dismay and offered her a hand. Confused, she found herself back on her feet, inching her skirt back down. She looked around for the first time and saw they were in a garden full of roses and other beautiful flowers, including a bush that baffled her. She walked closer, examining the leaves and delicate orange blossoms.

"Do you like it?" Mac asked from behind her.

"I swear it looks like a wild mountain honeysuckle from back home, but that's impossible surely?"

"Not completely," he was enjoying her surprise. "It took a lot of nurturing, but you now have a little piece of home right here in the middle of Paris."

She turned to him in astonishment, "Duncan, where are we?"

"Our own little fairyland where we can make believe that the outside world doesn't exist," he told her.

She looked around and saw a pretty cottage. "What's in there?"

"The solution to our problem, I hope."

He led her to a set of French doors, unlocked them, and walked inside. As she stood in the doorway amazed, he began lighting candles. She saw in the flickering light a bare room except for a bed at one end, a stereo at the other and a dozen or so candles.

"Excuse the rather Spartan decorating plan. I thought you might like some input, and besides I've got the basics covered."

"A bed and a stereo?" she grinned widely.

"Oh, I know you," he grinned back. "Any house without music is completely unfurnished in your mind."

He walked over and started the CD player. As he came back towards her the sounds of Van Morrison's "Brown Eyed Girl" followed him.

She gave a little nod to indicate she was impressed, "Hey not bad. I lost my virginity to this song."

At his expression she laughed, "Gotcha, but I bet a lot of girls have. It's a classic backseat-of-a-car make-out tune."

"Well, I hope to do a little better than that," he said wryly, "and I don't think the two of us would fit very well in a back seat."

"No," she agreed. "Too much leg and not enough space. Yeah, your plan is better."

"Thank you."

She chuckled, "Am I taking all the romance out of it, Mac?"

He moved behind her, "I'm used to your sense of humor, mhurninn."

He began nuzzling the back of her neck, sliding her jacket to the floor.

"I saved a poem just for this occasion," he whispered, one of his hands coming to rest on her belly. "Would you like to hear it?"

"Yes," she answered softly.

"Naked you are as simple as one of your hands, smooth, earthy, small transparent, round: you have moon-lines, apple-pathways: naked, you are slender as a naked grain of wheat.

"Naked, you are blue as a night in Cuba; you have vines and stars in your hair; naked, you are spacious and yellow as summer in a golden church.

Naked, you are tiny as one of your nails - Curved, subtle, rosy, till the day is born And you withdraw to the underground world,

As if down a long tunnel of clothing and of chores: Your clear light dims, gets dressed - drops its leaves - And becomes a naked hand again."

As he recited, his voice warm and sonorous, his hands were busily discarding articles of clothing. Occasionally, a line would be lost as he murmured it into her skin before laying claim to it and her mind filled in the gaps from memory. When he finished speaking, she took a shuddery breath in order to say, "I'm ordering you spectacles. Your four hundred years are finally catching up with you, Mac. There's nothing tiny about me."

He turned her to face him and kissed her before responding, "You're a perfect fit for me. God made us to match."

She could feel the slippery silk of his shirt, the hard roundness of its buttons, and the cool metal of his belt buckle against her bare skin.

"Why are you still dressed?" she inquired, her fingers flying over said buttons. Dropping to her knees, she worked on his buckle and fly.

He saw her eyes gleaming with expectation. Mahleah was very much a creature of moods and her lovemaking was a direct reflection of that fact. Tonight she was nearly wild with passion and he fully intended to match her bite for bite and scratch for scratch.

"Later," he growled and pulled her from the floor, heading for the bed.

Part Twelve

Michael stood beside Nikita as she slept with her head on one of Walter's workbenches. The older man had cautioned him about waking her up as "sugar could use some rest." Even though he would have loved to have her join him for the last few hours of sleep they could get tonight, she looked so peaceful that he couldn't disturb her.

The course of action that he was about to initiate was risky and would require him to entrust his life and career in Section to the capabilities of others. Was it sensible to pursue this plan? If he carried it out, he would quite possibly make Paul Wolfe and Madeline into enemies - not a situation to be taken lightly. Perhaps he should just maintain the status quo until the time came for a new Operations to be appointed.

