Disclaimer: Still not mine.

Chapter 4a Acceptable Risk

1961

The weight of his old broadsword pulled at his left, still sheathed as he walked on the long runway from his car to the abandoned hangar. The tug on his coat and at his belt was still familiar, even though he normally left the traditional swords at home in favor of the more convenient, more compact, extendable blades he'd had made by the Athosian artisans in Pegasus Galaxy. Daniel carried the broadsword because he couldn't risk the Watchers witnessing and recording the use of extraterrestrial technology. Moreover, there was definitely a Watcher in that building. His life signs detector had read two humans and one immortal in the hangar just moments before.

Daniel slowly drew the heavy blade before entering the old hangar. The presence of the other immortal was constant now. The tingle that had run up his spine the moment Daniel'd stepped out of his Valiant had transformed into a constant thrum. Daniel could feel the malignancy of the buzz, the anger and youth of the man who'd set this challenge.

Daniel kept his eyes moving, watching the entrances, peeking around the decrepit planes, and checking out the broken windows near the hangar's ceiling. He'd already switched his personal shield to emergency mode only—to be activated only if his opponent were to cheat. It irked his conscious slightly to use it, but there was simply too much at stake for him to risk losing his head to some dishonorable headhunter now.

No sooner did Daniel conclude the thought than the flash of metal and a wave of a long raincoat caught his eye. Daniel turned to face his opponent, dividing his attention between studying the hothead and surveying the large room. Daniel didn't need to look at his challenger's face. He'd gotten enough pictures of him when he realized the young immortal—a baby really, barely two hundred years old—was after his head. Daniel hadn't taken the challenger seriously, and he should have, because now he had so much more to worry about than himself.

"Where is she?" Daniel asked when no one else emerged.

The youth looked to be about 45, light brown hair turning gray at the temples, wrinkles at his mouth and around his eyes seeming to indicate that he'd frowned more often than smiled in his first life. "She's around," he declared in the long vowels of his early UP accent, waving his sword to accentuate the many possibilities.

"Show her to me, or I walk away," Daniel demanded.

"Still don't want to fight for the honor of your woman?" Murphy taunted, his jaw stiff. "Maybe I should have taken the boy instead." He lifted his chin, his voice not quite even, not quite committed to his words.

Still, Daniel blinked, "The boy?" he paused, revealing the fault line in his concentration.

The challenger's shoulders expanded, a slight preview to how he might start the swing of his blade. "The one you show such interest in." He tilted his head with exaggerated bravado as if to hide the emptiness of his threat. "I couldn't figure out why he garners your attention, though," Murphy revealed an honest curiosity. "He's not one of us."

Daniel narrowed his gaze, forcing his attention back to the fight. "There is so much more to this life than the Game." His words were more for the benefit of the Watcher present than the immortal about to die, but it was, of course, Murphy who answered:

"Not for us." Murphy shook his head and there was something like sadness in that statement until the young immortal squinted sharp brown eyes at him and added, "And certainly not for you."

"Mmm-mmph!" the muffled sound of a feminine cry resounded through the hangar and Daniel's eyes shot upward behind his opponent's shoulder to find the source. He took two more steps forward and finally saw her—mud matted at her hairline, eye blackened, and clothes dirtied and ripped. At least there was no blood. She was tied to a chair and surrounded by a collection of glass—what looked like windows and crystals—beside and above her.

"Mary," his lips tightened around her name as he eyed her fragile prison: A quickening in any sort of proximity to her would kill her. His eyes narrowed at the young immortal, reassessing the level of threat. "You bastard!" he hissed.

"I gave you the option of a fight yesterday, Samuel," the challenger dropped his raincoat to the floor and started a wide circle towards Daniel's position, "but you didn't seem sufficiently motivated to accept." The words were wooden, uncomfortable…almost scripted.

Daniel shook his head, denying his opponent's stance. "No Murphy," he shifted his sword as he removed his long jacket. "Yesterday I gave you the option to walk away. Today I'm not feeling so generous."

"Don't try to threaten me. This isn't a game that the young can win."

Daniel chuffed humorlessly. "On that," he brought the broadsword up to point towards his opponent, "we completely agree."

