XIII – Mixed Emotions.

The shower ran, cleansing her body of the sweat that had oozed off her pores. The thrill and tension of facing Ahriman had given her Pawn a boost. He had been best than ever. And she had relished every instant, every split second of it.

Water ran from her eyes as well. Facing Ahriman had unleashed the painful memories, memories she thought long forgotten, memories she thought had faded. She had been so wrong.

Rose leant on a hand stretched against the wall, letting the warm water wash her back. She felt the pain strongly inside of her. She gasped as more tears fell and punched hard against the ceramic wall. Strongly, violently, carelessly. Her hand bled... as she had... as they both had. The closest she had had to a family had gone in the struggle. Life would never be the same after that, and it hadn't.

It had been astounding, shattering, devastating. And she was sure that she didn't have any choice but to go through what she had undergone six thousand years ago. But she needed to grow stronger if she was to defeat Ahriman. And to that, she would have to bring all the other immortals down... including Methos. Who would be the first?

-----

Kenny was sitting on the toilet, his stomach cleansed of solid waste. He had already wiped himself as well and was absently staring at the mirror above him. He was 820 years old. He should be taller and look older. But he wasn't. Thanks to a bunch who had killed his family and him.

The bathdoor opened and the strange girl walked in. She turned on the shower and started to take off her tee shirt. Then she saw him but not a gesture she made. She carried on stripping, her back to him, till she was naked. Then she entered the shower.

Kenny felt his own reaction numbing him. It was a kid. Merely 14 or 15. He was 800. What was he thinking? He put up his underwear and had problems with it, so excited as he was. His jeans followed.

Against his own will and conscience, curiosity lured him toward the shower. He peeked and saw her back. Water flowing down her minute and developing body, foam on her head, which she massaged with one hand while she passed the soap over her bosom and belly. She turned to let the water wash her back and Kenny got a full view of her. And as he did, she did too.

This time, she grinned as foam tripped down her. Kenny gulped, fearful she might scream, more fearful that she mightn't. She was a deity; she was a walking goddess, small in her glory as he was. She extended the hand with the soap forward, in calling offer.

His chin fell but he forced his entire body to stagger back and pace out of the bathroom...

-----

Mary Sylvie Linsey stood at the rooftop of a skyscraper, the wind blowing her hair wildly. She had stopped crying finally. She had been making a painful account of what she had done.

After the earthquake, she had wandered aimlessly, looking for her mother. She hadn't found her. A man took her in and fed her well. He was a father figure to her... at least till she turned 14, when she was already a developed woman. Then he became a nightmare.

She got rid of the man by pushing him out of a second-storey hotel window, after yet another session of unconsented sex. Then she wandered again around the United States, till she learnt something new.

Ahriman, the ruler of the world as it was now, had been responsible for the earthquake. A well-built good-looking man with beard he was. How he had done it, he could not be certain. But that day she made an oath: he would pay for her mother's death.

She hitch-hiked towards Washington. The road faced her with pigs much worse than her adoptive father. But she went on with it, learning many different – and hardly enjoyable – things. If she was to kill Ahriman, first she would have to earn his trust. And he was a man. Powerful, vicious, but still a man. And she was a woman, willing to go beyond to please him.

He found her before she did. She was walking at night, dressed in striking and provoking clothes - towards the White House – by then, Ahriman's sleeping place – when a limousine stopped. The man himself stuck his head off the window and invited her in. There it had begun: he had taken her in the very limousine. It had been a shocking experience, but she went along with it...

A long time ago. Mary thought how long it had been. Many things she could not understand. Why the Lord wanted her mother and her apart? Why he had let Ahriman rule? But one of them, more earthly, stunned her.

Duncan MacLeod. Her mother had had a friend like that. She had mentioned him a lot when she was a child, when they had grown up in the cottage in the country. The name had been buried in herself until that day at the cemetery, the very day where she learnt that her mother was still alive... and where she would see her fall into the arms of Death.

Ahriman knew him. He had greeted him as an old friend. But MacLeod looked in his thirties. The man her mother mentioned was of that age too. Unless that man had a very good surgeon, it was impossible they were the same man. But they were.

She would never know. She jumped over the ventilation of the heating device, placed right at one of the corners of the rooftop. The wind made her body shiver. What difference would it make?

There was no one to avenge, and there was no one to live for. Her life was senseless. So she jumped. She plummeted against the ground, the air against her face blinding her, her ears aching. The grey empty road became nearer and nearer and nearer...

-----

The Silent felt a thud nearby. She produced her sword and carefully roamed across the empty streets. She turned on a corner and as she turned, she felt an immortal around. She clenched tightly the grip and began to move further.

At first, she only made out a shape, half-kneeled next to something else on the floor. As she drew nearer, she saw that there was a corpse next to the shape, and that the shape was a man.

A few steps sufficed for her to have a good look of the man. He was of medium height and well-built. His skin was that colour between African Black and Albine White, his hair was long and curled, and his face showed nothing, except detachment. He was good-looking, far better than the men she had met in the last decade were.

He eyed up and saw her. He stood up. He wore a blue sweater and a pair of jeans. He carried a guitar case by him. He glanced at it, and then at her, in a way that unnerved her... and excited her.

"We don't have to fight." He finally said.

She lowered the sword and felt lured by the charm in his voice. She scrutinised the corpse. A beautiful dark-haired woman... a senseless mortal who killed herself. She didn't try to guess her motives. She was more interested in the other.

"Do you have a name?"

"You can call me John." He spat up rudely. He was young... she liked them young.

"I'm Cassandra." She approached him and offered her hand.

He took it gently, his eyes photographing her entire body. Her current outfit was a tight black sweatshirt from which her breasts bulged, and a pair of denim jeans. She noticed and smirked defiantly. His face acquired a little red and that pleased her. She had changed into new clothes, of which tons were available in the derelict shops. She hadn't thought of appealing to someone... till now.

"I'm looking for MacLeod."

With those words, he released her hand and gave his back to her. His back was muscled and broad. The tee shirt marked his worked-out flesh. She caught up with him and charmingly smiled.

"So do I... do you think we should look for him together?"

Now her pose was inviting. She stood with her hands at her hips, staring at her left, her chest pushed forward to offer her breasts to her. She caught a glimpse of the other being stunned by her.

She gazed and grabbed his head, leaning it to hers. The other kissed her. She brought him slowly to the floor, undoing his jeans, wanting him as she had not wanted someone for almost twenty years, eager enough to please him and please herself and catch up with the lost time...