Missing

Author's Note: Yet another one-shot follow-up to my "Siren Song" and related stories. Sort of a prequel. Hey, remember "The Hound of Ulster?" No? Well, I do! Set before the episode. In which "Molly" and "Rory" have a conversation.

This story is inspired in no small part by the following song: "Missing" by Evanescence. YouTube link: watch?v=vBSehQYRP5E

She liked him better this way.

Cu Chullain had been arrogant, self-righteous, and stubborn. Oh, on some level she had at least respected him – he was not a cruel man, and he had not relished her suffering, nor had he crowed over his victory – but he was a hero nonetheless, the hero who had vanquished her, centuries ago.

And heroes are boring, whispered a familiar voice inside her head.

She frowned and pushed the thought aside. Stupid little trickster. No good will come of you returning there, you stubborn creature, he'd told her, before they parted.

Well, she'd show him.

"Mol, what's wrong?" She turned, and gave "Rory" her brightest smile.

"Nothin' at all. We got away, didn't we?" And they had. Their latest escapade into petty theft had ended successfully. It gave her great pleasure to think that she'd reduced the great Hero of Ulster to nothing more than a common criminal. That was the only reason she was enjoying this, she reminded herself.

It had nothing to do with the fact that Rory Dugan was pleasant company.

She laced her arm through his. "Come on then," she said, before he could question her further. "Let's go get a pint."

Even though it was barely past midday, the bar was fairly crowded. The poor economy made people more prone to drink, she supposed. Still, she and Rory were regulars, and they managed to squeeze into a small booth in the back.

"I have to say Mol, it was touch and go there for a while," Rory said quietly when they were settled in.

She gave him a feral grin. "You worry too much," she said, and took a swig of her beer. Not for the first time, she reflected on how strange it was to be the one who was dragging another into mischief and mayhem, as opposed to the one who was just following along, who had to be talked into everything. That's how it had always been with …

No. She wasn't going to think about him, not now.

"There it is again," Rory said. She gave him a puzzled look.

"What?"

He pointed at her. "That look," he said. "That look you get on your face sometimes."

"And what look is that?"

"I dunno. Kinda wistful, like. What are you thinking about, Molly?"

She was trying to formulate a suitable answer to that when a rather burly, thuggish-looking man came up to their table and offered to buy her a drink. The man made a point of ignoring Rory, she noticed.

She scowled at him. "I already have a drink," she said, in a voice which made it clear how unwelcome his presence was. But he was either to drunk or too stupid to care about the obvious venom in her tone.

"I'll buy you another one, then. Come on, I can show you a better time than this green lad here." He grabbed her arm to pull her out of the booth –

And then an instant later, he was sprawled on the ground. Rory's fist and had been a blur as it connected with his face. Blood poured from the man's nose, and he reared up, roaring obscenities at both of them –

"I think it's time to leave, Rory dear."

"Good idea."

Quick as cats, they sprinted out of the bar. Mercifully, he didn't follow them, either because he was in too much pain, or more likely because the owner of the pub had threatened to call police. The man probably had warrants out.

"That was stupid, Rory," she said, when they had paused to catch their breath. "That fella coulda' torn you in half." He gave her a lopsided grin.

"Actually, I thought it was rather gallant of me. Defending a lady's honor and all."

That sounded far too heroic for her tastes. "I'm no lady, Rory," she snapped. He chuckled.

"Maybe not, but I wasn't gonna let that thug put his hands on you. Somehow, he didn't seem like your type."

"Glad you noticed."

"What is your type, Molly?"

The question caught her off guard, and she looked away from him. He seemed amused.

"Oh come on, don't be coy now. Pretty lass like you must've had a few boyfriends before we …" He blushed. "Ah, I mean, you know."

"It's late Rory, I should go."

"Aw come on, don't be like that. We're … friends, aren't we? I've already told you me life story, would it kill you to open up a bit for once? Promise not to tease you about it." She glanced over at him, and he smiled. "Much," he added.

"I had one," she said softly, before she could stop herself.

"Just one?"

She rolled her eyes. "More than enough. He was a handful."

"What was his name, this 'one' of yours?"

That took her a minute. "Robin," she decided to say, finally. She'd never called him that, but still, she'd always thought it was a suitable alias for him. She wondered if she could find a way to get Rory off this subject.

"And how long did you go with … Robin?"

Centuries, little mortal. Since right after you defeated me in battle, actually. "A long time," she said softly.

"And which one of you ended it?"

She felt a bitterness rising in her. "Oh, it was mutual. We mutually decided that he found me too stubborn and boring to hang around with any longer."

"Then he's an idiot," Rory said firmly. "I like your stubbornness, Molly. And as for being boring, well … you couldn't be boring if you life depended on it!"

She looked at him then, this guileless young man, with his kind eyes and his soft smile, and wondered why things had to be this way. Why he had to be the Hero of Ulster reborn, why she had to be his ancient enemy, why she always had to be on guard for the day he remembered who he was.

Oh Rory, I don't want to fight you. Why can't we just stay like this? Will we really have to play the hero and the villain again? Can't you just be my Rory, and I can't I just be your Molly? And maybe … maybe we could even …

"Don't be sad," he whispered. When had his face gotten so close to hers? "Don't be sad, Mol."

"I'm not. I'm fine."

His hand caressed her cheek. "No, you're not. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to bring up bad memories for you. But … you're amazing Molly. You know that, right? That Robin fellow's an idiot for letting you get away. It's his loss."

She felt a tightness in her throat.

No good will come it, my little siren. Didn't I tell you revenge is a sucker's game? Let the hero play his part, and live out his little mortal life. Fate will not follow your song. Ulster will break you, in the end. Come on, let's go somewhere else, let's go to the States, let's find some fun –

Revenge is not a sucker's game, Puck. It's not a game at all!

Nonsense. Everything is a game.

No, it's not. If you could just take something seriously, for once!

What is it you would have me take seriously, Banshee?

The answer to his question had died in her throat, and he'd left her.

Rory's fingers were gentle on her face as he wiped her tears away. For just a moment, she was sure he was going to kiss her.

And for just a moment, she really wanted him to.

But at the last instant, he pulled back. "Ah, Molly." He said softly. "You're still hung up on this Robin fellow, aren't you?"

"Am not," she muttered. But he just shook his head.

"Yeah you are. But it's alright. Maybe one day you won't be. And …" He let the rest hang in the air between them, unspoken. He put his arm around her shoulder, in a friendly sort of way.

"Let's go and cheer you up, my lass."

She put on a smile. "Alright," she said.

The little mortal was wrong, she told herself, as they made their way in the night. She wasn't "hung up" on anyone; it was just this frail human form of hers, and its foolish tendency towards sentiment. She just needed to learn to control it better.

Besides, wherever Puck was, she was sure he was busy, playing his little games and having his little fun, and not missing her at all.