Murphy's eyes flared in the moment before Daniel attacked. The young immortal angled his blade to halt the blow, but Daniel's broadsword remained in motion, sliding down quickly to cut into Murphy's sword arm before shooting back up to balance the strike. Murphy tried to back away—he wasn't talented enough to maneuver his blade in such close proximity—but Daniel didn't allow his opponent the space. Daniel pushed him backward, using deft blows to cut into Murphy's arms, his sides, his legs, never permitting the young one to get in a single offensive move. Daniel didn't usually toy with his prey, but he was flexible enough to make exceptions when warranted. He watched Murphy tire, watched his skills regress with every cut made and every blow barely met.

"Why is it the young ones are never thorough in their research?" Daniel posed rhetorically while Murphy's sword barely blocked his latest charge, the young immortal's back literally to the hangar wall.

"Please," Murphy whimpered as his muscles strained from the effort of trying to meet the force of Daniel's strike.

"Did Mary say that to you?" Daniel demanded. "Did she beg you please not to hurt her when you kidnapped her?" He didn't wait for an answer, instead capturing the young immortal's wrist, causing him to drop the handle of his blade. Then Daniel plunged his broadsword upward under the rib and into the other man's heart. He watched death slacken Murphy's features. He left the sword in his opponent's chest, so he wouldn't awaken too early, because although the younger ones usually took more time to heal, there were always exceptions. Then he turned to face Mary.

Even her swollen eye seemed wide in fright and disbelief. When he took a step for her, she struggled in her bonds as if seeing only the killer that had emerged from Daniel rather than the man she'd known for nine years. Daniel approached her slowly but steadily, whispering comforts in soft tones.

"It's OK. It's OK, Mary." He shifted the large, framed window from its position in front of her, resting it against the hull of a biplane so it wouldn't shatter and frighten his friend any further. "It's me. It's Samuel." He knelt in front of her and worked her bonds loose with his hands rather than remove the small knife from its place at his right hip. "You're safe now." He freed her mouth, noted the bruise that had been hidden beneath the gag. "No one's going to hurt you, now." He freed her hands, and she shook off the ropes as soon as she had room to maneuver. "Everything's going to be alright. I promise." He freed her feet, and she stood shakily.

"You killed that man, Samuel," she accused, gaze unfocused, feet unsteady beneath her. "You killed him," she shook her head, wounded mouth twisting, "with a sword."

"I know," he couldn't deny her claim, couldn't admit the lack of permanence in the young one's death, without admitting to so much more. "He didn't give me a choice."

"With a sword, Samuel," she repeated.

"I did what I had to." He wrapped an arm around her to lead her to the door. To his relief, she leaned into him.

"They were going to kill me," she continued, stiffening in a way that had nothing to do with Daniel.

"Mary," he jostled her shoulder, "just stay with me a little longer. You're going into shock."

"Shock?"

"Yes, you've seen it before a hundred times, remember?" he prodded. "There was that time Mrs. Donnelly witnessed the Henderson's car wreck, and she got whiter than Ellen Henderson who'd lost almost a liter of blood."

Stiffly, Mary nodded. "You worked your magic for Ellen that day."

"Yeah," Daniel's tone flattened with unspoken irony, "I just waited until all of you were out of the room, and I waved my wand."

Mary chuckled, and Daniel sighed with relief. He'd been debating beaming them aboard the Homer if Mary didn't start responding, but that meant using neural technology on the Watcher to keep him or her from remembering, which was always risky. Again, he exhaled heavily and briefly tightened his arm about Mary's shoulders. "Everything's going to be OK," he repeated the phrase for himself this time.

"Oh, your coat!" Mary exclaimed and scurried towards it.

"I'll get another." He reached a hand out to invite her back to him. "Let's just go." He'd barely finished saying the words when both a sharp 'bang' and a spider web of pain resounded in his head at once. He just had time to register that he'd been shot before he died.

TBC…

To the Reader: Thanks to everybody who sent feedback for this fic. I really appreciated hearing from you. I hope you all enjoyed this latest chapter, and I hope you're not mad at me for the cliffhanger or the hiatus (seriously sorry!). The thing is, the next installment is already complete. However, it really, really, REALLY needs a beta reader. So if you're interested or you know somebody, I need all the help I can get. Thanks for reading.

-Sarah