Highlander: Choices

by SMR723

COMPLETED. A fight with one of Grayson's protege's leaves Maura close to death. Can MacLeod and her other friends save her before her time runs out. This is the third and final story in the Maura trilogy Maura, Promises and Choices

HIGHLANDER: CHOICES

By Susanna Reilly

Duncan MacLeod watched in dismay from across the dance floor as the couple standing by the bar began to argue -- again. The face of the woman, a 5'7" beauty with golden brown hair and emerald green eyes, her shapely figure evident in a small black cocktail dress, was set and unyield­ing, and the 6' dark haired man with the slender build facing her was obviously furious. Going dancing had seemed like such a good idea earlier. They had all been on edge lately and it had seemed like the perfect way to lighten everyone's spirits, but now, watching his two friends argue, MacLeod realized it had been a huge mistake.

Maura had not been herself for weeks and he didn't know why. Joe Dawson's warning about a new Immortal in the area – one with a grudge – had put them all on edge, but it didn't explain the radical change in her behavior. From the time she had reentered MacLeod's life almost 8 months ago and subsequently been reunited with Methos, with whom she'd had a brief affair 100 years earlier, she had seemed happy and content. MacLeod had been responsible for killing her greatest enemy, the evil Immortal Grayson, several years before, and he had thought she was over the terrible grief over the death of the Immortal priest Darius who had long ago been her husband. But for the last few weeks she had been withdrawn, wrapped up in some internal pain she refused to acknowledge or discuss, and seemingly intent on pushing away everyone who cared about her -- especially Methos. And she had be doing an exceptionally good job of that tonight, spending the entire evening showering her attentions on every other man in the club except the one she was arguing with now.

MacLeod watched helplessly as the couple stopped shouting and just glared at each other. Then Maura turned and stalked away toward the back of the club while Methos headed for the front door.

-----

Maura was seething as she slammed her way out the back door of the club. He is absolutely impossible! she fumed to herself. Why am I wasting my time on him?

High heels clicked solidly on the pavement as she strode angrily down the street, pulling her long coat tighter around her. The short black dress Amanda had helped her pick out while they were shopping that afternoon was not made for warmth, and the night air had turned unseasonably cold.

As she got farther from the club, her anger subsided and was tempered by sadness. It had seemed so wonderful when she and Methos had found each other again, but now it was falling apart -- just like every other relationship she had ever had. The rational part of her mind whispered that he had every right to be upset because of the way she had been acting, but the anger that still held sway slammed such reasonable thoughts away.

She'd been more upset than she'd let on that Martin Kingsley, the last of Grayson's proteges, had been seen in town recently. The 13 centuries she'd spent being stalked by Grayson were over and she didn't want to ever have to return to that kind of life. It was impossible to tell until he ended up on one of their doorsteps if Kingsley's presence here was a coincidence or if he was out to avenge the death of his mentor. If it was the latter, she hoped he would limit that revenge to herself and MacLeod and not follow in Grayson's footsteps by killing those they cared about instead. Her thoughts turned melancholy as she remembered all those she had lost in the past 1400 years -- too many friends and lovers, and even enemies, to keep track any more. The one constant of Immortality was loss.

Her pace had slowed as she became immersed in her thoughts, and she was startled by a muffled sound behind her. She quickened her pace as she automatically reached for the sword hidden in the folds of her coat. The sensation that warned of another Immortal nearby came suddenly and she turned quickly in the direction of the sound she had heard.

He came out of the darkness of an alley several feet away, his face hidden by the shadows. She didn't recognize the build, but then his identity wasn't really relevant. In the end there could be only one.

Maura gripped her sword tighter as he stepped into the light and her mind automatically began processing the information she would need to fight him effectively -- height-6'2", weight-180 lbs. He appeared to be in his early 30's, but that meant nothing. Anyone who looked at the 5'7" woman with the long honey gold hair who faced him would say she was 23 or 24, not over 1500. She carefully took in the way his body moved as he approached, as her mind quickly ran through possible strategies in the upcoming fight.

He stopped several feet from her and just stared, hatred burning from his dark eyes. "So you are Maura, wife of Darius, destroyer of great men. Somehow I thought you'd be . . . taller." He shrugged and added indifferently, "It makes no difference. It will only make it easier for me to avenge the mighty Grayson and rid the world of your malignant presence."

Her eyebrow arched at the introduction, but she responded with equal coldness, "My, aren't you the pompous one. Full of big talk. How long have you been practicing that little speech? It was pretty good except you forgot to mention your name. Didn't Grayson teach you any manners?" Then she laughed and added maliciously, "What was I thinking? We're talking about Grayson. What would he know about manners."

His eyes hardened even more as he retorted, "I am Martin Kingsley, student of the mighty Grayson, and I will avenge his murder."

She stared back at him defiantly and replied, "Unfortunately, I didn't have the pleasure of killing your 'teacher,' although I wish I had. But if you still want this fight I will gladly send you to join him in hell."

Kingsley's eyes flared with rage and without further preamble he raised his sword and attacked. The sound of metal against metal rent the still night as the combatants continued the ancient battle of the Immortal.

-----

A very angry Methos strode across the nightclub toward the exit. She is absolutely impossible, he thought to himself bitterly. I've had enough of this crap and I'm not putting up with it any more!

His dark thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a familiar voice, "Methos, where are you going?" Duncan MacLeod asked with obvious concern. "Where's Maura?"

Methos' frown deepened and he snapped irritably, "We're in public, McLeod. It's Adam . . . Adam Pearson . . . and don't forget it again. As far as the rest of it, I'm leaving and I don't know or care where her royal highness is. I've had it, MacLeod! I don't know what her problem is and I've tried to be a good sport about her moodiness, but this is the last straw. I'm not going to stand around like an idiot while she hangs all over every guy in the place."

MacLeod followed his distraught friend out the exit but pulled him to the side of the building before he could leave. He couldn't blame Methos for being angry. Maura's behavior tonight had been disgraceful and, as much as he cared for her, he couldn't dismiss it. She wouldn't talk about what was wrong, so he could only guess that Kingsley being in town had opened up old wounds and that she was, subconsciously or not, trying to push away the people he might use to hurt her. Grayson had persecuted her for centuries by attacking those she cared about, so it was a reaction MacLeod could understand. He had lost enough friends, mortal and Immortal alike, to know how deep the hurt could go. Sometimes the only way to protect yourself was to back away for awhile.

But what Maura was doing had gone far beyond that. Right now she reminded him too much of the Maura he had met for the first time after Darius' death, the Maura with sad, dead eyes whose only wish had been to die herself so she didn't have to live with the pain any longer. Looking into his friend's eyes, he knew from the hurt he saw there that Methos understood those things too. But how much could anyone take, no matter how much they loved another person or understood their motives.

Methos stared defiantly at MacLeod, poised for an argument since MacLeod would undoubtedly take her side as he always did. Like an overprotective brother, he always seemed to have an excuse for her. Because of his long friendship with Darius, MacLeod would defend her to the death in any battle, no matter how large or small, and that knowledge added to his own bitterness. So prepared was he for a defense, that MacLeod's next words didn't register right away. "What did you say?" he asked incredulously.

"I said, you're right. She's gone way over the line this time and you have every right to be angry."

Stunned into silence, Methos just stared at MacLeod for a minute before saying, "I never thought I'd hear those words from you."

MacLeod shrugged and acknowledged, "I know I tend to be overprotective of her. She has a way of bringing that out in a person."

Methos smiled ruefully and nodded as MacLeod continued, "But even I'm not ready to give her carte blanche. Let me talk to her before you do anything rash. I know how much she loves you -- and how much she needs you right now -- even if she can't see it."

"It's not salvageable this time MacLeod. We both said some pretty nasty things to each other, and personally I meant every word I said. I think it's best if I go away for a few months. Bora Bora is lovely this time of year and I haven't made it there in awhile."

"Don't you think that's a little extreme," MacLeod said, a small smile playing across his lips. But Methos' answering glare quickly wiped it away.

"No, I think it's the best thing for all of us. I'll see you around, MacLeod. And say goodbye to Joe for me. I don't intend to stick around and listen to a lecture from him." With that he turned and strode angrily down the street.

"Just great," MacLeod muttered angrily to himself.

"What's great? Besides me, of course?" a sultry female voice asked as an arm slipped through his. Startled, MacLeod turned his attention to the source of the interruption – Amanda, his own Immortal lover.

"Methos and Maura had another blow-up and now he's decided to run off to Bora Bora for a few months to lick his wounds."

"Sounds like a great idea to me," Amanda purred. "Maybe I'll see if he wants company."

MacLeod gave her a withering look and had just opened his mouth to respond when Joe Dawson appeared, looking anxiously around. The concern on the man's face swept all thoughts of Amanda's teasing from his mind.

"Mac, where's Maura?" Joe asked, his voice close to panic. "I can't find her anywhere."

"I don't know. She and Methos had another blow-up. He just left, and the last time I saw her about 15 minutes ago, she was heading toward the ladies' room."

"I checked there already; she's not there. We've got to find her right away, Mac." The panic was more pronounced this time.

"Why, what's happened?"

"Martin Kingsley was spotted not far from here less than an hour ago."

MacLeod's handsome face turned dark with a mixture of concern and anger.

"We have to find her, Mac," Joe said miserably. "If she and Methos were fighting she might not be thinking straight. What if he finds her?"

MacLeod felt a stab of sorrow for his mortal friend. Joe had become very attached to Maura and had come to think of her almost like a daughter. Their shared love of music, particularly the blues, had created a strong base for that friendship and the fact that she was 1400 years older than the older looking man or that as a Watcher, whose job it was to chronicle the Immortals' lives, he wasn't supposed to get involved in Immortal battles had been forgotten.

Pushing his own concerns aside MacLeod responded carefully, "All right, let's go. But you have to understand that if the battle has already begun when we get there, we can't interfere."

Warring emotions briefly played across Dawson's face, but finally he nodded his acceptance.

They had barely made it three blocks when the night sky came alive with electrical activity. The sound of lightning striking and the explosion of glass from breaking windows several blocks away forced the Highlander into a run.

Amanda lagged behind to help Joe, who was moving as fast as his prosthetic limbs would carry him. The look of anguish on his face as he struggled along pulled at her heart, but there was nothing that could be done now but find out for sure who had been left standing. She knew that if it was the wrong person, MacLeod would not allow him to remain standing for long.

MacLeod raced down the now silent streets, following the fading flickerings of light from the Quickening. He could hear the sound of his own heartbeat in the stillness and his pace slowed as he neared the alley where the last glimmers of Quickening were slowly dying away. His eyes were drawn to a foot, barely visible in the fading light because it was encased in a black stocking. In his mind's eye he could see the owner of the stocking as she had been earlier that evening -- dancing and drinking and laughing.

His heart hammered in his chest as he cautiously approached the still form. The faint thrum in his head warned that an Immortal still lived in the darkness ahead, and he pulled his sword, ready to face any challenge that might come. Nearer and nearer he came, but the foot still did not move in the eerie silence.

MacLeod felt the familiar ache of loss welling up inside him as his mind tried to accept that she really could be gone. One moment so vital and alive, the next nothing more than an empty shell. And with her would have gone the last of Darius. That thought caused the anger to swell in him and he vowed silently that Martin Kingsley would never be allowed to keep them. Once Maura had come to him asking that he take her head so what was left of them would live in him. He hadn't been able to grant that wish, but now they would come to him, where they belonged, through Kingsley's Quickening.

The sound of struggling footsteps from behind reminded him of Joe and Amanda. Quickly he turned and signaled for them to stop and be quiet. His eyes met Amanda's briefly, willing her to keep their mortal friend from witnessing the tragedy. Sadly, she nodded her head in understanding and gently pulled Dawson to the cover of a nearby building. He tried to protest but the look on her face took the fight out of him.

MacLeod braced himself, then quickly pivoted into the alley, sword at the ready and his usual introduction at his lips. But as his brain processed the scene in front of him the words never came. As hard as he had tried to convince himself not to look at her, that it would be too distracting, his eyes had immediately gone to Maura lying unmoving on the ground. The tiny black dress that showed off her delicate curves to perfection was torn in several places and there was blood everywhere. But the thing that held his attention was her head. It was exactly where it belonged on top of that battered body.

He was finally able to tear his eyes from her and scan the rest of the alley. Kingsley's headless body lay a few feet away, amid a pile of rubbish. MacLeod couldn't help thinking that was just where it belonged, and, allowing the relief to wash over him, he moved quickly toward Maura's still form.

It took only a moment to realize that all the blood surrounding her had come from a nasty gash to the side of her throat that had cut almost all the way through the artery. The blood vessel had already begun to repair itself but it would take a day or more for her to fully recover. Wounds to the neck could cause serious problems for an Immortal since that area was so important to their continued life. He couldn't help thinking briefly of how the Immortal Kalas had lost his glorious singing voice because of damage to his vocal cords from MacLeod's own blade. He hoped this wound wouldn't cause her to lose her beautiful singing voice as well.

The sensation of another Immortal approaching brought him quickly to his feet and his blade stopped halfway to Amanda's throat as she peeked around the corner. Ignoring the blade, she asked urgently, "What's going on MacLeod? I'm having a hard time keeping Joe back. He wants to know what happened and why there haven't been any sounds of a fight."

Relaxing, MacLeod lowered the sword and stooped by the still body again, "Kingsley's dead, but Maura took a bad hit to the neck. It looks like she's lost most of her blood supply so it's going to be a long recovery. We need to get her out of here right away."

Taking in the scene, Amanda whistled in admiration, "It must have been one hell of a fight." The sound of distant sirens caught their attention and Amanda offered to get the car. MacLeod tossed her the keys, as she asked, "Is it all right if Joe comes over. I think he'll go nuts if I keep him away and longer."

"Sure, send him over. He can help me get her ready to move. And hurry up with the car."

"Yes, sir!" she responded smartly, popping him a mock salute before striding away.

By the time she returned two minutes later with a subdued Richie Ryan in tow, the sound of approaching sirens had grown louder. Quickly they loaded Maura in the car as Joe clucked agitatedly at everyone to be careful. There was no time to deal with Kingsley's body; unfortunately, the police would have to be left with another mysterious beheading to agitate over.

-----

Back at MacLeod's apartment several hours later it had become a waiting game. There was still no sign of life from the still body in his bed and he was becoming concerned. The ragged gash on the side of her neck had gone from a fairly steady healing in the first hour, to nothing, and now the wound was developing an unhealthy appearance.

Immortal physiology was a mystery even to those who possessed it. There was no good reason why some Immortals healed faster than others or more completely. Age did not always make the difference. Even those who had taken many heads and therefore contained the power of many Immortals were not always the fastest of healers.

MacLeod was pulled from his troubled thoughts by the ringing of the phone. "Duncan, it's Amanda. I'm at Methos' place and there's no sign of him here. It looks like he left in a hurry though. Should I try the airport?"

MacLeod frowned, "No, Richie went to the airport. Try the train station and the bus station. We need him here now!"

Amanda heard the frustration and concern in her lover's voice. "Why? What's happened?"

Sighing, MacLeod dropped his voice so Joe wouldn't overhear, "The wound on her neck has stopped healing and it's beginning to look infected. I don't understand why and I don't know what to do about it. I've never heard of anything like this before."

"What does Joe say? Is there any record in the Watcher Chronicles of something like this?"

Reluctantly MacLeod admitted, "I haven't asked him yet. I didn't want him to know how concerned I am. They've become close friends over the last few months and Joe's taking this whole thing pretty hard as it is. I don't want to ask him until there's no other choice."

There was a thoughtful silence at the other end. "Why don't you call Ann and see if she has any suggestions. If there really is some kind of infection, it should be treated. Maura's system might be too overworked right now trying to heal so much damage to fight the infection too."

With a sigh of relief MacLeod responded fondly, "You're a genius. Now I know why I keep you around."

Amanda pouted, "Is that really the only reason?"

Laughing, MacLeod responded suggestively, "Well, maybe not the only reason, but certainly one of the best."

"A man who wants me for my brains -- there's a novel concept. We'll have to test it later, now won't we," Amanda purred. "I'll call you back as soon as I find our wayward friend."

"Okay, and Amanda, thanks."

"You're very welcome, I'm sure."

