Author's Note. Another chapter that backs up a little from where the last one left off. I know you all are smart enough to figure that out. I'm just paranoid I don't make things clear enough sometimes.

AND LOVE THEE AFTER

The Mayor's Mansion: Alexandria, 1925

put out the light.

Ardeth's heart felt heavy in his chest as he started up the stairs alone, the darkness consuming him and the quiet of the house just a little too close and uncomfortable. Everything within him hurt. It hurt to move and to think and to feel that same, constant longing for Delphine. He didn't want this to be happening. His whole self was consumed with her, dying for the version of her he knew before he saw the handkerchief in Rick O'Connell's suitcase.

What if he'd never seen it? What if O'Connell had been more careful packing away his things, and he'd never known? Would he be happy right now? Would he be rushing up the stairs to kiss his beautiful wife, to delight himself in the love and passion he'd felt only a few days ago? How different tonight could have been...

Instead he trudged up and up, each step harder than the last, like an arthritic man. He dreaded this thing he was about to do, but he couldn't find any way around it. When he thought of Delphine, caught up in Rick's embrace, his mind went cloudy and red with fury. He couldn't think, he couldn't focus, and he was certainly ineffective as a commander. He never knew when these images would take his mind, but when they did, he was completely powerless over them. All he could feel was rage. The rest of the time, he hurt.

In those moments of pain, he'd considered everything. He could send her away - divorce her in public or in private - but he just couldn't stand the thought of her running into Rick's arms. He'd be crippled forever, knowing they were together and in love. And the images would keep coming, til the day he finally died. No, he couldn't live like that. He had to kill her.

If she was dead, she couldn't hurt him anymore. If she was dead, perhaps the images would fade. And maybe one day, he'd only be left with the memories of her love, or feigned love, and the sweetness of her kiss.

Ardeth paused. He was at the door now. All was dark and quiet inside. He took a breath, and twisted the doorknob.

The moon had waned from the evening that they'd arrived, but the night was clear and it hung like a chipped pearl, filling the room with cold light. Delphine lay sleeping on the bed, her chest rising and falling in calm, even breaths. Ardeth crept closer, and his throat tightened painfully. Her skin glowed like ivory in the moonlight, her face so pallid she looked more like a doll than a living person. Her dark hair was spread out in waves all around her head, and shone just faintly bluish under the moon's soft gaze. Her lips, usually so full and pink, looked a little gray now, and were just slightly parted. All he could hear was her breathing. Her thin nightgown was almost translucent over her body, and he wanted to weep.

He was reminded of a story Delphine had told him, with a childlike grin because he'd never heard it before, about a princess who ate a poisoned apple and died. She looked like the princess just now, beautiful enough for a glass coffin.

Except that she was still breathing.

Ardeth closed his eyes and attempted to gather his thoughts. She was laying there so perfectly still, like she was already dead. Like the deed had been done for him. He frowned thoughtfully. There was a prince in that story Delphine had told him. He woke the princess with a kiss.

He almost moaned at the thought of kissing her, of feeling her warm lips, if only for the last time. He looked down at her and tried to remember how things used to be between them. In his mind, he caught a glimpse of her, cuddled close to him in the firelight, promising she'd never be afraid.

He leaned over her and gave her a soft kiss. Her lips were warm, and after a moment he could feel her kissing him back. When he opened his eyes, she was smiling up at him.

"Ardeth," she whispered. And suddenly she was embracing him, pulling him into her arms. He could feel her kisses dotting the side of his face, his neck...and his body stiffened. Gently, he pulled away. Her face fell in disappointment and confusion. "Oh, please don't tell me you're still angry with me."

"Delphine..."

He shook his head and turned away from her. She reached for his arm, but he jerked it away.

"Won't you please tell me what I've done," she said. He didn't have to look at her to know her eyes were glazed with tears. "Whatever it is, I'm more sorry than you can imagine. I love you desperately. Can't you see that?"