He reached down and swept a long lock of pale hair that was covering her face back behind an ear. She stirred and he held his breath hoping he hadn't woken her. She snuggled her face into the crook of her arm as she murmured his name. His heart nearly stopped, and he swallowed.

No, he decided, no matter the cost to himself he would see the scheme through. If there was a chance that he could ensure a safer future for her...for them both, he had to take it. It was about time to place a phone call.

*********

Mahleah yawned as she laid her head on Mac's chest. He was absently running his hands through her hair, and his expression indicated he was deep in thought.

She looked up and said, "A franc for your thoughts."

He smiled at her, "Sorry, I was just reflecting on our earlier conversation."

"Really?" She began running her nails lightly down his chest.

"Not that conversation," he chuckled. "Although you were quite articulate."

"What then?"

She saw him hesitate, before making the decision to speak, "I said that none of us were saints."

The corners of her mouth twitched as she replied, "I think we just proved that."

Tempting as it was, he didn't let himself get sidetracked. "Well, there are some things you don't know about me - things about my past."

She frowned, "I thought you'd already filled me in on all the gruesome details. What else is there?"

He evaded the question for a moment to ask one of his own, "Do you ever regret becoming Immortal?"

She propped herself up on her elbows, surprised by such a serious question, "Yes, sometimes. I mean, I hate the fact that I'm constantly faced with the decision of kill or be killed." Her voice dropped a little, "I'm sorry that I can never have children."

He blinked, feeling his eyes get a little moist. He could envision her as a mother so plainly. She would be loving, protective, and fun as a parent. She would lavish attention on her children to make up for the neglect she herself had suffered. In his mind, he saw visions of her at every age; only strangely enough, he could see himself in the bones of the child's face. Ah, it was never to be.

She continued, "You have to take the bad with the good though. Everything has its price. Most of the time I'm fine with it. In fact," she ducked her head, "the thought that I could spend centuries with you makes up for all the sacrifices I have to make in the meantime."

He closed his eyes briefly, and she tugged on his chin, "Hey, what's wrong?"

He sighed, "I've just wondered if you've ever thought about what your life would have been like if I hadn't thrown you into that tree."

She thought she understood. "Duncan, I thought we'd been over this years ago. It was an accident: you weren't yourself remember? You were suffering from the effects of a Dark Quickening. The part of you that was still left was terrified that the evil inside you would hurt me. When you pushed me away you had no way of knowing my head would hit a tree. If I can accept that, why can't you?"

He was silent for a long moment, then finally said, "Maybe I doubt my motives sometimes."

"Why?"

Again, he answered her with a question, "Did you ever wonder why I never warned you that you were a pre-Immortal?"

"Not really," she replied. "I mean I figured you thought I should have as normal a life as possible before it changed forever."

He nodded, "That's true, I did. Have you realized yet that if you hadn't died a violent death, you would have lived a normal mortal life? You would have grown old and died."

She looked at him wondering where all this was going, "It wasn't meant to be, and I can never have any satisfaction in life by dwelling on what-could-have-beens instead of counting the blessings I've been given."

He kissed her forehead, "There are times," he admitted. "When you seem older than me."

"What's all this about, Mac?"

He was quiet for so long this time that she thought he'd gone into a trance. At last, he began the explanation she needed, "This isn't easy for me to talk about. I've never admitted this before to anyone and the only person who has any clue other than Kate, is Connor."

"Who's Kate?" it was a simple question and she received a simple answer in return, but the force of it nearly staggered her with its implications.

"My wife."

"Your...." She couldn't find words. Sentences, questions, shouts, all dried up on the tip of her tongue. She threw back the sheet and sat on the edge of the bed. He put a hand on her shoulder, but she shrugged it off and stood up. She remained very still for a moment, but then began to pace the room.

"Mahleah?"

When he called her name, all her vocal abilities returned in a rush and she managed to ask in a strained voice, "Your wife? Funny, I've never heard you mention her before."

He watched her as she stalked across the room, "I haven't seen her since our wedding night."

"What happened?"

"She died," he said matter-of-factly.

"Oh God!" she exclaimed and rushed back to the bed. "I'm sorry, Duncan, but why didn't you ever mention her before? I could have sworn that I'd heard you say that you'd never been married."