MacLeod smiled to himself as he cleared the line, then dialed Dr. Ann Lindsey's number. Amanda was one of the few people in the world who could make him smile even when a situation seemed grim. It was one of the qualities that always made him take her back into his life no matter how exasperating she could be. Under that veneer of sophistication was a gentle and loving soul. It had taken a lot of time and patience to get close enough to find that soul but it was an investment he was glad he had made. She was also one of the few women he knew who would suggest he call an old girlfriend for help and not be the least bit jealous.

-----

Less than an hour later Ann arrived, with her 2 year old, Mary, in tow. As Joe and Duncan entertained the squirming toddler, Ann examined her patient. Frowning, she turned to the two men, shaking her head, "I'm not sure what to tell you. I don't know enough about Immortal physiology to understand why this is happening, but the wound is definitely infected. I can try cleaning it and treating her with antibiotics, but I can't guarantee anything."

Giving in to his frustration, MacLeod turned to Dawson, "Have you ever heard of anything like this happening, Joe?"

"Not that I can think of. There were rumors that Kalas got very sick after you injured his throat, but none of our people could get close enough to verify that. When he finally reappeared, though, he had that nasty scar on his throat and it was obvious his vocal cords hadn't healed."

MacLeod paced the room in agitation and finally let out an exasperated, "Where the hell is Methos. He might know something useful."

Dawson placed a comforting hand on his friend's arm, "If he isn't gone already, Richie or Amanda will find him. Take it easy Mac. If he realized she was in trouble, he'd be here."

MacLeod couldn't help the traitorous thought, Darius would have known, that passed through his mind. His thoughts were interrupted by a tiny voice saying, "Unkie Dunkie, is Auntie Maura real sick?"

Looking guiltily at the concerned face of the toddler he'd almost forgotten about, he pasted a smile on his face and said in his most comforting voice, "Yes, Auntie Maura is very sick, but your mommy is taking good care of her and she'll be better real soon."

The little girl beamed and said, "Good. I like it when Auntie Maura plays with me. We have lots of fun. And she tells me neat stories."

Giving in to the child's sweet smile, MacLeod smiled back, "Well, how about I tell you a story while mommy takes care of Auntie Maura."

The little girl squealed with delight as MacLeod picked her up and carried her to a chair on the other side of the room. A few minutes later, all that could be heard were the rhythmic Highland tones of the Scotsman followed by giggles from the little girl.

Taking advantage of her daughter's distraction, Ann deftly worked to clean the nasty wound to Maura's throat. She smeared the area liberally with antiobiotic cream. If...when, she mentally corrected herself, the girl returned to life and blood was flowing throughout her body again, she would try injecting a stronger drug, but for now the cream would have to do. It made Ann uneasy to be working so intently on someone who was so clearly already dead. Only the knowledge of what Maura was and the fact that she herself had seen Duncan miraculously come back to life several times kept her from giving it up as a waste of time.

Her efforts were rewarded a few minutes later when she saw tiny flashes of blue fire dance around the wound as the damaged area began to repair itself again. Suddenly there was a gasp from the still body and Maura's eyes flew open. She struggled briefly for air, but her body was still too damaged to sustain her life and her eyes closed again, the gasps fading as she returned to the darkness. Joe Dawson appeared at Ann's side just as the last breath faded asking anxiously, "What happened? Is she all right?"

"She came to for a minute, but she's gone again, Joe. Her body still isn't strong enough to sustain her. The wounds are healing very slowly and her blood supply hasn't recovered enough yet."

"But she did wake up," the older man said hopefully, "that's a good sign, isn't it."

"Yes, I think so," Ann said comfortingly, although she wasn't sure how much it really meant. There were simply too many unknowns in the equation.

-----

Maura fought her way through the darkness and returned to wakefulness with a gasp. It took a few moments for her breathing to return to normal but finally she took notice of her surroundings. Whatever this place was, it was dim and cold. The only sound was the steady drip of water somewhere in the distance. The bare ground beneath her was hard and she pushed herself to a sitting position with effort.

As she struggled to make out images in the gloom, the ground beneath her began to rumble ominously. She screamed as the ground beneath her shifted violently and a large section several feet from her crumbled and fell away. She clung to a nearby outcropping of rock and tried to fight back the panic that was gnawing at her. She struggled to remember how she had gotten here, but the memories wouldn't come. The last thing she could remember clearly was fighting Martin Kingsley in a dark alley. Had he knocked her out and brought her to this awful place as some kind of punishment? Her thoughts were interrupted by another violent rumbling of the ground beneath her and she cried out again as the section of ground beneath her legs fell away into the darkness.

Just then, a familiar voice came from the darkness nearby, "It's all right, Maura. Everything will be fine. Just take my hand."

Maura stared numbly at the outstretched hand, then her eyes moved hesitantly to see the face that went with that familiar sounding voice, the one that sounded so much like . . . .

"Darius," she whispered softly as her eyes met his and without hesitation she took the proffered hand.

-----

"Duncan!"

Ann Lindsey's frightened shout brought Duncan MacLeod fully awake from the light doze that had been his only sleep in almost 36 hours. Four centuries of conditioning had him on his feet even before he was fully awake and he hurried to Ann's side with a groggy, "What . . .What is it? What's happened?"

"We lost her again," Ann said helplessly, "and the infection is returning big time." She looked at MacLeod sadly and said softly, "I don't know what else to do, Duncan. I'm afraid we're going to lose her for good."

MacLeod looked at the still body on the bed that was now surrounded by monitors Ann had gotten delivered by one of her medical supply company connections. The steady dripping of the IV Ann had inserted the last time Maura had come back to life to help restore fluid to her battered body was the only sound in the quiet room. The volume on the monitors had been turned down when she had flatlined . . . again.

MacLeod felt the desperation building in him. They still hadn't been able to find Methos and everyone had run out of ideas. The sound of the front door opening barely pierced his concentration, but the sensation of an approaching Immortal got his attention immediately. Expecting Amanda or Richie, he wasn't prepared to see the familiar form that came through the door.

"Cassandra?" he said, surprise evident in his voice.

The dark haired Immortal sorceress moved past him without responding, as though she were in a trance. She glided over to the side of the bed and looked down at the still form lying there. Her surprise was evident as she whispered, "Maura?" The spell that had held her was broken and she whirled on MacLeod, anger etched into her delicate features. "What's going on, Duncan? What is Maura doing here and what happened to her?"

MacLeod quickly recovered his composure and gave her the short version of the story -- Maura's battle against Martin Kingsley -- feeling instinctively that it was best to leave out the rest now, especially the parts involving Methos. Cassandra and Methos had first met more than three millennia ago, when he had been part of an evil band of Immortals known as the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse and she had been their prisoner. They last time they had met, only a few years ago, Cassandra had tried to kill him. This was the first time she had been back since that time, when the attempted reunion of the evil quartet by their leader, Kronos, had resulted in his death, as well as those of the other two Horsemen, Caspian and Silas, at the hands of MacLeod and Methos. Not knowing if she still held a grudge against Methos, MacLeod didn't want to be the one to break the news to her about his relationship with Maura, who had once been her dearest friend.

Cassandra listened to the story as she sat by the still figure and took her lifeless hand. She closed her eyes and allowed her mind to drift, searching for her long lost friend. Her eyes snapped open suddenly and she looked at MacLeod with alarm, "We have to do something quickly, Duncan. Darius is already with her."

MacLeod looked at her uncomprehendingly and, struggling with the implication of her words, finally said, "She received part of his Quickening when he died. Maybe that's what you're sensing."

"No," Cassandra responded firmly. "It's much more than that. I can't explain how I know it, Duncan, but I do. If we don't do something to intervene, she will go with him."

"Go with him where?" MacLeod asked befuddled. "What are you talking about?"

Her mouth twisted into a tense smile as she responded, "I suppose that depends on your belief system -- heaven, hell, nirvana -- whatever the next plane of existence is."

"But she's Immortal," another voice chimed in. "How can she move on anywhere without being beheaded."

Cassandra turned to the source of the interruption and studied her carefully. The woman was attractive in a girl-next-door sort of way, with soft brown wavy hair that reached just above her shoulders and clear, assessing eyes. More importantly, she was most definitely not Immortal.

Ann tried to hide her annoyance at being first ignored and then studied like a bug under a microscope. As if reading her thoughts, the beautiful brunette with the long silken hair and hypnotic eyes gave an embarrassed smile and said in her melodic voice, "I apologize for my rudeness. All of this has come as a bit of a shock. Ten hours ago I was in Cairo just waking up from a very strange dream and now I'm here. The dream was so vivid, I just had to come. But I had no idea Maura was here. I thought it was . . . someone else."

Just the tone of her voice as she said it made MacLeod realize who she had thought it would be -- Methos. Cassandra sometimes had visions, and they usually came true. If Cassandra had dreamed of him, then Methos must really hold they key to this strange puzzle and MacLeod felt more anxious than ever about finding his missing friend.

"But that's not what you asked, was it," Cassandra continued thoughtfully. "You wanted to know how she could move on without being beheaded." Her brow furrowed in concentration as she struggled for the words that would explain what she felt was happening.

"For an Immortal the area of the neck is like the heart or the brain would be to a mortal. One serious blow to either and a mortal will die. A less severe blow may not kill, but could cause serious damage. With an Immortal, brain and heart will both regenerate. It may take time, but they will become fully functional again. Once the head is severed from the body, though, the healing cannot take place and the energy we contain must burst forth and find a new place to reside -- usually within another Immortal.

"Maura wasn't beheaded, but there is a serious injury to her neck. The energy within her is fighting to heal her battered body, but if for some reason it cannot, it will eventually be forced to leave her and seek shelter elsewhere. Why it is having so much trouble with the healing is our biggest question and the answer may lie within Maura herself."

Ann looked thoughtful for a moment, "Are you suggesting that she wants to die?"

MacLeod registered his shock at the suggestion, but Cassandra just shrugged her shoulders, saying indifferently, "Living over 1500 years can make a person very tired -- of life and of death. People come and go, nations come and go, belief systems come and go and you are still there long after everyone else has returned to dust. In Maura's case, she's suffered many traumatic losses over that time. Is it so surprising that an end to all that pain and grief might be welcome after all she's been through."

"Isn't there anything we can do?" MacLeod asked.

Cassandra looked thoughtful, then responded, "I have an idea that might work but I'm going to need your help."

"Of course," he replied without hesitation.

"It may be dangerous," she warned, "and you're going to have to trust me."

MacLeod stared at her directly and replied, "Whatever has to be done, let's do it."

"Wait a minute," Ann jumped into the conversation, "what exactly are you planning to do and how dangerous is it. Maura's my patient and she's already in pretty bad shape. I'm not going to let you put her in any unnecessary danger."

A look of annoyance crossed the other woman's face and she snapped coldly, "It's not so much dangerous for Maura as it is for us." Turning back to MacLeod, she continued, "Maura and I have similar 'abilities.' During the time we spent together we learned that we could communicate with each other without speaking. It was not something either of us could do as effectively with anyone else, although occasionally she could do it with Darius. But when we were together the ability was much stronger and we could sometimes link with other people.

"I want to try and make that kind of connection between the three of us. If we can reach her, we might be able to make her see what she's doing and hopefully we can convince her to fight for her life. The danger, though, is that if she gives up and her energy attempts to burst forth while we're still connected to her, it might pull ours along with it."

MacLeod digested the information with a solemn look on his face and, unable to contain herself, Ann broke in again, "What does that mean? What will happen to you?"

"It's impossible to tell exactly," Cassandra replied tersely, "We might just slump over and die or there might be one hell of a Quickening. I'm just guessing at this point, since as far as I know nothing like this has ever happened before. I could be totally wrong, but what I said 'feels' right to me. I can't explain it any better than that."

"Well, if we're going to do this, we better get to it," MacLeod broke in, "I don't think we have much time left. What do you want me to do."

"Pull up a chair next to me. Now, take my hand and Maura's, close your eyes and let your mind wander freely. Once I make the connection, I'll try to draw you in."

MacLeod obeyed silently, although allowing his mind to wander freely was difficult with so much going on that he wanted to focus on. A minute later he felt a strange churning in the pit of his stomach and his eyes snapped open automatically. He was surprised to find himself in a dark, cavernous place, and he looked around in confusion. He could hear a voice calling frantically in the distance, "Darius, where are you? I can't find you. Please tell me where you are."

The voice sounded like Maura's but it had a strange quality to it that MacLeod couldn't place -- there was fear in it, but also something more. He opened his mouth to call to her when a hand squeezed his gently and a soft voice beside him said, "No. You mustn't startle her. Wait for her to come to us."

"How do you know she will?" MacLeod asked, concern evident on his face.

"She'll be drawn to our energy," Cassandra responded as if it should have been evident. At his confused look she just smiled grimly, "It's one of those things you're going to have to trust me on."

After a few minutes, the voice came closer. When MacLeod finally caught a glimpse of the approaching woman, he was left speechless. She was dressed in warrior garb that appeared to be from the 4th or 5th century and had a large sword hanging at her side. Her long golden brown hair cascaded past her shoulders in waves that reached almost to her waist and she strode toward them with the unconscious arrogance that only an Immortal confident in her abilities could muster.

When she had moved close enough, Cassandra stepped forward and reached out a hand to the young woman, calling gently, "Maura, over here."

The woman turned toward the sound of the voice as her hand automatically went to the sword at her side. When she recognized Cassandra, a look of surprise and relief swept across her face and her hand dropped instantly from the hilt of the sword.

"Oh, Cassie, is it really you? I'm so glad you're here. I know you'll be able to help me find him," she said looking around distractedly. Her eyes touched upon MacLeod and they narrowed suspiciously as she drew back and reached again for her sword. "Who are you? What are you doing here?" she asked angrily. "Are you the one who has taken Darius? Where is he? What have you done with him?" Her voice grew more anxious with each question as she moved toward him warily, holding the sword tightly in her grip.

"Maura, it's me . . . ," he started to say, before Cassandra cut him off.

"It's all right, Maura. He's here with me and we've both come to help you."

She continued to look at MacLeod with suspicion, "The only help I need is in finding Darius. I have to be with him now."

"Maura," Cassandra said gently, "you know Darius isn't here and you know why he's not here."

The woman flinched as if she had been struck and snapped back angrily, "He is here. I can feel him. He was gone so long this time that I really started to believe he might be dead, but I can feel him again and I have to get to him before it's too late."

"Too late for what?" Cassandra asked in her gentle, reassuring voice.

"Too late for me to go with him this time," the woman responded absently, her eyes growing distant as if she were listening to something they couldn't hear.

MacLeod felt a stab of fear at her words and before Cassandra had a chance to stop him, he blurted out, "No, Maura. Darius is dead. The only way you can go with him is if you die too."

The woman's eyes snapped back to the present and filled with rage as she raised her sword, "You dare try to keep me from my husband," she snapped. "I knew you were an enemy from the moment I laid eyes on you. I can feel the evil in you. Like the other one. What are you doing with a man such as this Cassandra?"

Cassandra glared MacLeod into silence before responding, "Duncan's a good man and we really are trying to help you, Maura. We love you and don't want you to leave us."

The woman looked at her sadly, answering softly, "I must go. I cannot live without him."

"Yes, you can," MacLeod broke in again. "I know it's hard, but you can and you have. You've made a good life for yourself with your music and your teaching. What will happen to your kids if you let yourself die?"

The woman looked at him, anger mixed with confusion on her face, as she turned to Cassandra. "Is he daft or addled in the brains? What is he talking about -- music and children and teaching. I am Maura, wife of the mighty Darius, and I fight by my husband's side. One day he will rule the world and, if it is his pleasure, I will rule by his side. I sing or play music sometimes if it pleases him and I sometimes play with the children in the villages we pass through, but I am no musician or teacher. And you know I can never have children."

"Duncan, be quiet!" Cassandra snapped. "You don't know what you're doing, and you're only making things worse. Let me handle this."

MacLeod subsided into a worried silence. This entire situation was so strange, he didn't know what he was supposed to say or do to make things better.

Without warning the ground beneath them began to shake violently and MacLeod was thrown off his feet. When the shaking finally stopped, he pulled himself to his feet and searched for Cassandra through the cloud of dust that had formed. A woman's voice cut through the fog just ahead and her words made his blood run cold again.