"Lies," Ardeth spat, his face contorting with bitterness. "Why must you keep lying to me?"

Delphine shook her head. "What can I do to convince you that I love you?"

He let out a short sigh, and met her eyes. "Bring me the handkerchief I gave to you."

She blinked in confusion a few times. "The handkerchief?" He watched her steadily, but she could only shake her head. "I'm sorry, Ardeth, I lost it...I didn't want to tell you. I know it means so much to you. I kept hoping it would turn up -"

"Stop it!"

His growling demand made her jump. She inched away from him, just barely.

"Damn it, Delphine, can't you see I know? I know all about you and Major O'Connell!"

She frowned, so very perplexed she could hardly utter a word. Her wide, ocean-colored eyes gawked at him for a full minute before she was finally able to stammer out:

"M-Major O'Connell?"

Ardeth pounded his fists against the mattress. "Yes, Major O'Connell! Allah, Delphine, I saw the handkerchief in his suitcase!"

He rose to his feet, the images assailing him again. He leered towards her and she found herself backpedalling, crawling over to the other side of the bed.

"My love, this is some kind of mistake. I didn't give it to him - I would never give -"

"Stop it!" he growled again. "Stop playing so innocent! I can't stand it from you!"

He lunged at her, grasping her around the middle and pinning her to the bed. Her mouth gaped for the proper words to beg, but she was struck dumb by the ferocity in his eyes. He pulled himself to his knees and and held her down, their faces only inches away. His breath came, hot and moist against her face.

"I loved you! I would have loved you my whole life! How could you do such a thing to me?"

Delphine could only shake her head, tears streaming down her face in burning rivers. She choked back a sob and gasped, "Ardeth, I didn't -"

But he covered her words with a pillow. His hand was firm just over her nose and mouth, and he could almost feel her face under the layers of down. Her arms flailed wildly about, her fingernails ripping short little lines into his arms. Her hand reached for his face, and he expected it to grasp at him desperately, angrily...but her palm was soft and gentle against his cheek. She held it there tenderly until her arms finally dropped to her sides.

He kept the pillow over her face a second longer, just to be sure her body was perfectly limp. He sucked in a deep breath, trying to still his heart before he finally lifted the pillow.

In his mind, he'd imagined this moment being one of great relief. He'd imagined it coming on him in waves, the pain dulled down to a quiet thud that he knew would eventually go away. But when he pulled off the pillow and looked into her face, now truly lifeless, the pain came on a thousand times worse. He felt needles coursing through his veins, unbearably sharp and cruel, piercing every inch of his soul.

The images of Delphine and Rick were gone. How could they have ever been there? Instead they were replaced by her stony, unmoving visage.

She didn't look like the princess in the story at all.

She was dead. Really dead, like the hundreds, thousands he'd seen on a battlefield. How could he not have known it would be like this? Had he not taken life before? There had never been relief - not when stabbing a dangerous stranger, and certainly not after smothering his darling Delphine.

The pain drained into sickening emptiness. Could she be gone? Truly gone? With a trembling hand, he touched her face, smoothed her hair. She was still warm, like the last ember of an extinguished flame. But she was gone.

She was gone.

It washed over him in waves. Waves upon salty, bitter, disasterous waves. He drowned in the moonlight as the words pounded in his head. She's gone. She's gone. She's gone. She's gone.

He turned his eyes from her and was suddenly looking at himself in the mirror. God, he despised himself in this stupid Western suit. He wanted sackcloth. He wanted ashes. He wanted to rock back and forth in the dusty street, mourning the way his people mourned. He'd rather die than sit here another second like these bloodless English people, guarding himself in silent turmoil so that the world wouldn't suspect he hurt, wouldn't suspect he felt anything.

Ardeth took hold of his shirt and ripped it from his body. The fabric tore across his skin and hung loosely as he threw his head back and wailed.