"You should leave now, Cassie, and take that man with you. There isn't much time before all of this collapses. I can find Darius by myself. His presence is much stronger now."

MacLeod plunged frantically toward the voice yelling, "No, Maura, don't go. It was hard enough to lose Darius, I don't want to lose you, too."

He was rewarded for his concern with a sword blade at his throat, "Leave here now before I lose my temper," she said to him between clenched teeth. "The only reason you are still alive is because Cassandra says you are her friend; but if you say one more word about Darius being dead, I will take your head without giving it a second thought. Do you understand me!"

Shocked into silence, MacLeod could only nod.

The sword was removed from his neck as quickly as it had appeared and the woman turned and strode away without a backwards glance.

"Well, that went really well," Cassandra said sarcastically. "Why couldn't you just keep quiet like I told you to?"

MacLeod shot back angrily, "I was only trying to help. What was all of that about anyway? Why didn't she recognize me? And what was all that 'Maura, wife of Darius' crap."

Cassandra stared pensively after the retreating figure and sighed heavily, "We're in really big trouble here, Duncan, and I'm not sure what to do next. But we do have to do as she said and leave now. There are some things we need to talk about without her overhearing us." She took his hands in her own. "Now close your eyes and let your mind drift again."

He almost laughed out loud at that, but managed to obey. When he felt the familiar lurch in his stomach, he opened his eyes to find himself back in his bedroom. He blinked against the bright light after the dimness of the cavern and when his vision finally cleared he was looking directly into the concerned gaze of Ann Lindsey.

"How is she?" he asked anxiously.

She shrugged her shoulders and answered noncommittally, "She's stable for the moment and that's the best I can give you. All of her vitals are still way too low, but she hasn't crashed in over three hours, so I guess that's a good sign. "There was a point when you two were doing whatever it was that you were doing that her heart rate surged, but it went back down again almost immediately."

MacLeod looked at Cassandra questioningly, "The 'earthquake.'"

She nodded in agreement.

"What earthquake?" Ann asked, a touch of irritation edging the words.

"It's difficult to explain and we don't have time right now anyway," Cassandra responded abruptly. "We need to figure out what to do next. But," she added, glancing at the still figure on the bed, "we can't talk here. Come with me."

MacLeod gave Ann a look of silent apology, "Will you be all right alone here for a few minutes."

"I'll be fine, she responded curtly. "Joe took Mary to the sitter, then was going to stop at Maura's place to pick up some of her things before picking up dinner. He should be back in a few minutes."

MacLeod followed Cassandra into the living room. She paced like a caged tiger for a few minutes, trying to gather her thoughts. Finally MacLeod broke the tense silence by asking, "What was going on in there? It's like she'd never seen me before and had no idea who I was."

"She hadn't and she didn't," was the curt response.

"What. . .?"

"I told you we're in big trouble, Duncan. Maura -- our Maura -- is not in control of what's going on now. Another aspect of her personality has taken over -- one that she left behind a long time ago, long before she ever met you. And that part of her wants to die. If we can't find the real Maura and get her to take back control, it is very possible she will die. The biggest problem is that the Maura we just met doesn't want us to succeed. In fact, she's probably going to do everything she can to stop us."

MacLeod digested the information thoughtfully. "Why did she recognize you?"

Cassandra frowned and replied thoughtfully, "She appears to be from the period after I was with their army but before Paris. Something happened during that time, something so traumatic that it caused Maura to shut this part of herself away. Most people do that to some extent or another -- suppressing emotions or desires that they feel uncomfortable with or that cause them pain. In extreme cases it can cause multiple personality disorders, but that's not what we're dealing with here.

"The walls that Maura built around these emotions and events are collapsing. She needs to deal with what's hiding behind them, including the aspect of her personality we met. But we need someone she cares about and trusts to make it through the obstacles the other will put in front of us. I'm sorry to tell you this, but that person obviously isn't you."

"I figured that out already," MacLeod said with a sheepish grin. "We're very good friends, but nothing more." The grin turned to a frown as he realized the turn this conversation was going to have to take and he hoped silently that Cassandra could deal rationally with what would come next.

She was watching him closely and her eyes narrowed with suspicion as she saw the emotions play across his troubled features. "Is there something I should know?" she asked suspiciously. "Is there someone else?"

MacLeod met her steady gaze and nodded somberly.

"Who?" she asked, her heart filling with dread.

"Methos," he responded, his gaze not wavering from hers.

She couldn't hold back the expletive that burst from her lips and she quickly began pacing again, clenching and unclenching her hands as she moved.

MacLeod could feel her desire to strike out at something, but he remained silent.

Finally, her pacing stopped and with obvious effort she pulled herself together, asking in a strained voice, "Where is he?"

MacLeod winced, knowing what the reaction would be to his next words. "We don't know. They had an argument earlier and he disappeared."

"There's a surprise," Cassandra snapped irritably.

"If he realized she were in trouble, he'd come back," MacLeod responded defensively.

"Hmpf," was her only response.

"Is there anything we can do until he turns up?" MacLeod asked anxiously.

"Wait," she replied stonily.

-----

They were picking at the Chinese food Joe had brought when the sound of the front door being opened, then the sensation of several Immortals alerted them to new arrivals. Seeing Cassandra and MacLeod respond to the unseen presences, Joe said, "It might just be Richie and Amanda."

"No," Cassandra responded darkly, "He is here. I can feel him."

Methos was the first one through the door, anxiety replacing his usual sardonic expression, but he stopped short when he saw Cassandra. "What's she doing here?" he asked defensively. "Is this some kind of trick?"

Richie and Amanda had finally found him wandering aimlessly by the river where he and Maura had walked the first night she had reentered his life. Like a hundred years earlier when they had first met, he had been unable to abandon her when he knew she was in trouble, although the thought had been very tempting. This time he had made it to the airport, but had not even made it to the ticket line before he'd changed his mind and headed for the river to walk and think.

There had been enough anger left that when they found him he had resisted coming at first, but the real fear in Richie's eyes had convinced him this was no trick. Now, facing Cassandra, his natural instincts were yelling, Get out of here, now!, but he held his position and waited for an answer to his question.

"Some things never change," Cassandra snapped, tossing MacLeod an 'I told you so' look. "Still thinking of yourself first. Do you even care if she's alive or dead?"

Stung he responded testily, "She's obviously not dead or in mortal danger at the moment, otherwise you wouldn't be sitting around eating this . . . 'stuff.'" He wrinkled his nose as he picked up one of the cardboard containers to examine the contents. Deciding it didn't look half bad considering he hadn't eaten in over 24 hours, he grabbed a pair of chopsticks and started eating.

Methos cast a concerned look through the bedroom door as he ate, noting the regular rhythms on the monitors and the steady dripping sound of the IV. "Rich, get me a beer will you," he said offhandedly to the perplexed looking young man, then turned his attention to a very annoyed MacLeod. "Now, what's the situation."

MacLeod opened his mouth to answer, but Cassandra cut him off with a bitter, "The situation is that Maura is dying and, God help us, if MacLeod is right about your relationship with her, you are probably the only one who can save her -- if you're even willing to try."

"Why wouldn't I," he responded irritably.

"Because it's dangerous," she snapped. "If you don't succeed you will most likely die with her."

That got his attention and he looked directly at her. "What has to be done, and how is it dangerous."

"She's fighting an internal battle. Part of her wants to live but another part wants to die. The part that wants to die is in control now and is working to isolate the part that wants to live from anyone that can help her. Duncan and I tried to reach her once, but we failed and were forced to retreat."

"How."

At her confused look he clarified, "How did she force you to retreat."

She just stared at him for a moment, a spark of respect that he had caught the gist of the problem passing across her features. "She had her sword at Duncan's throat and threatened to kill him. Even though there wasn't a physical sword, the telepathic link between us was so strong that if she had actually struck him, I don't know what would have happened. He might have been physically injured, or, at the very least, she might have been able to sever the telepathic link in a way that would have harmed us and possibly prevented me from re-establishing it. It seemed prudent to retreat and regroup."

MacLeod broke in, "The part of her we met didn't even recognize me. She was dressed in warrior clothing and had a strange accent." He paused for a moment, lost in thought, then added, "She was looking for Darius."

If he hadn't been watching closely he might have missed the look of annoyance that flickered across Methos' face at the mention of Darius. "Why does that upset you so much," Methos asked irritably, "It's not like she's ever going to find him."

MacLeod looked uncomfortably at his feet as Cassandra answered, "She might. After all, part of him is there. And if she finds him before we can find our Maura and convince her to fight for her life, I don't know what will happen. I think she could die and take us along with her."

Methos looked at them, genuine anger and a touch of concern in his eyes. "You've all gone completely insane. Darius is dead. He doesn't exist anymore except in our collective memories. Maura was badly injured and just needs time to heal properly. She's been through a rough time lately, especially with Kingsley showing up so unexpectedly. She just needs to be left alone."

Frustrated, MacLeod grabbed Methos by the upper arm and pulled him over to the bed. Methos stared down at the still figure lying there. Her skin was so pale it was almost white, making the jagged wound stand out even more in contrast. Pus was oozing from it and the edges had begun to turn an unhealthy looking gray.

"Does this look like she's all right to you. This has been coming and going for hours now and the periods between are getting shorter. Ann has managed to stabilize her body for the time being -- before she was coming back to life, then dying again in such rapid intervals we had to turn the monitors off because having the alarms go off constantly was driving us crazy.

"Ann's tried giving her antibiotics to little effect. They seem to work for awhile but this eventually comes back. We're running out of options and we're running out of time. I was in there with Cassandra and it's just as she explained it. The other Maura wants to be with Darius, nothing else matters to her -- not even the fact that it means her death."

Methos was silent for a long time, just staring pensively at the woman he loved. Being there surrounded by the monitors and looking at her pale features brought nightmarish memories of another love, a mortal named Alexa, whom he'd only had in his life for a few months. The agony of having to watch her die and being helpless to stop it sliced through his heart again as if it were just happening, and he knew he didn't want to live through another loss like that. With a resigned sigh, he asked, "What do you want me to do?"

-----

As they settled into the chairs she and MacLeod had used earlier, Cassandra directed Methos to take one of Maura's hands, while she took the other. But when he reached for her free hand to complete the circle, she flinched away from him in­volun­tarily. He glared at her, and with obvious effort she reached out and took his hand, feeling disconcerted and out of sorts from the entire situation. The shock at seeing Maura when she had been so convinced that Methos would be the one lying there had upset her greatly. And she was still trying to deal with her conflicting feelings on finding out that Maura, who had been one of her dearest friends and was one of the very few people who knew about her past with Methos and what he had done to her so long ago, was now involved with him.

It had taken all of her self control to explain the situation to him instead of reaching for her sword to take his miserable neck. And now she'd had to break the vow she had made to herself that he would never touch her again. The question of how Maura could be with him kept pushing itself to the surface, but she forced it back and concentrated on the task at hand.

"Close your eyes and clear your mind of all thoughts," she said to Methos curtly.

He couldn't help the You've got to be kidding! that passed briefly through his mind at the order, but he closed his eyes and attempted to block out the distractions of their audience and the sounds of the monitors and other medical equipment around them. The sensation of the bottom dropping out of his stomach caused him to open his eyes again. He saw Cassandra beside him but was surprised to realize they were no longer in MacLeod's bedroom but in a dark cavern. The steady drip of water in the distance was the only counterpoint to the eerie silence.

Realizing he was still holding her hand, Cassandra pulled away in distaste and began looking around the dark chamber. He was about to make a cutting remark when the silence was broken by the sound of shouting and crying. All thoughts of Cassandra fled his mind as he strode forward to investigate. The combatants were a young woman in warrior garb similar to what MacLeod and Cassandra had described, and a little girl who looked to be no more than 6 years old. They were screaming at each other so shrilly he could barely make out the words.

"You're so mean! You never listen to me!" the little girl screamed petulantly, tears streaming down her cheeks.

"That's because you never have anything worthwhile to say," the other yelled back. "It's always the same story with you and I'm tired of hearing it. Now get away and leave me alone. I have important things to do right now and I don't need you getting in the way."

"Important things like killing us," the little girl responded angrily.

"I'm going to find Darius, the woman responded, stepping away dismissively. "Whatever happens after that is in the hands of the gods." Then she turned and strode away.

The little girl watched her go as fresh tears formed in her eyes, and she sank down on the ground and began to cry with the deep heart-wrenching sobs of pain and misery only a child can muster. Even Methos, who'd had three millennia of practice, was not immune to such despair. Walking over to her nonchalantly so as not to frighten her, he sat down beside her and asked gently, "Are you all right? Why are you crying?"

She looked up at him, huge green eyes glistening with tears and a perplexed expression on her face. "What?" she asked uncomprehendingly.

"I asked why you're crying," he responded, trying not to react to how familiar those eyes were.

She looked at him intently again as if trying to decide if he was serious, then replied, "She's always mean to me and she never listens to me. I'm so lonely. I hate it here!" she wailed and burst into a fresh round of sobbing.

Unused to dealing with children, especially crying ones, he sat awkwardly beside her for a few minutes doing nothing. Then he tentatively placed a comforting hand on her shoulder and said soothingly, "It's all right. You're not alone any more."

She looked at him intently again, and wiping the tears from her eyes, asked, "Who are you and why are you here?"

"My name is Adam," he responded matter of factly, "and I'm here to help a friend of mine."

"Who," the girl asked puzzled, "she and I are the only ones here and she's off chasing after him again." The bitterness in her voice was obvious, but Methos was still startled when she added, "Why can't she just accept that he's dead?"

He looked at her assessingly for a moment before asking, "How do you know he's dead, when she doesn't?"

"She knows. She just won't accept it," the child responded. "She keeps saying she can feel him, but it's just wishful thinking."

"How can you be so sure?"

Surprised by the question, she looked intently into his eyes as she said, "Because he's dead. People don't come back from the dead."

He couldn't help smiling at that and responded teasingly, "Really? I come back from the dead all the time."

She frowned at him, annoyed, "I mean really dead -- when your head gets chopped off. Not even an Immortal can come back from that."

"So you know about Immortals, do you." At her answering nod, he asked with a hint of amusement, "Well, then, don't you believe in ghosts."

She gave him a stern look that foreshadowed the teacher she would become, "Of course not. Ghosts are just fantasies made up by grieving people to comfort themselves. Dead is dead. There isn't anything more."

"Well, I certainly hope you're wrong about that. I like to think there's something more at the end of this journey than nothingness."

She looked away without responding.

"Why do you want him to be dead so badly," Methos asked in a purely conversational tone.

Startled by the direct question, the girl looked at him warily again and said venomously, "Because I hate him. All of this is his fault."

"I told you to stop saying that," an angry voice broke in from behind them. "What do you think would have happened if someone else found me. Do you really think I'd still be alive now?"

"You call this alive?" the girl responded bitterly.

Ignoring the comment, it was the warrior Maura's turn to stare assessingly at Methos, "Who are you and what are you doing here?"

"Hi, I'm Adam and I heard from a friend that this was an interesting place to visit, so I thought I'd give it a try," he responded glibly.

"A comedian," she said coldly, sarcasm dripping from the word, "just what we need. Did Cassandra bring you here to 'help' me like she did that other one. I see he was smart enough not to come back."

Before he could respond a familiar voice came from behind him, "Yes, we're here to help you, Maura. Please let us."

"I already told you Cassie, I don't need your help, so feel free to leave now."

"I don't think so," Methos slid smoothly back into the conversation. "She may be here to help you, but I'm not."

"What," said three surprised voices in unison.

"It's obvious you don't want to be helped, so I'm not going to waste my time. This little lady, on the other hand, seems to enjoy my company, so I think I'll stay here with her for awhile."

Surprised and obviously delighted, the child smiled up at him asking shyly, "Do you really mean it? You'll stay with me?"

"For now," he answered noncommittally. "Maybe you can help me find what I'm looking for. It'll be an adventure."

The little girl's eyes lit up at the possibility and she shyly reached out and took his hand.

"I don't think so," the older Maura said coldly, raising her sword. "I think it's time for both of you to leave."

"No!" the child screamed, moving in front of Methos protectively. "You can't make them go. I won't let you!"

The ground under them began to tremble violently again. The warrior Maura uttered a curse and lowered her sword, gazing worriedly around her. "I don't have time for this nonsense. Waste your time if you wish, but I have more important things to do." Then she turned on her heel and stalked off again.

"Very impressive," Methos said to the little girl. "I think I'd better stick with you."

She giggled nervously, "What do you mean. I didn't do anything."

Methos smiled conspiratorially, "Of course not."

Cassandra broke in then, "She was right about us wasting time. We need to get on with this. The tremors are getting stronger each time they come. I don't think we have much time left. What should we do?"

Methos looked at the child, who was frowning in annoyance at the interruption, and said to her, "There's someone else hiding here and we need to find her. Can you think of any hiding places where she might be?"

Pleased to have returned to the center of attention, the girl brightened, then looked thoughtful. "There are some caves down that way. It's pretty far but there are lots of neat places to hide. I go there sometimes when she's really mad at me," she added nodding in the direction the other Maura had gone.

"Well, then, since you're the expert you must lead the way," Methos said gallantly.

Giggling again, the girl pulled him toward a tunnel entrance on the far side of the cavern.

-----

Maura sat and stared at the man who had rescued her, willing her mind to accept that she was really looking at Darius. She shivered involuntarily against the cold and he immediately removed his heavy cloak and wrapped it around her trembling shoulders. She clung to it like a lifeline and tried to fight back the sense of familiarity and the longing that followed when his hand brushed lightly against her cheek as he stepped back.

She opened her mouth to speak, but no words would come out, so she closed it again.

Yes, it really is me. You're not dreaming, a voice inside her head responded to the unasked question.

"How?" she asked out loud, needing the reassurance of the spoken word to believe this was real.

"That doesn't really matter," he answered reassuringly. "You needed me so I am here. That's all that matters right now."

Her mind finally pulled itself out of the morass it had been lodged in and the obvious answer came to her, "Am I dying?"

He frowned for a moment, then said carefully, "That is your choice. At least for right now."

"What do you mean it's my choice? Why would I choose to die?"

He gazed at her intently and responded gently, "That is a very good question and perhaps one you should be asking yourself."

She looked at him in confusion and wrapped the cloak tighter around herself, fighting the cold and the exhaustion that seemed to have seeped into her very bones.

His face softened and he said gently, "Don't worry. I will stay with you until this is over. Sleep now. We can talk more when you wake up."

Not believing sleep was possible, she nevertheless obeyed him and closed her eyes. Almost immediately she slipped back into the comforting embrace of sleep.

-----

When they entered the tunnel entrance, the view ahead of them shifted to a bright corridor lined with doors on both sides. Intrigued, Methos exchanged questioning glances with Cassandra then, indicating the first door on the right, he casually asked the little girl, "What's in there?"

"Oh, you don't want to go in there," she said evenly although he caught the momentary flash of fear in her eyes. "It's not very interesting."

"Where's your explorer's spirit," he chided gently. "I thought you wanted to have an adventure."

The girl frowned for a moment, then cocked her head to the side as if listening to something they couldn't hear. Finally she smiled brightly and said, "Okay. Maybe it'll be better since you're here."

His interest having been piqued by her choice of words, Methos went to the door and opened it. With an exaggerated bow, he said gallantly, "After you, my lady."

The girl giggled nervously as she walked over. She hesitated for a moment at the door then reached tentatively for his hand. "Maybe we should go together. This place can be scary."

He smiled indulgently at her and gave her his hand as he glanced over his shoulder at Cassandra. There was no mistaking the anger and disbelief on her face and the expression that clearly asked 'What the hell do you think you're doing!' Ignoring her obvious displeasure, he indicated she should follow, then walked through the door.

Where only a moment before there had been silence, the air was suddenly filled with the sound of tense, frightened voices and all around them people were rushing back and forth frantically, obviously trying to prepare for some calamity.

"Where are we? What's happening?" he asked the child by his side and was concerned at the look of barely concealed terror on her face.

She clutched his hand in a death grip and replied softly, "He's coming -- with his army. And the men have decided not to surrender. They think they can beat him. How can they be so stupid?" she asked him in a trembling voice. "They're going to get everybody killed."

"Some people would rather die than live as slaves," Methos responded absently, remembering a time long ago when he had known how that felt. "Besides, the men would probably all be killed anyway. That's the way it happens in war."

The girl didn't respond, but her eyes were filled with tears as she led them through the village.

"Where are we going?" Cassandra finally asked.

"This is what you want to see," the girl responded enigmatically and pointed to a small dwelling.

The sounds of battle erupted around them and they watched in silence as Darius' barbarian army swept through the village, destroying everyone and everything in its path. As two of the horde moved toward the cottage in front of them, an older woman ran out screaming and started beating at one of them with her small fists. The man struck her, knocking her to the ground, then raised his sword for the final strike. Just as suddenly a young woman erupted from the dwelling and plunged a large knife into the man's back. When he screamed in agony, his comrade rushed over and struck the girl with his sword.

Methos watched her slump to the ground and struggled against the irrational desire to run over and stop what he knew would happen next. The little girl beside him whimpered frightenedly and clung tighter to his hand as another man entered the scene -- Methos recognized him immediately as Grayson, Darius' second-in-command.

Methos watched impassively as Grayson killed the others, including his own men, then carried the young woman's body away. He started to follow, but the little girl clinging to his hand resisted. "No, they're bad! I don't want to go there. Please don't make me."

"It's okay," he said impatiently, anxious not to lose his quarry. "I'll be there with you and I won't let anyone hurt you."

She shook her head stubbornly.

"Okay," he said with obvious annoyance. "Then you stay here with Cassandra and I'll be right back."

"No!" she snapped, clearly upset at the suggestion. "She doesn't like me. I want you to stay."

He gave her a severe look as he said, "This is very important, so stop your nonsense. Either come with me or stay here with Cassandra, but I'm going."

She sat down in the road and started to cry, but Methos quickly turned in the direction Grayson had disappeared and, motioning an obviously unhappy Cassandra to stay with the child, he followed after the retreating figure.

-----

Methos returned the way he had come in a thoughtful silence. It had been harder than he had expected to watch as Maura opened her eyes and looked into Darius', to see so clearly the 'connection' that had existed from the moment the two had lain eyes on each other. And it made him wonder again what she had ever seen in him, what he could possibly offer after what she and Darius had shared.

Cassandra glared angrily at him as he neared and snapped, "It's about time. I'm not your personal babysitter and I don't appreciate being left behind to nursemaid your little friend here. Now, what happened?"

Methos noticed out of the corner of his eye that the little girl glared at her as she spoke, then muttered something under her breath. He went over and sat down beside the child, a thoughtful look on his face.

She moved away from him defiantly, wrapping her small arms tighter around her knees and putting on her best pout. But Methos didn't even acknowledge her discomfiture. He sat silently, looking thoughtfully into the distance, a troubled frown furrowing his brow.

Cassandra stood where she had been, arms across her chest, glaring at him, her dark eyes flashing with barely contained fury. "Are you going to answer me, or do you intend to ignore me like you always used to do when you were angry."

The jab regarding their mutual past finally registered and he looked at her as if just realizing she had spoken to him. When her question finally penetrated, he shrugged and said offhandedly, "You and Maura were friends. I'm sure you know the story already. Grayson took her back to the camp and brought her to Darius. She woke up, they looked into each other's eyes and all that was missing was the sappy violin music."

Cassandra looked at him curiously. In spite of the glib words there was something "off" in his manner, as though what he had seen had affected him more deeply than he wanted to admit.

Another pair of eyes looked at him with concern and a small hand suddenly reached out and touched his tentatively. "Are you all right?" the little girl asked gently, her earlier pique forgotten. "You look ... funny," she said, struggling for the right word.

He smiled reassuringly at her and responded, "I'm fine. Everyone says I look funny, though -- it's the nose, and the ears," he teased, cupping his hands behind the offending ears and attempting to wiggle his nose. The silly display was rewarded with delighted laughter from the child.

"If you're done with playtime," Cassandra said trying to hide her own smile at the silly sight, "we should get moving. I'm not sure how much time we have left."

Methos saw a look of annoyance pass over the little girl's face again at her words, but he pretended not to notice as he got up and took the small hand that was offered.

"You're right. It's time to move on. There were a lot more doors in that hallway."

Cassandra looked at him in shocked surprise, the lighthearted­ness of a moment before totally forgotten. "What are you talking about? We don't have time for sightseeing. We need to find Maura before it's too late."

"How do you know she's not behind one of those doors?" he responded patiently.

"I . . . I just do," she stammered, taken aback by the question.

"Better safe than sorry," he responded. "Now all we have to do is find the door. You wouldn't happen to . . . ," he started to say as he looked down at the little girl.

Smiling, she pointed a short distance ahead and there was the exit, although he knew it hadn't been there an instant before. He noted Cassandra's worried frown as the same thought crossed her mind.

As they stepped into the main hallway, they were confronted by a snide voice, "Enjoying your visit?" Leaning against the wall slightly down the hallway on the left was the woman Methos had begun thinking irreverently of as "Maura, Warrior Princess."

He heard a tiny giggle and the child beside him gave him a conspiratorial smile, as if she had heard the thought. Troubled by that possibility he nonetheless gave the older Maura his most charming smile and replied, "Absolutely. It would make a great theme park. Much more entertaining than Disneyworld."

A perplexed look crossed the woman's face at the strange reference then she shook her head in annoyance and said mockingly, "Still the comedian, I see. Well, I wonder how funny you're going to think this is."

Before they could even think of reacting, her sword was in her hand and she plunged it into the ground at her feet. Instantly the earth under them began shaking violently. The little girl screamed and clung to Methos, a look of terror on her face.

"Stop it!," she screamed. "I won't let you send him away!"

"Maura, please stop," Cassandra pleaded as she struggled to keep her balance on the uneven ground.

The woman's furious eyes turned on Cassandra and she said venomously, "You . . . I thought you were my friend, but you have betrayed me. Well, this is what happens to traitors!"

She thrust her sword into the shaking ground again and a chasm instantly opened. Within seconds it had reached Cassandra, who, with a terrified scream, fell into the blackness.

A self-satisfied smile crossed the woman's face, "There, one meddler is taken care of. Now, let's see about the rest."

Her eyes were cold as they moved to the man who was kneeling by the side of the chasm, having instinctively rushed forward to try and catch the falling woman, then to the child who had rushed up behind him. She lifted the sword and quickly smashed it into the ground again.

Methos realized a second too late that he was too close to the edge. As the ground beneath him began to pitch he threw himself sideways trying to roll away from the gaping blackness. A small hand grabbed his, the grip strong and sure for one so small.

"No!" little Maura said with fury. "I won't let you send him away!" With a violent jerk, she pulled him away from the quickly expanding crack. She grabbed a small rock with her other hand and threw it in the woman's direction. When it hit the ground in front of her, the entire area began to splinter and crack. Unbalanced, she stumbled backward, almost dropping the sword. As the tremors died away, she glared at the child and opened her mouth to speak. But then both of them stopped and seemed to be listening to something Methos couldn't hear.

An evil smile crossed the woman's face and, sheathing the sword, she said lightly, "It looks like I won't have to waste my time with you any more. It's almost time."

As she turned and started walking away, Methos asked with concern, "Time for what?"

She turned back with a contented smile and said wistfully, "Time for me to go with my husband, where I belong. He is near. I can feel his presence strongly now."

Then she hurried off into the darkness at the other end of the tunnel.

Methos' attention was diverted by the sound of sniffling and he looked with concern at his small companion. "Are you hurt?" he asked solicitously.

She looked at him with eyes full of gratitude and responded, "Oh, I'm fine. She can't really hurt me, although that doesn't stop her from trying. Are you all right."

He made a show of checking his arms and legs then counting to make sure all his fingers were still there before saying solemnly, but with a twinkle in his eye, "It looks like I'm all here," eliciting a laugh from the child. "Thank you," he added solemnly. She smiled shyly and replied, "You're welcome."

He looked around quickly searching for some sign of Cassandra and felt his first pang of uneasiness when she was nowhere to be found. Trying to hide his concern, he asked lightly, "What happened to Cassandra? Where is she?"

The child stiffened and answered evasively, "She's okay. She just sent her away."

"Away where?"

The child squirmed uncomfortably under his steady gaze. "Back where she came from." Turning her plaintive gaze to him, she pleaded, "It's okay. Really it is. We don't need her anyway. All she does is complain and argue with you. We can still have an adventure -- just the two of us. Can't we?"

Those wide green eyes beseeched him and, relenting, he smiled and said, "Well, as long as you're sure she's okay, I guess it's all right." His face turned stern and he added, "But I'll be very upset if anything happens to her. She's a . . . ." He couldn't bring himself to complete the sentence with 'friend', so he changed tacks and continued, "She was only trying to help. She doesn't deserve to be harmed."

The child looked at him through those assessing eyes and said solemnly, "Nothing bad will happen to her. I promise."

Satisfied, Methos took her hand and said gallantly, "Where to next, my lady."

Giggling she led him to the door directly opposite and they disappeared inside.

-----

Cassandra screamed as the ground opened up and she fell into the blackness. The feeling of falling was so real that the terror blocked out rational thought. The downward plunge ended suddenly when someone grabbed her and she clung to the arms that held her as if she would never let go.

When the terror had finally passed enough that her rapidly beating heart had almost returned to a normal rhythm, she slowly opened her eyes and was almost blinded by the bright light. It took a few moments for her vision to clear and when it did, she was looking into the concerned face of Duncan MacLeod, who had her cradled in his arms. The others were huddled around him, looking on in obvious concern.

Seeing the familiar faces helped to push away the remains of her fear and the trembling that had wracked her body passed with it. As they died away, memory returned and she looked anxiously toward the figure on the bed. Maura's body lay unmoving, as it had been when they had entered their trance. Methos' body was slumped over the bed, both his hands clinging tightly to Maura's.

"When you screamed and fell out of the chair, he grabbed for her hands and hasn't let go since," MacLeod explained gently. "We didn't think we should try and move him until we knew what happened.

She nodded wearily, "You mustn't touch either of them. Now that I've been pushed out, its best that he keep direct contact with her. I don't know what will happen if you try to separate them. He may be pulled out or he may be stuck in there with her. I just don't know."

She pushed a stray piece of ebony hair back from her face as she tried to gain control of her tumultuous emotions. She had seen Methos lunge forward to grab her as she fell. Their fingertips had touched for an instant but it had been too late. He had almost fallen after her, but the child had grabbed him and pulled him back.

Looking at the two still figures across the room with their hands clasped tightly together, she shivered involuntarily. She knew she had to try to go back eventually, but she was afraid and knew she would have to rest and recover her wits first.

MacLeod's voice broke her train of thought, "Joe found something at her apartment that I think you need to see. I'm not sure what it means but it might make some sense to you." He handed her a small newspaper clipping dated several weeks before with the headline "European Archaeologists Find Evidence of 1500 Year Old Massacre."

-----

Methos was lost in thought as they exited another room. Walking through Maura's memories was difficult -- seeing her the way she had been back then and the obvious love she and Darius had shared left a dull ache in his heart. He couldn't help wondering what good he was doing and what the point of all of this was.

There had been several locked doors along the way, but his young companion would only say that they had always been that way. The rooms they had been able to visit so far had showed scenes from the first year or so after Maura had become Immortal. He had watched her go from a frightened, insecure fledgling Immortal to a confident, able warrior. It had been difficult to watch her struggle through those first days of fear and uncertainty, not knowing what would happen to her or when. He had wanted so much to reach out and comfort her, but then Darius had been there to do that.

It had sent a knife of pain shooting through him to have to watch as Darius' gentleness and warmth melted her fear away. He felt a pang of regret that Cassandra could not have had a similar experience when she first awoke from death into the camp of the Four Horsemen. Instead she'd had to live with that pain and terror for years.

Methos still did not completely understand why Darius had reacted the way he had to the innocent young Immortal Grayson had brought to him. He himself had been in another part of the world at the time of Darius' ascendance, but he had heard many stories of the man's cruelty and viciousness, examples of which had been played out in some of the memories he had just visited. It was difficult to reconcile that man with the one who so gently explained the concept of Immortality to the frightened young girl, then spent precious hours talking to her and comforting her. Then, even more surprising, not only had he wanted her to learn to fight, he had taken it upon himself to teach her, including allowing her to know how to kill another Immortal. The easiest way to kill him was not a lesson Methos ever would have taught a prisoner and it was one Cassandra had not learned until her escape from him.

Methos knew that for Maura to fall in love with Darius was natural. She was for all intents and purposes his prisoner, and despite his initial kindness, her life depended on pleasing him. Again Methos' troubled thoughts returned to Cassandra, who had turned to him in the same way -- only to be betrayed. What twist of fate could make two situations that had started out so similarly turn out so differently?

The world of the Horsemen 3,000 years ago had been so very different than today, but it wasn't so very different from the days of Darius. The Bronze Age empires had been centered around the Aegean and to its east -- Greeks, Trojans, Macedonians, Persians, Egyptians; but no matter how hard they tried, none could match the Horsemen in cruelty or ferocity. Out of the hills they had come bringing terror and death and taking anything -- and anyone -- they wanted. Creating fear and terror had been their purpose, there had been no great master plan for the future other than the general knowledge that one day it would all be theirs.

As he continued watching their life together unfold he couldn't help making the comparisons. Darius' purpose was clear and unmuddled -- he would conquer the world. There would be no mistakes, no distractions, no petty squabbles over spoils. And he was the unmistakable leader -- the one who would rule it all in the end. Perhaps there was the greatest contrast between them. Darius had been, without a doubt, the smartest of his Immortal band, but he had also been its heart, at least until Maura came along. No one ever doubted him or questioned his leadership, or dared to challenge it -- not even Grayson, who at that point was only just beginning to think about his place in the new order.

Most of the troubles in the Horsemen had developed out of the underlying fight for control between Methos and Kronos that had always existed. In the beginning their desires and goals had been the same and they had worked as a team, but as time stretched on and their goals began to diverge, the power of their equally matched wills had turned toward manipulating each other. Cassandra had been an unwitting pawn in one of those battles. Letting Kronos take her had taken all of his strength of will and trying to tune out the sound of her screams of terror had left a searing pain in his soul. Not enough to make him interfere directly, but enough to allow her to escape. That had been one episode in a long line that had led to the inevitable confrontation -- Methos had won, barely, and escaped, leaving a very much alive and extremely angry and vengeful Kronos behind. Now he and the other Horsemen were dead, but their memory lived on in his own tortured soul.

His melancholy thoughts were broken by a mocking voice, "Still enjoying your visit?"

He pasted a smile on his face and replied, "It has its entertaining moments."

"Stay out of there or you'll be sorry," the woman said, emerald eyes flashing with a mixture of anger and amusement.

"Stop us if you can," Methos shot back irritably as he strode quickly to the door and turned the knob, the little girl trailing anxiously behind him.

As the door swung shut and locked behind them, the woman smiled with satisfaction and said softly, "That should keep you out of my way for awhile." She turned and strode quickly down the hall.

It took his eyes a moment to adjust to the bright sunlight, but when they did Methos discovered he was standing in a large meadow filled with lush grass and flowers that spread across a valley floor. Tall mountains were visible in the distance -- to the north he thought idly, automatically trying to get his bearings.

A sudden tug on his sleeve caused him to look down, startled, as the little girl he'd almost forgotten looked up at him nervously. "It's a trick," she said worriedly. "We shouldn't be here."

"Why?" he responded with concern.

"You shouldn't see this. It's . . . ," she struggled for the right word then finally finished, "it's private."

Before he had a chance to respond, they were interrupted by the sound of women's laughter. Two figures came running across the meadow, baskets in hand, and dropped to the ground in the shade of a tree several feet away.

"We have to go now," the little girl said frantically, tugging at his arm, but Methos was rooted to the spot, staring at the two women who did not seem to notice them standing there.

"I won!" Maura said with delight, as she pushed back some strands of honey gold hair that had escaped from the clip trying to contain it.

"Just barely," Cassandra responded with a smile, "and only because I'm such an old lady."

Maura smiled fondly at her friend and teased, "Well, if it's any consolation, you look great for your age."

Cassandra made a face and, pulling some grass, tossed it playfully at the laughing girl. "We're supposed to be out here working," Cassandra reminded her.

Maura wrinkled her nose, sighing, "It's too beautiful to work today. Can't we just sit here and enjoy this beautiful day?"

"Spoken like a true newlywed," Cassandra said with a smile.

Maura's smile widened at the word and she laid back in the grass and stared up at the sky. "Isn't it wonderful! I never thought my life could ever be like this. I'm married to the most wonderful man in the entire world. We're both Immortal and will never die, and someday we'll rule the world. It's a beautiful day and instead of being out on a battlefield, I'm sitting here with my dearest friend in the world. I don't think life can get any better than this."

Cassandra's smile faded and a pained look crossed her face as she responded neutrally, "It's best to enjoy it while it lasts then."

A sound from behind him pulled Methos' attention from the idyllic scene and he turned to see Cassandra -- the Cassandra of his time -- standing there, her already strained features stricken with anguish.

"Get out," she said with barely contained fury. "You have no right to be here -- to see this. It's none of your business."

He felt a twinge of guilt at her obvious distress, but responded evenly, "I think you're wrong about that. The fact that everyone doesn't want me here makes me think that this is very important. It may be the key to getting Maura back."

"No," she responded, tears in her eyes. "Can't you see she's trying to distract you, to get you out of the way for awhile -- possibly for good. There isn't much time left and you're wasting it here."

He wavered for as second, but the feeling that this was important wouldn't leave him and he said with determination, "I'm staying."

Cassandra glared angrily at him, then turned away and sat at the base of a tree several feet behind him. Methos turned back to the two ghosts of 15 centuries before. They were examining a flower and Cassandra was explaining its uses to her dreamy-eyed student. Realizing the girl wasn't really paying attention, she quickly asked, "Now what are its uses?"

Knowing she had been caught the girl grinned sheepishly. "I'm sorry, Cassie. I just can't concentrate today. Can't we do this another day. We've got plenty of time."

Another of those sad smiles the girl didn't see, and Methos realized with a sick feeling in his stomach that Cassandra had known -- she had had one of her psychic flashes and she hadn't told Maura. He glanced back at the Cassandra sitting under the nearby tree, but she ignored him. His attention was brought back to the Cassandra of old by the words, "No, I'm afraid we don't."

That caught Maura's attention and she sat straight up and stared at her friend, "What do you mean?" she asked with concern.

Cassandra stayed silent for a moment, then finally said softly, "I have to leave soon."

"Leave? Why?" asked Maura. "Aren't you happy here? Is it Grayson? Has he been hurting you?" The words tumbled out in a stream as the girl tried to absorb the unexpected news.

"It's not Grayson," Cassandra said dismissively, a trace of contempt in her voice. "He is certainly annoying, but I give him a special treat in his wine every night that keeps him in line. His memories of our nights together are based on how I gush about his prowess, not reality. No, I have to leave because this life is not for me. It brings back too many memories -- memories of a time I'd rather forget."

"The time you became Immortal?" Maura asked softly.

The other woman nodded silently, a faraway look in her eyes. "You were lucky to find Darius, Maura. Not all Immortals are like him. Many take advantage of young Immortals -- lie to them, terrorize them, subjugate them and finally kill them. The four who found me were monsters. The were known as the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse and they brought death and destruction wherever they rode."

"I thought the Four Horsemen were just a myth," Maura said with surprise. "They were real?"

"Oh, yes, they were real. And they were all Immortal," Cassandra confirmed absently. "Mere mortals such as those in my tribe had no chance against them. It didn't matter to them that my people would have surrendered. They enjoyed killing for its own sake. We had no treasures to offer them for our lives, so they killed everyone." A tear slid down her delicate cheek at the painful memories and Maura leaned over and hugged her.

"It's all right, Cassie. It was a long time ago and you're safe now. Darius and I won't let anyone harm you -- ever. You don't have to leave. We'll take care of you."

Cassandra turned grave and responded sadly, "You shouldn't make such promises so lightly, Maura. When the time of the Gathering comes, everything will change for all of us. It is said that those who are last are filled with a lust for the Prize that is so great, they will kill anyone who gets in their way."

Maura looked off toward the distant mountains, a look of distain on her face. "I would never kill you for any reason. You are my dearest friend. Besides, if that is so, I don't expect that I will live to see the end. If there truly can be only one, it must be Darius. I would offer him my head before I would raise a sword to take his."

Cassandra studied her friend for a few minutes, almost jealous of the innocence of her youth, before saying sadly, "You are still so young. I hope you don't live to regret those words some day."

Maura looked at her steadily and said with determination, "I won't."

The women sat in brooding silence for several minutes before Maura broke the uncomfortable silence. "Tell me more about these Horsemen. Do they still live?"

"I don't know for sure," Cassandra responded, "but such evil is hard to kill."

"What are they called? What do they look like?" Maura pressed. "I should like to know who I'm dealing with if I ever run into them."

A shiver went down Cassandra's spine at the thought and she said anxiously, "Stay away from them, Maura! All of them. They are vicious, brutal monsters and you would never stand a chance against any of them!"

"How do I know to stay away if I don't know who I'm to stay away from?" Maura responded, much too innocently.

Cassandra bit down on her lip to still its trembling, then said reluctantly, "Very well. The four were called Kronos, Methos, Silas and Caspian. Kronos was their leader and a more evil man has never walked the earth. . . ."

Methos listened in pained silence as Cassandra described his former "brothers" and some of their more memorable activities. The pain of those memories weighed down on him and he fought the desire to turn and walk away before the ghost before him could begin the rendition of his personal crimes. But his feet remained rooted to the spot where he stood and finally the woman's voice said the words he dreaded.

". . . and the last was Methos. A more cunning and deceitful person I've never met in my life. He is completely without conscience, so he can lie and cheat without remorse. As their leader, Kronos was the heart of the Horsemen, the one that held them together, but Methos was the brains. He was one of the most intelligent men I've ever met, but he used that intellect to devise ways to inflict the most pain and misery possible on their victims." Her voice took on a note of sadness as she added distantly, "If he had only used his brains for good instead of evil, the world would be a much better place today."

Maura noticed the change in tone and asked gently, "What did he do to you, Cassie? Why do you hate him so much?"

Cassandra's eyes blazed with fury and she said in a trembling voice. "Why do I hate him? Because he tricked me into believing he really cared about me. He seduced me with his sweet words and his gentle smile and I was foolish enough to believe him. Then he gave me to that pig, Kronos as if I were nothing more than a piece of meat to be passed around at his whim."

A stab of pain went through Methos when he saw the look of horror on Maura's face as she tried to comfort her friend. Tears ran down Cassandra's face as she continued, "In the beginning I was terrified. He told me I was his and he would kill me and bring me back to life as many times as it took to tame me. I had no idea what I was, so I believed him when he told me that he was responsible for my being alive.

"As time went on and I stopped fighting, he became kinder to me. I was still afraid, but I began to feel like I had some control over my life again. I thought if I just kept him happy, everything would be fine." She stopped to wipe her streaming eyes with a trembling hand and Maura took her other hand and held it comfortingly.

Choking back a sob, Cassandra continued, "I cooked for him, washed his clothes, cared for him when he was injured, and . . . anything else I could think of," she said her cheeks flushing with shame. "I just wanted him to be happy," she sobbed.

"You fell in love with him, didn't you," Maura said softly.

Cassandra jumped as if she had been slapped. "Of course not! I could never love such a monster!"

But Maura looked her straight in the eye and held her gaze, "When I first came to this camp, I was terrified too. I didn't know what was going to happen to me or why I was still alive. Darius won my heart with his kindness and his love. I didn't want to fall in love with him. After all, he was responsible for the deaths of many people I loved. But he was so good to me and treated me with such respect and caring, I couldn't hate him, as much as I might have wanted to."

Cassandra was looking down at the ground, shame clear on her face, but Maura lifted her chin and said gently, "But if things had been different, if he had been a different person, or if I had ended up with Grayson, I could see the same thing happening to me that happened to you."

Cassandra looked at her, clearly surprised by the statement.

"Cassie, you were a prisoner. You relied on that man for food, for clothing, for warmth, for your very life. What else could you have done. I'm sure you had no access to weapons and I bet he didn't let you know how to really kill an Immortal even if you could get hold of a weapon. You had a choice between making some kind of life for yourself or an eternity of torture. What else could you have done? You made the choice to make your life worth something. That he deceived you and led you to believe he really cared isn't your fault and you shouldn't feel guilty about making the best of a bad situation."

Cassandra's tears continued as she whispered, "I felt so dirty, so used. I couldn't believe that after all I'd done for him that he'd betray me like that. Kronos was so cruel. I tried so hard to stay away from him and in the end Methos just handed me over to him. The bastard!"

Methos watched with a numb heart as Maura held the crying woman and murmured soft words of comfort to her. Hearing the things he had suspected since his last meeting with the real Cassandra sent a searing wound through his heart. He had told MacLeod she was one of a thousand regrets, and that was very true, and he wished for the millionth time that things could have been different, that he'd had the courage to stand up to Kronos, but it was much too late for that now.

A bitter voice from behind him startled him out of his dark thoughts. "Are you happy now?" the real Cassandra asked, tears of pain and anger glittering in the corners of her eyes. "It wasn't enough for you to destroy my life 3000 years ago, but now you have to gloat over your victory, too. I told you you had no right to listen to this, to invade my privacy like this."

Defensive mode came naturally and Methos snapped back coldly, "This isn't about you and me. This is about Maura. There's a reason she's showing me these things."

"I told you why -- she's trying to distract you until it's too late," Cassandra yelled at him. "You're wasting time meddling into things that have nothing to do with you. Can't you see what she's doing. How can you be so blind. She can't make you leave, but she can make you want to leave. That's what this is about. She's trying to hurt you so you want to go."

He started to retort, but was interrupted by an anger filled voice from behind him. "I swear to you that if I ever find those men, they will die the most horrible deaths I can devise," the ghost Maura said to her weeping friend.

The other woman immediately responded, "No, Maura! Promise me that you won't look for them and that if you ever come across any of them that you will run away as far and as fast as you can."

"I cannot," the younger woman said with determination.

"You have to!" Cassandra pleaded.

Relenting slightly, Maura replied with conviction, "I promise only that I will not search for them, but I give my sacred vow, on my life and the life of my husband, that if any of them should ever cross my path, he will pay for what he has done to you."

Seeing the unshakable determination in the girl's face, Cassandra responded softly, "Then I shall pray to all the gods I can think of that you never meet any of them, because if you do, you will be the one to suffer."

Methos watched numbly as the scene played itself out, until the figures seated in the grass suddenly disappeared and he was left with his wildly churning thoughts. I give my sacred vow, on my life and the life of my husband, the words kept repeating themselves in his head. She had given her sacred vow to kill him and she had not fulfilled that vow. Not only had she not fulfilled it, but she had fallen in love with him herself. It was an important piece of the puzzle -- he knew that deep in his heart, but he didn't know what to do with that information.

He turned back toward the Cassandra of his time and was surprised to see the little girl standing in front of her, staring at her angrily. "You should not have come back," she said coldly. "You're only going to make her madder."

Cassandra looked at her evenly and responded, "I had no choice. We have to find Maura -- our Maura. If we wait much longer, it will be too late." Indicating Methos with a nod of her head, she added disdainfully, "He's busy wasting time. Sticking his nose in where it's not needed or wanted. Someone has to do something, now."

For a moment the child's eyes flashed with a dark anger that made her look much older. Her eyes never leaving Cassandra's, she walked defiantly to Methos and took his hand. "He knows what he's doing," she said petulantly. "After all, she wasn't able to make him go away, now was she."

Cassandra stared back at the little girl, hating to acknowledge the fact that she was right and wondering if what she was going to say next was really wise, but her anger won out. "That's because you are protecting him. And I can't help but wonder why."

The child's eyes narrowed in anger and she said coldly, "I don't know what you're talking about. I'm just a little girl. What could I possibly do?"

Cassandra put herself all the way out on the limb by responding, "Oh, I think there's much more to you than meets the eye." Watching the fury that flamed in the child's eyes, she hoped that limb wouldn't be cut out from under her.

Methos defused the moment by scolding them both, "Stop arguing. As Cassandra pointed out, we don't have much time left and we can't waste it. Let's agree to disagree for the moment and move on. We've still got a long way to go."

Reluctantly, the child nodded and Cassandra followed suit, relieved she wouldn't be falling into any chasms in the immediate future. She had no doubt the child could do it if she wanted to and she wondered if Methos knew that too. His face had returned to its normal mask of preoccupied indifference leaving her with no clue to his thoughts about this bizarre situation.

She had only her own questions and the biggest one was why -- why was all of this happening and why was the child protecting Methos? Was Maura really searching for a reason to come back and needed Methos to help her, or was she determined to take him with her into the dark abyss? And another question of immediate concern was how much power did the child really possess. Was she in charge now or was the warrior Maura still running things. It was obvious they each had their own agenda and motives. The child seemed to be on their side -- on Methos' side anyway -- but Cassandra had her doubts. There was much more to this child than met the eye and she hoped Methos realized it. The one thing she was sure of was that no matter which of them was in charge, they could expect more trouble and a lot more roadblocks thrown in their path.

-----

Maura came awake slowly, her exhaustion heightening the sense of disorientation she felt. She had been dreaming -- but the dreams felt so vibrant, so real that she was having a hard time pulling herself back to reality. They had been dreams of the time she had become Immortal, and her early days with Darius, but there had been others in the dreams -- sometimes two, sometimes three, who had watched from a distance. They had been no more than shadows, but she had felt their presence as strongly as her own.

Slowly she opened her eyes, anticipating the comforting familiarity of her own bedroom, or his, as she realized there were arms around her holding her tightly. Wondering what he would think when she told him about her strange dreams, she lifted her head to look at him. The tentative smile was replaced by a look of confusion as she looked into a pair of grey-green eyes.

"Darius?" she murmured softly as the memories came flooding back.

It's all right," he said soothingly, "You're safe."

"I was having the strangest dreams," she murmured, then looking into his eyes added, "and I think I still am."

"Perhaps," he said noncommittally. With clear reluctance he let go of her, then gently reached over and pushed a strand of honey gold hair back from her face.

The gentle touch felt so real that her heart ached. If only he had lived things might have been so different now.

"Would they?" he asked gently.

She looked at him in confusion.

"Would things really be so different if I had lived?"

Startled, she could only stare at him for a moment. She heard his voice in her mind, Just because I chose not to, doesn't mean I don't remember how.

Realizing he was reading her thoughts, she blushed guiltily, remembering that her waking thoughts had been of another.

"It's all right," he said soothingly, "You are alive and . . . I am not. I expected you to go on with your life."

"What now?" she asked softly. "What's going to happen to me . . . to us?"

"I will go back where I came from regardless of what you choose. You may go back where you came from, or you may come with me. But it is not a decision that has to be made now. We will stay here for a little while longer while you think about it."

"I don't need to think about it," she responded. "I want to be with you -- where I belong."

He looked at her sadly. "Are you so sure that's where you belong now?"

Her eyes were dark orbs of confusion and he took her hand gently in his own and held it tenderly. "Take some time to think about what you're giving up. I promise I won't leave you. If you need to sleep, I'll be here when you wake up. I promise."

His eyes were so intense that she knew it was true, so she rested her head against his shoulder again and allowed the exhaustion that had been washing against her to claim her again.

-----

As they picked their way carefully through the dark tunnel, Methos felt his nervousness increasing. He had finally accepted that Cassandra was right about the doors being a distraction and they'd been heading for the tunnel at the end of the corridor when another earthquake had ripped open the ground in front of them. Cassandra hadn't had a chance. The ground had just opened up and swallowed her. In his head, he knew she was safely back at MacLeod's place, but not knowing for sure was worrisome. And then the light had suddenly faded in the tunnel and he and the little girl were forced to make their way slowly and carefully in the dark.

He heard the sound of soft voices in the distance -- and one of them sounded very familiar. Spurred on by that familiarity, Methos tried to pick up the pace, but the going was treacherous and he was forced to slow down again when he stumbled and almost turned his ankle.

As they moved closer to the source of the voices, the darkness began seeping away, the light from an opening in the distance penetrating the cloak of darkness surrounding them. They were able to move more quickly in the growing light and finally reached the opening in the rocky wall. It led to a large cavern bathed in irridescent light, which had no apparent source. His eyes finally adjusted to the bright light, and Methos noted with concern the jagged cracks in the ground caused by the tremors. Some were small, less than an inch across, while others were a foot or more. At the moment none of them were impassable, but things tended to change very quickly here.

There was a large outcropping of rocks to their right that acted as a natural room divider. The voices were much clearer now and obviously came from behind the barrier. Methos moved forward slowly, feeling as though he were walking through quicksand. He now recognized the second voice and after all he had seen this day, he could not help but feel apprehensive about what would meet his eyes on the other side of that wall.

The sound of a frightened whimper startled him from his troubling thoughts and he looked back to see the little girl standing there, shaking with terror. Instantly concerned, he went back and kneeled beside her, putting an arm gently around her trembling shoulders.

"What is it?" he asked gently. "What's wrong?"

"I'm afraid," she said piteously, "I don't want to go in there."

He smiled gently at her, trying to keep his own apprehension from showing through. "It's all right. No one will hurt you."

At her doubtful look, he added, "I won't let anything happen to you. I promise."

Her eyes went dark with remembered sadness and pain and she responded softly, "He promised the same thing and look what happened."

There was nothing he could say to that, so he just hugged the frightened child, then picked her up in his arms and carried her toward the sound of the voices.

-----

"I'm so tired, Darius. How much longer do we have to stay here?" Maura asked softly.

He looked at the frail figure with concern. She was shivering despite the warm cloak he had draped around her and her usually sparkling eyes were dull and sunken and surrounded by dark circles. It could not be much longer -- whatever was to happen, would have to happen soon.

"Not much longer," he responded gently. "While we're waiting, why don't you tell me about your children."

She looked at him perplexed, the words 'you know I can't have children' dying on her lips as she realized his true meaning. "You mean my students? What is there to say? They're wonderful kids. Some smarter than others, some more outgoing, some athletic, some musical, some none of those things, but special in their own way." As she spoke, he noticed a smile cross her lips and some color seemed to return to her pale face.

"You were always good with children," he said wistfully. "That was the one thing above all that I regretted not being able to give to you."

Her eyes filled with tears at the memory of all the times she had lain awake at night wishing they could be a normal mortal couple, with normal lives that included several children scampering at their feet. "You would have been a good father," she responded.

"Thank you," he said softly. "Although I could not be a real father to them, over the years I tried to help as many of the children of the parish as I could. I'm not sure how good a role model I was, but I tried."

She smiled tenderly at him, marvelling at the modesty of this man who had influenced so many lives for the better. She could remember when they had led their army across Europe -- then modesty had never been one of Darius' virtues. In fact, he had never seemed to tire of announcing to anyone who would listen that he deserved to rule the world.

He looked at her intently as if hearing her thoughts, then flushed with embarassment. "I guess I was a bit of blowhard then, wasn't I."

She laughed involuntarily at his choice of words, then blushed guiltily herself when she realized he actually had heard her thoughts again. "I keep forgetting you can 'hear' me again," she said. "It's been so long since you allowed it." Except for when you were dying, the thought crept unbidden into her mind and she pushed it away quickly.

She saw a shadow of sadness cross his handsome features and he responded gently, "I thought it would be best to cut myself off from you. I thought that would make it hurt less, but it didn't. Even though I wouldn't communicate with you that way, I could still feel you there -- like a part of me that was missing. And whenever you 'died', those brief losses of contact just about drove me mad. Every time it happened, I would pace back and forth or dither around driving everyone else insane until I felt you come back again. During those times nothing else, no one else, mattered. "There were so many times I cursed that connection because of how much I missed you, until it was gone. Then I would pray for its return so I could know you were safe."

The confession surprised her. She had assumed he had cut himself off completely all that time -- that she had been the one holding on to him against his will.

"I thought. . ."

". . . that I didn't love you any more?" he finished incredulously. "For fourteen centuries there was nothing I wanted more than to be with you again." He looked away, his eyes distant and unfocused, "but it could not be."

"Why?" she asked, all the grief and pain of those fourteen centuries piled onto that one syllable. "Haven't we suffered enough for our crimes? How much more do we have to give or give up before we have the right to be happy again?"

He looked at her, genuine surprise on his face. "We can never make up for what we did. No matter what we do, all those people will still be dead. None of this has been about punishment -- at least not from God. We punish ourselves much more viciously than he ever could or would.

"No, this is about choices. I chose to give you up because I was afraid that if I stayed with you, I would destroy you. I never wanted to punish you, nothing could have been further from my mind. If I wanted to punish anyone, it was myself, and there never could have been any greater punishment bestowed on me than losing you -- not ever.

"You made choices over the years too and most of them were good ones. I was so glad you turned your back on Grayson. If you had gone with him. . . .," his voice trailed off and a look of intense sadness crossed his face.

"What?" she prodded.

"You might have turned out much differently. I never truly appreciated the depths of his viciousness and brutality until it was too late."

"Perhaps I could have changed him instead of him changing me," she replied.

He smiled thinly. "If you had truly loved him, then yes, that might have been possible. It was only your love that saved me in the end. But you did not love him and he knew it. His bitterness would have destroyed you both."

Knowing it was true, she remained silent, lost in her own 'what ifs.'

He put an arm around her comfortingly and she leaned gratefully into the warmth and familiarity of the embrace.

The sound of approaching footsteps startled them both and Maura jumped up instinctively, placing herself in a defensive position between the intruders and Darius, prepared to protect him as she had done for so long. But when she saw the intruders, she could not move.

Methos stood before her with a small child cradled in his arms. The little girl was obviously terrified and clung to him as if she were afraid he would disappear if she let go. His face was impassive, but she sensed a swirl of conflicting emotions coming from him. Her face flushed guiltily as she realized he must have seen Darius embracing her. The silence continued for several moments more until it was broken by another voice from behind the man and child. "Darius! I've finally found you! Now everything will be all right."

Maura looked uncomprehendingly at the woman who, except for her strange clothing, could be her identical twin. "Who are you?" she asked numbly, although she was afraid she already knew. "What are you doing here?"

The woman had been so intent on Darius, she had not even registered Maura's existence. Without taking her eyes from him, she said forcefully, "I am Maura, wife of the mighty Darius, and I have come to be with my husband. Now all of you get out!!" and the ground shook violently as her sword crashed into it.

-----

MacLeod scanned the tense faces of the group huddled around the bed. As the hours had dragged on and the infection took greater hold, their earlier hope had turned to despair. Cassandra had returned to them again, but she was clearly shaken and exhausted from her latest ordeal, dark circles standing out brutally against the paleness of her delicate skin. Despite her weariness, she had refused to rest and was frantically trying to reestablish contact. Richie was sitting by the side of the bed looking glum. Joe Dawson was slumped in his chair, his usual cheerful smile lost in the depths of his concern. Even Amanda had become withdrawn and silent as the hours passed. Ann was the only one who showed any animation, continuing to check monitors and readouts and occasionally applying more of the antibiotic cream to the rapidly increasing infection and injecting more drugs into the IV line.

Cassandra sat back in her chair and put her hands over her face. MacLeod went to her and put a comforting arm around her shoulders as she leaned against his chest and began crying softly. He held her until the tears subsided. She wiped her streaming eyes, looking up at him with gratitude laced with a touch of embarrassment.

"I'm sorry," she said softly, "I'm not strong enough to break through the barriers she's erected and I just feel so helpless. I don't know what else to do to help them."

"What about that article Joe found? He said it was sitting in the center of the table like it was something she wanted to be able to see all the time. Do you know what it means?"

"I think so, but I can't be absolutely sure until we get back in and confront her."

"What do you think she meant when she said I was like 'the evil one'?"

Cassandra frowned as she thought about it. "Yes, she was awfully interested in getting rid of you wasn't she?" she mused looking at him intently. A sudden thought came to her that widened her eyes in surprise. "Of course, that's why she didn't want you there! Are you willing to try again?"

"Of course," he responded without hesitation, "but what is it you figured out?"

"That's one of those things you'll have to trust me for now. It'll be hard enough to keep her from knowing that I know. Let's give it another try."

"Is there anything we can do to help?" Amanda asked hesitantly. "Maybe using our combined energy could help you break through?"

Cassandra pondered that for a moment, then said thoughtfully, "That might work. I can't guarantee it, but it's worth a try, especially since we don't have any other options at this point."

"I want to come too," an insistent male voice broke in. Duncan and Cassandra both turned surprised eyes to a very determined Richie Ryan.

"No," MacLeod stated firmly, "This is not a game. It is much too dangerous. You might be able to help by feeding us your energy, but you're not coming in."

"She's my friend, too!" Richie exploded. "I'm not going to sit around here doing nothing while she dies!"

"Besides," Amanda cut in, "Cassandra seems to think that our Maura doesn't really want to hurt anyone. If we're all there, isn't it more likely she won't do anything that could harm any of us."

"She's got a point, Duncan. And the extra psychic energy might help me break through the barriers Maura's putting up."

"I don't know . . . ," MacLeod started before being interrupted.

"Damn it, Mac! I'm not a kid any more and you can't tell me what to do!" Richie interjected stubbornly. "This is not your decision to make. If Cassandra thinks it can help, I'm going, no matter what you think."

"And you certainly know better than to try to tell me what to do," Amanda purred. "What do you want us to do?" she asked Cassandra.

Acknowledging defeat, MacLeod shook his head wearily. "Fine, but at the first sign of trouble, you're both leaving."

Amanda shot Richie a warning look at the protest forming on his lips and replied sweetly, "Of course."

"That was way too easy," MacLeod responded suspiciously.

She shrugged innocently. "Well, if you know how to force us out against our will once we're in there, there's not much point in arguing is there."

Knowing he'd been caught out, MacLeod could only glare at her as Richie beamed at her in grudging admiration.

"Mac," came an older, more tired voice.

"I'm sorry, Joe," Cassandra cut in before MacLeod could even respond. "I believe this works because of our bond as Immortals -- that same psychic energy that allows us to sense each other as we approach. I don't think it will work with you, and I'm afraid having you in the circle might even disrupt the energy."

"We'll bring her back, Joe," Richie said intently. "I promise."

"You shouldn't make promises other people may not allow you to keep, Rich," he responded heavily. "Can I at least come closer to watch what's going on?"

"That shouldn't be a problem," Cassandra responded kindly, as the group arranged itself beside the bed.

"Is there anything I should do if all hell starts to break loose?" Ann asked as she double checked the IV and monitors.

"Pray," Cassandra responded. She carefully folded up the newspaper article and put it in her left hand which she then laid over Maura and Methos' joined hands; her right hand took Richie's left, while he took Amanda's and she took MacLeod's. Finally, he completed the circle by laying his right hand over Cassandra's. The weight and size of the hand and her knowledge of the steadfastness of its owner gave Cassandra unexpected comfort. As they closed their eyes and felt the energy surge around their small circle, no one noticed Joe Dawson lean over and place his hands on MacLeod's and Amanda's shoulders.

The lurch was more pronounced this time and MacLeod opened his eyes to a scene of devastation. Half the cavern floor had disappeared into three and four foot wide fissures with massive cracks zagging across what was left.

"Wow!" Richie exclaimed nervously. "I see what you mean by dangerous."

"It wasn't anywhere near this bad last time," Cassandra responded with concern.

"Then we'd better get moving before the rest of it collapses underneath us," Amanda said, stepping forward to reveal Joe Dawson standing behind her.

MacLeod stared at him wordlessly, "How . . . ?"

"Looks like I was able to hitch a ride after all," Joe smiled. "Amanda's right, let's go. You've been here before, lead the way."

-----

Methos clung to the side of the gaping hole, his aching fingers searching for purchase on the jagged ground above. He could hear the child screaming, "Adam, Adam, come back!" But the warrior Maura had cut her off from him to keep her from interfering again, and he wasn't sure how much longer he could hold on.

Then there were fingers grasping his searching ones and a hand caught his wrist. An anxious face appeared over the rim of the crevasse and Maura -- his Maura -- was looking down at him with naked fear on her face. "Help me, Darius. Help me save him," her shaking voice beseeched.

"There are two ways to save him. You only need my help for one. Which one do you intend to use?" Darius responded evenly.

"What do you mean? Stop with these silly riddles and help me. If he falls, he'll die," she said anxiously.

"He will be quite safe if you release him and will simply return to where he came from. Keeping him here is more dangerous and you know it. You must choose Maura -- does he stay or do you set him free?"

Confusion clouded her eyes and she looked down at Methos and the hand still holding him. "Help me up, Maura," he pleaded. "I don't want to leave you. Help me up." The expression on her face wavered indecisively and he almost shouted, "Help me. Dammit. Don't let me fall!"

Her face set in a determined line and she began to pull him up. He felt himself slipping, but two strong hands grabbed his other forearm and he looked over to see Darius on his other side helping to pull him up. When he was back over the side, Maura knelt by his side and hugged him tightly, "Methos are you all right?"

He nodded groggily as he rubbed his aching arms, trying to sooth away the cramps that were forming from the exertion.

"What did you call him," came a cold, deadly quiet voice.

Maura looked over at her younger self and responded in the same cold tone, "Why don't you shut up for five minutes. Haven't you done enough already?"

But the other's eyes were dark with rage and she moved closer, leaping lightly over the jagged crevasses separating them as if they didn't exist, the sword drawn so quickly it seemed to just appear in her hand. "You called him Methos. That is the name of the monster who harmed Cassandra. If this is the same man, how can you be helping him. Give him to me and I will punish him for what he did to her!"

"Hmph," came a small but derisive voice. "YOU will punish him? What right to you have to punish anyone after what you've done? You married the monster who killed your family and you dare pass judgment on him?"

"Be quiet, you!" the warrior said coldly, the control it was taking to remain calm evident on her face. "You are a child and you understand nothing about my life. It was Grayson who killed my family, if indeed they are dead. Darius protected my secret. He protected me!"

"Are you so sure of that?" Darius asked sadly.

"Of course," the woman said stubbornly. "I know you would never betray me."

Maura felt a fresh stab of pain go through her. Hearing those words from her younger self reminded her too vividly of the time she had believed them so fiercely -- a time before the destruction of a Middle Eastern city called Kapul at her command had destroyed the last of her innocence and an Immortal monk at the gates of Paris had destroyed her faith in love.

"There is something you all must see," Darius said softly.

"What?" warrior Maura asked suspiciously as she peered at him more closely. "Who are you? You have Darius' face, but you are not him. You wear the clothing of a cleric. Where is Darius and what have you done with him," her voice rose in a panicked screech. "If you don't tell me where he is right now, I'll kill you all!"

Maura looked at her younger self -- so angry and defiant -- and so terribly, terribly afraid -- but of what? She looked back at Darius and fully recognized for the first time that he was the priest Darius and not the mighty warrior who had been her husband so many centuries ago. It surprised her to realize that in the emotional turmoil of her mind, the kindly priest would be the one she would turn to for comfort. He looked at her then, as if drawn by her thoughts, and smiled with a twinge of sadness.

The tender moment was interrupted by a petulant little voice. "Stop being so melodramatic," little Maura snapped. "You're just wasting time. You're afraid to see what he wants to show us."

"SHUT UP!!" the warrior thundered furiously. "I want my husband and I want him NOW!!"

"Very well," Darius said wearily. Maura looked at him in surprise and was even more shocked when a familiar voice came from the passage to her left. "There you are, my love. I've been looking for you. Where have you been?"

A tall, regal looking man wearing a long, finely decorated cape over his warrior clothing stalked in and went to the warrior Maura. She dropped her sword and collapsed in his arms sobbing brokenly. "Oh, Darius. I knew you weren't dead. I knew it was a lie. But I kept searching and searching for you and I couldn't find you anywhere!"

"There, there. I'm here now and everything will be fine." He looked over at his older self and added, "Won't it."

The older man sighed heavily and responded wearily. "I certainly hope so." They exchanged meaningful glances that sent a shiver down Maura's spine, before warrior Darius said, "Well, let's get on with it. Where do we need to go?"

"Do you really think it's wise to go with them?" warrior Maura asked timidly, clinging to her husband as if afraid he would disappear if she let go. "I don't trust them."

He looked down at her and smiled gently, comfortingly. "I'm afraid it doesn't much matter whether it is wise because it is necessary. Now come. No more arguments."

His counterpart added, "I don't know if it will work without . . . ," then stopped as they both cocked their heads as if listening to something.

"That is no longer a problem," his warrior self responded cryptically. "Let's go."

"What about the little one . . . ," Methos broke in, looking toward little Maura who moments before had been separated from them by a 6 foot crevasse. The words froze on his lips as he watched the ground between them draw together again until there was a crack barely a foot wide. The child jumped lightly over it and skipped over to him, taking his hand possessively as she guided him to follow the departing warriors. He looked at her older self questioningly, but knew it was useless to ask if she was all right by the shell-shocked expression on her face.

"We must go," Darius said to her softly. She nodded wearily, and, avoiding eye or body contact with anyone, followed the others out of the room.

-----

Cassandra led her group to the door-lined corridor and was dismayed to see that many of the doors gaped open, their doors askew as if they'd been torn from the hinges. A few were still closed, but not many, and glimpses of figures and distant sounds of conversation or battle could be heard from some of the open ones. She was relieved that no one asked to stop and look, although she could see Richie and Joe sneaking glimpses through some of the doors as they passed. Although he had not made it this far on his last visit, understanding instinctively what the doors led to, MacLeod made no attempt to look in any of the rooms, not wanting to invade Maura's privacy any more than was necessary.

As they reached the final doorway, two figures emerged from around the corner ahead. MacLeod didn't notice the others who came behind them because he was too shocked by the appearance of the warrior Maura and the man she clung to so desperately. He had met Darius over a millenium after the taking of an Immortal monk's head had turned him away from war, so the sight of the regal man who exuded such an air of confidence and arrogance instead of the kindly priest who had been his friend unsettled him greatly.

Catching sight of them, warrior Maura let go of her husband and started to move in front of him as she went for her sword. "No!" her husband commanded sternly. "Let them be. We need them."

"What for?" she asked incredulously. "They are here to harm us. Can't you feel it. Especially that one," she added pointing to MacLeod. I sense great evil in him, like . . . ."

"Silence," her husband said angrily. "I said we need them and you must trust that I know what I'm doing." There was no kindness or warmth in the words, only command, and the girl shrank back from him chastened.

"What's going on here? Why have we stopped," came a tired voice from behind the warriors. Maura stepped around her younger self and surprise was clear in her face and voice when she saw the newcomers. "Duncan, Joe, Amanda, Richie, what are you doing he . . .?" her voice died as she spotted Cassandra and she could only stare in shocked surprise. "Cassie? Is it really you after all these years? How did you get here? What's going on?"

Her head was aching from the series of shocks and her hands instinctively went up to hold it, as if she were afraid her skull would break apart if she didn't physically hold it together. At the same time, the ground started to shake violently again and chunks of stone rained down from the ceiling, pelting all of them.

"Maura, stop it!" Methos yelled, pushing his way past the others and grabbing her arm.

"Stop what? What are you talking about," she wailed in frustration. "I'm not doing anything but standing here trying to keep from losing what's left of my mind, while the world crashes down around me and people keep appearing and disappearing like this is some kind of crazy magic show. What do you want from me! All of you, just tell me what you want, then go away! I can't take any more of this!" She began coughing heavily, then added wearily as she went to rub her throat, "and now my throat hurts from all that yelling." The fingers touched a warm slickness and she brought them up to her face to see they were coated with blood. "Oh my God! What happened to my throat?"

Methos tried not to let the shock show on his face as he watched the gaping wound that had suddenly appeared drip blood in dark languid pools down the side of her neck. "Kingsley cut you during the fight. It will heal . . . if you let it," he responded firmly.

Joe came forward pulling a clean handkerchief out of his pocket. "Put this over it until the bleeding stops."

Amanda pulled the fancy silk scarf from around her neck adding, "you can use this to hold it in place."

Maura let them fuss over her like mother hens until the wound was sufficiently cleaned up. MacLeod was relieved to see that her color had improved some and that she seemed to be responding to the concern of her friends.

"Look!!!" came an excited shriek. "It's back!! It's back!!" The little girl was jumping up and down excitedly, pointing to a golden door that had materialized at the other end of the hallway. The door was intact, with no signs of damage, and featured a large ornate doorknob. Before anyone could stop her, the child ran down the hall towards the door.

"Wait," Methos shouted as he started to run after her. "Don't go alone. Wait for us."

"It's okay," she amswered excitedly, "This is a wonderful place. No one would ever hurt me here." She reached the door, turned the knob and disappeared inside, as the others hurried to catch up with her.

When they reached the doorway, Maura held back, suddenly afraid of what was on the other side, but the sound of the child's laughter and the press of the group crowding up behind her sent her through the door. Her heart contracted at the scene before her -- a family gathered around a handmade table in a small cottage sharing a meal. There was excited chattering as the three young men seated facing the door vied for the attention of the others -- an older man and woman at either end of the table and a young couple and another young man with their backs to the door.

"You're really getting married, Philip?" the youngest of the men, who appeared to be around 13 or 14 asked earnestly. "Why would you want to do that? Girls are annoying. Why would you want to spend the rest of your life with one, listening to her nag all the time."

"Alexander," the older woman chided. "What a thing to say about your own sister."

The boy reddened with embarrassment and replied sheepishly, "Well, I guess if you have to marry somebody, Maura's okay. She's not all silly and giggly like most of the others."

"Well thanks for that vote of confidence, little brother," the young woman with her back to them responded, as the rest of the family laughed. The man beside her squeezed her hand warmly and put an arm around her shoulders, giving her a gentle squeeze full of genuine warmth and love.

Little Maura kept circling the table, delight evident on her face. Occasionally, she would move closer to one of the people at the table and that person would look down at her and smile warmly before returning to the conversation.

An almost animal sound of pain from behind pulled Maura's attention from the scene and she turned to see warrior Maura huddled against the far wall whimpering and trembling as her terrified eyes took in the scene. "No," she whispered. "No. I have to get out of here. Get me out, please!"

Her husband made no move to go to her or to comfort her in any way, and Maura felt a stab of anger at his callousness. Despite her own discomfort at dealing with her younger self, she went over to the frightened girl and knelt down beside her. "It's all right," she said soothingly. "No one here will hurt you."

The girl's anguished eyes searched her face, looking for understanding, "You don't understand. I don't want to see this. I don't want to see them, not now, not ever again. All that's gone. I have a different life now, a good life. I'm married to a wonderful man, we're Immortal and one day we shall rule the world together." Her haunted eyes had drifted back to the dinner table and they were filled with pain. "What better life could there be than that?" she asked wistfully and Maura wasn't sure whether she meant the life she'd been describing or the one she'd left behind.

"It was a long time ago," Maura responded neutrally, "much has changed since then."

Little Maura had stopped wandering around the table and was looking at them worriedly. She came over hesitantly as if afraid the group at the table would disappear if she let them out of her sight. When she reached her two older selves she scrutinized them warily. Her voice trembled as she asked, You're not going to lock the door again, are you? I want to be able to come back here. I miss them. Please don't lock them away again!" Several large tears slid down her cheeks as she stared anxiously at them.

Maura couldn't resist the wave of compassion that swept over her at the child's obvious misery. Putting her arms around the weeping child, she responded gently, "It's all right. There's no need to cry. No one's going to lock anyone away. You can come here whenever you want."

"No!" warrior Maura shouted. "You can't allow it! You have to lock this room up tight and throw away the key. No one must ever come here again! Not ever!" Pulling herself out of the half-crouch she'd been in, she rushed toward the door and out into the hallway beyond.

The child looked sadly into Maura's eyes, "We have to go after her before she does something foolish."

Glancing toward the door, Maura couldn't help saying just as sadly, "You mean something else foolish. She's already done quite a few foolish things in her life." They smiled weakly at each other as the little girl took her hand and led her toward the door.

The others followed at a respectful distance as they walked through the doorway that should have led to the long hallway. Instead they entered another room, this one very similar to the last, except that it was in disarray, with a variety of objects that could be used as weapons piled haphazardly on the table. Maura felt the gasp of recognition rising in her throat and tried to stifle it. The scene played itself out quickly, her husband, father and brothers preparing to help the other men defend the town, insisting that the women go hide in the caves with the others. Maura's mother adamantly refusing and insisting in turn that as a healer she had to stay to tend the wounded. And that long ago Maura echoing her mother's sentiment. Time seemed to slow as that Maura's father led her away from the others.

Maura wanted to close her eyes and not watch this scene she knew so well play out in front of her. It had been so long since she'd allowed herself to think about it that the pain of it was like a knife slicing jaggedly through her heart. She heard her long ago self say, "Oh, Papa, why is this happening to us?"

"It is not our place to question the gods," he responded gravely. "I know this day has been difficult enough for you, but I must place another burden on your shoulders."

"What is it Papa," she asked fearfully.

He bit his trembling lip, and she could see his struggle for control. "Your mother is too old to be a slave," he said. Her heart raced with fear as he added intently, "If we cannot stop them, you must not let them take her. Do you understand what I mean."

"Oh, Papa, please don't ask me to do that," she sobbed, "I couldn't."

"These are hard times, daughter. We all must do things that are difficult. I leave your fate in your own hands, but you must allow your mother to die an honorable death, untouched by those vermin. Then she will be safely in the hands of the gods. You owe her that much for all she has done for you."

"I'll try, Papa. That's all I can promise."

"I know you will do what's right, my child," he said soothingly. "Remember that no matter what happens I will always be with you and I will always love you, my precious daughter."

"I love you too, Papa."

The voices disappeared and Maura realized she was crying along with her long ago self and started to lift a hand to wipe the tears away. To her surprise a small hand was in it and she looked down and saw that little Maura was also crying. "Mama, please don't go," the little girl kept repeating over and over as she wept softly. Maura hugged the little girl and looked over to see what their third was doing. She stood riveted to the scene, her eyes huge and tear filled, the grief so deeply etched in her face it hurt to look at her. She saw Maura looking at her, and cried out through her tears, "it's not my fault. It's not!" before running through another doorway.

Maura gathered the small child in her arms and followed quickly. They entered the room just as the sounds of the invaders advancing reached the two women inside the small home. The Maura of the past stood frozen in terror in front of the window, the knife her husband had given her clutched in her trembling hand as she watched two of the invaders advance on the small home and start to gather their spoils. Then her mother was outside attacking the men before the girl even realized she'd left the house. She watched her mother be struck and fall before the memory of the promise she had made could break through the terror and send her running through the door to her own 'death.'

The child burst into a fresh round of grief stricken sobbing and Maura held her tight, trying to comfort her. The memories had shaken her badly and she was fighting her own desire to just sit down in this place and cry until there was no pain left. The only thing that kept her from doing so was the knowledge that if she did so she'd be crying forever because there would never be an end to this particular pain.

As they watched Grayson wrap up her still body and start to carry it away, the child suddenly wrenched out of her arms and ran over to the warrior Maura, who was also openly sobbing, and started beating her with her small fists. "You liar!! Liar! Liar! You promised to take care of her and look what happened! You just stood there and let them kill her. You let them kill her! And then you went away with them -- with him -- with those killers!!" She slid to the ground and lay there sobbing at the older girl's feet, occasionally banging a small fist on the ground as she repeated "Liar, liar, liar," over and over again.

The words had hit the other girl like knives and she stood there hunched over, her arms across her chest as if trying to protect herself. Dark haunted eyes full of tears and guilt bore into Maura's, begging for absolution, "it wasn't like that. It really wasn't. You know that, don't you? Don't you?"

Maura didn't know what to say because she had been battling with those questions herself since the child's outburst. Not finding the empathy she so desperately needed, her younger self turned and ran to the next door and disappeared through it. Maura didn't try to follow. She simply picked up the crying child and sat down on the ground and held her in her arms, rocking her to try and ease the devastating grief. She tried to remember a time when she had cried for her lost family like this and couldn't remember one. She had cried often those first few weeks in the barbarian camp, but it had never just been for her family, it had been for everything -- the fear of her new situation and not knowing what had happened to the rest of her family, the anger at realizing her parents had lied and that she was not really their child, the confusion because of all of the strange things Darius had told her and the fact that he had not acted at all the way she'd expected him to -- she'd cried for all those things, but never just for her mother or her family.

'Maybe you needed to,' came a soft voice in her head. She looked up to see Darius standing over her, the sadness in his eyes so real she could almost feel it. His counterpart stood to the side, frowning at the door his wife had run through but making no move to follow her. Maura felt a deep anger and resentment flare through her. "Why don't you do something to help her," she asked the warrior furiously. "Can't you see how much she's hurting. Why don't you help her."

He turned his head toward her, those eyes that could be the iciest of gray or the clearest of green now a cool gray bordering on blue. "Because I cannot," he responded simply.

"Cannot or will not," she challenged.

"You will understand soon enough," he said distantly, his eyes turning back toward the door.

The little girl had stopped sobbing, but she was still sniffling and tears still trailed down her cheeks. Methos had knelt beside them but hadn't touched either of them, sensing the need not to distract them now. It was the little girl who reacted to his presence, reaching out her arms to him, and he picked her up wordlessly and cradled her against his shoulder. Maura watched dispassionately, feeling suddenly disjointed, as if her world had turned 90 degrees without warning and she needed to reorient herself before trying to move again. As if mirroring her disorientation, the ground began to heave and shake violently. The sound of heavy pounding came from the room warrior Maura had entered and with each smash, the ground lurched violently under them.

Knowing she had no choice, Maura pulled herself up and headed through the door.

Entering the room was entering the barbarian camp. All around men laughed and talked about their conquests as animals of all kinds sounded their complaint or contentment. It could only have been a day or two since the destruction of the town since the division of the spoils was still being completed, and Maura passed silently by the gloating, carousing warriors as they divided up what little was left of other people's lives. The sounds of the crashes grew louder and right where she knew the command tent should be, she saw a huge solid door with a number of impressive looking locks barring the way. Warrior Maura was throwing herself at the door with all of her strength, trying to break it down by sheer will, crying as she threw herself against it again and again.

"What are you doing?" Maura asked during a pause between the attempts.

The girl looked at her desperately, "I have to get through this door. Then everything will be all right again. Everything will make sense again, like it did before. You'll see. Then she . . . then all of you will understand why it all happened. I never meant for anyone to get hurt. I didn't want them to die. But what was I supposed to do once they were gone. Once I knew I couldn't just die myself and be with them. What was I supposed to do?" The words disappeared into a fresh round of sobs and she sank against the door, pounding lightly on it with her closed fists. "Please let me in, let me in so I can be safe again. So everything can make sense again. Please!"

Maura didn't know what this particular memory would be, but it seemed so important to her younger self to see it that she knew they'd have to find a way through that door. The others had caught up and were standing in a half circle behind them. Little Maura wriggled out of Methos' grasp and held out her hand to Maura. Her eyes were dark and deep and suddenly very knowing. She recognized too that something important lay beyond that door.

A familiar voice cut through raucous laughter behind them, strong and confident, full of the pride and arrogance that were his trademarks. "For such a nothing little backwater, this place has produced some very interesting treasures. Darius is quite pleased . . . which should be a great relief to all of you," Grayson said smoothly as he strode into view with two other men trailing beside him.

"It sure is," agreed the younger of the two followers. "Is it true he found himself a woman this time – one he plans on keeping for himself, I mean? She must be something special . . . ," the man babbled on not seeing the fury that quickly rose in Grayson's eyes and face at the comment. His sword was at the young man's throat before the other could even think do anything more that stand perfectly still and try not to breathe lest the incredibly sharp blade sitting so close to his skin find purchase from any movement.

"What Darius does and who he does it with are none of your concern, are they?" Grayson asked dangerously.

"No. No, sir," the man babbled in a panic. "I'm sorry, sir. I didn't mean no disrespect, sir. It won't never happen again."

"It better not or you won't have a voice left to babble with," Grayson responded as he pressed the sword closer, drawing a thin line of blood across the man's throat. "Now get out of my sight before I change my mind and decide not to let you off so easily."

"Y-yes, sir," the man stuttered as the sword left his throat and he turned and hurried in the other direction as fast as he could without appearing to be running.

Their stunned group parted in shock as Grayson approached, looking as real, as substantial, as any of the rest of them. He walked through the open space they had left without acknowledging their presence and walked up to the door. As he reached out and touched it, the door simply melted away and became a tent flap. Grayson reached for the flap, pulled it open and walked inside.

"I don't understand," Joe Dawson said quietly. "That's not one of her memories, or even one of Darius', so how can we be seeing it."

"No," Cassandra said quietly, looking at Duncan, "but it is one of Grayson's, and you took Grayson's head and his quickening, so Grayson is in you. That's why she was so afraid to have you here, why she made that remark about you being like the evil one. She could sense him in you and knew he held an important piece of this puzzle. A puzzle she didn't want us to be able to solve."

Maura was only half listening to the quiet conversation as she moved toward the tent flap, and she noticed the air around her begin to shimmer. The tent flap suddenly rushed toward her, and before any of them knew what had happened, the opening had expanded so they were just outside it, but could see clearly what was going on inside without moving any closer. Inside another ghost of herself, this one obviously very frightened, was huddled in pile of furs toward the side of the tent. Warrior Darius had disappeared from their group and was now standing a few feet away from that Maura sipping from a goblet as he assessed the frightened girl staring back at him.

The memory came back to Maura slowly. He'd just told her some of the truth, but not all of it yet, and was giving her some time to let it sink in. She'd been struggling between her fear of the man and the fact that she was alive despite a sword through her chest meaning that at least part of what he'd said had to be true, but not knowing how big a part.

Then Grayson was there, his dark eyes flashing with anger and frustration, and the scene played itself out before her eyes.

"The women and children are all gone. We can't find them anywhere."

Darius' reply was disinterested, "They couldn't have disappeared off the face of the earth. They'll turn up."

"We look like fools because we can't find them. Do you want people talking about how the mighty Darius was outwitted by a bunch of ignorant farmers?"

The attack on his vanity had its desired effect and Darius' expression tightened. "Perhaps our new friend will help us with this little problem."

"What about it, friend," Grayson said, the last word dripping with sarcasm. "Where are they hiding?"

The girl in the furs glared at him defiantly, and said nothing. Her father had counted on her and she had let him, and her mother, down. She had no intention of betraying the rest of her family.

He stepped toward her threateningly and growled, "Would you like to find out what it's like to be dead again?"

She fought the shiver of fear that passed through her, but remained silent and kept her cold gaze locked on his.

"That's enough," Darius said with irritation. "She is not like the others. She is one of us, and you will treat her as such."

Grayson looked at him, disbelief clear on his face. "You can't be serious. She may be one of us, but she's still a woman. What good is she."

"We have female warriors among us," Darius responded. "Once she is properly trained, she will be just as useful as the others."

"The others came to us already trained. Why should we waste our time teaching her."

Darius frowned and responded coldly, "Because I said so."

Grayson was visibly angered by the rebuke and he responded through clenched teeth, "As you wish. It's your time to waste. I want nothing to do with it. What do you want me to do about the women and children."

"A good question. What should we do about them, my dear," he asked the figure huddled in the corner.

The girl looked at him, surprise evident on her face. Unsure of the answer he wanted she brazened the truth, "Leave them alone. They've done nothing to you."

Grayson laughed viciously, "They dared to defy us and they must pay the price. Your men are all dead and we demand our spoils."

"They are women and children. What possible use could they be to you."

"The women have their obvious uses," he responded cruelly, enjoying the pain that flared in her eyes, "and the children will bring us much gold when they are sold as slaves."

"Bastard!" she screamed at him, as she jumped up. "Isn't it enough that you've destroyed our lives and killed our fathers, brothers and husbands." Tears slid down her cheeks at the memory of her loved ones, but she brushed them away angrily. "Leave them alone!"

Eyes blazing with fury, Grayson stepped forward and pulled his arm back as if he intended to strike her, but Darius grabbed his arm. "Do not ever lay your hands on her," he said, his voice full of ice. "She is mine and I will decide what is to be done with her."

Trembling with fury, Grayson lowered his arm and stepped back, "Then deal with her. This insolence cannot go unpunished. If she is to stay, she must learn her place."

"I will deal with her in my own time," he responded coldly.

Grayson pulled himself to his full height and stated coldly, "You made me your second because you believed I deserved that honor. I have worked hard for many years to gain that place of trust by your side. Unless you intend to remove me from that position, I must insist that my authority not be undermined."

Darius held his gaze for a moment, recognized the determination there, and relented slightly. "I chose you as my second because you are the only one daring enough to tell me when I am wrong. Of course I do not intend to undermine your authority, but this is an unusual situation. I will deal with it, my friend. You have my word. There is no dishonor or disrespect to you intended."

"And what of the women and children?"

"I will leave that in your capable hands. Search for them if you must, but they are of no consequence." He turned his steady gaze toward the trembling figure still standing defiantly in the corner, "We already have what the gods sent us here to find."

The ghost Maura returned the gaze, surprise and confusion evident on her face.

Grayson stared at each of them in turn, and a look of disgust crossed his face as he turned away, "Then I shall return to my duties. Do you have any suggestions as to where I should start the search."

Darius' eyes never left Maura's as he responded, "No, I'm sure you can handle it. But remember, we must leave here in two days whether you are successful or not."

Grayson nodded curtly and strode from the tent, the entrance growing slightly again to allow him to pass without forcing any of the watchers riveted to the scene to have to move to accommodate him. But he didn't move on as Maura expected, but pivoted quickly back toward the tent opening and stood by the side where he had a clear view of the inside but was blocked from the girl's view by the side of the tent and Darius' large form, his back to the doorway. Maura felt little Maura clinging to her with fear as the tension grew and suddenly warrior Maura reached out and took her other hand, looking anxiously at her for reassurance as she did so.

She kept glancing at Grayson, willing him to go away as she heard Darius talking calmly and soothingly to the frightened young woman inside. And then came the words she had been dreading, "Let's hope my dear that he doesn't think to look in the caves."

Maura's heart crashed to the floor as she watched the evil smile light up Grayson's face and she felt a surge of fury that he had been so vindictive as to hide himself away in order to steal her secret. She expected him to race off to his kill, but instead of moving away he continued to stare intently and Maura's eyes were drawn to follow his back inside the tent. She heard the heartrending shriek of anguish and pain from her warrior self as all three of them followed Grayson's eyes to Darius, who was standing facing the frightened girl huddled in the furs, his hands seemingly crossed behind his back, acting concerned and non-threatening. Those hands were moving quickly and dexterously in a series of signals obviously meant for his second in command hidden in the doorway.

The anguished scream came again and again, deep betrayal and hurt evident in that agonized cry, as the warrior Maura sank to the ground, covering her head with her arms as if to ward off physical blows. Maura felt the shock of the revelation freezing her slowly from the inside out and she felt too numb to do more than accept what she had just seen and move on. She knelt by her warrior self and tried to comfort the hysterical girl but there was no soothing her. Little Maura knelt on the girl's other side and tried to hug her, but the girl pushed her away with a heavy sob.

"You were right. All along you were right and I wouldn't listen to you. Why wouldn't I listen? You knew he was bad . . . you knew he was evil! But I wouldn't listen. Why, why didn't I listen? He killed them. He killed them all. Even if Grayson was the one who actually held the sword, he was the one who killed them. How could I have let him fool me like that? How could I have believed in him so completely? How could I have let myself love him?"

Maura couldn't find words to comfort her because she was asking herself the very same questions. She looked over at the mighty warrior standing so cold and aloof -- not reacting to the emotional scene playing itself out in front of him. As she continued to look at him she noticed the tightness of his jaw and the ramrod straight set of spine and realized with shock that it was an act. This terrible scene had affected him, but he was trying very hard not to let anyone see that.

He looked at her and she caught a glimpse of the pain in his eyes, as he said with incredible control, "Are you really so surprised. I barely knew you then, and finding those people was . . . necessary. You had to have heard the stories about me -- my brutality, my deviousness. Did you really expect that I would become someone different just because I felt something I'd never felt before that first time I looked into your eyes?"

His glance moved to his wife who was still hunched on the floor crying softly as the little girl tried to comfort her and she caught the look of pain that he couldn't keep from his face. "You really do love her," she said numbly.

"Does that really matter now," he asked neutrally, his gaze still on the crying woman.

"Perhaps it is the only thing that does matter after all these years," came another, gentler voice. Maura looked into the eyes of the kindly priest the mighty warrior had become.

"Why are we here?" she asked him. "Why did I have to see this? It all happened so long ago. What possible difference could it make now."

"Because you needed to know that our love was based on a lie. You have held on to that life and that love for so long, believing it was the best time of your life and that you would never know such happiness again. Look at it, Maura. Was it really such a happy time, such a wonderful life?"

"I was happy," came a voice shaking with sobs as the warrior Maura joined the conversation. "I was safe and strong and Immortal. I was going to be a queen. Why wouldn't I be happy." A door at the end of the room suddenly blew open and from behind it came the sounds of a fierce battle -- screams of terror and pain. Voices pleading for their lives in a strange language.

The older Maura braced herself against the memories her younger self didn't share. She didn't know about Kapul or Paris or 14 centuries of Grayson's cat and mouse games, and just for a moment she wished she could be that innocent again -- that she could go back to that time when she felt safe and loved, before reality stole innocence and faith.

"You can," Darius said softly.

"I can what," she asked numbly.

"That is the choice you are here to make today. That is why you needed to see these things. You have the choice to stay here and become her again," he said pointing to her warrior self. "To be back in the place where you believed you were the most happy. Or you can return to your life and your friends," he added, waving his hand in the direction of her concerned friends.

There was stunned silence from all those in the room as Maura mulled her choices. Stay here in this place and be that naive young girl again, who was just learning what it meant to be immortal and believed she had found her one true love, or go back to a world full of hurt and pain and betrayal. She met Methos' eyes and the intensity of his gaze shook her. She looked at him and for just a moment saw the warrior Darius, the one who had lied and tricked and stolen his way into her heart. Was it the same with him. Was this just another ploy from another Immortal trickster set on stealing her heart and stomping it into the ground.

"Am I the same man you married," Darius asked her suddenly.

She looked at him, confused by the sudden change of subject. "No. Of course not," she responded, unsure what else to say. "The Quickening in Paris -- Brother Francis -- changed you."

"Are you so sure that's what changed me."

"Oh, I remember very clearly that that's when you changed," she responded bitterly.

"But is that what changed me."

"Stop talking in riddles, Darius. It's getting very tiresome," she responded wearily.

"Very well . . . ." he began to say, but was interrupted by his younger self.

"It was you that changed me," he cut in angrily. "I didn't want to love you. I didn't want to feel anything for you, but there you were so young and innocent and full of life and love. Every place we went was an adventure for you, every new sight full of wonder. And the grief of every suffering or death we caused was written on your face. I tried not to let it affect me but it did. I found myself wanting to be a better person for you, wanting to really be the person you thought you saw every time you looked at me, wanting to deserve the way you looked at me with such love and devotion in your eyes. I wanted to be worthy of you, but I knew I never could be . . . that this person," he gestured dismissively at himself, "could only cause you more pain and grief."

"Then Brother Francis stood at the gates of Paris," the older Darius picked up the story, "and offered a way out. A way to be that better person. If I had still been the same Darius you met that first day, taking in Brother Francis' quickening would have had no effect on me. But I wanted to change, I wanted to be someone different, someone good and worthy of your love. So I let him become part of me. I let him into my soul to help heal me of all the anger and pain I'd felt all those years of being alone and watching all those I loved die while I went on . . . and on and on.

"Love can change people, Maura, if they let it. If they truly want it to. Is he the same man who hurt Cassandra 3,000 years ago," he asked, pointing unexpectedly at Methos, who flinched at suddenly becoming the center of attention, "or has he changed in that time. What does your heart tell you."

"My heart told me to trust him," she said pointing to Darius' younger self, "and look where that got me. You'll have to forgive me if I'm not willing to give my heart another chance to screw me over," she added bitterly.

"Maura," came a soft voice as Cassandra moved forward and went to her, "do you still trust me?"

"Of course," the other woman responded.

"Then listen to what he's saying. I have more reason than anyone else to mistrust Methos, even to hate him. But I've seen him do some truly amazing things today. Things I'd never thought him capable of. Last time I met up with him I didn't believe he'd changed . . . or that he was even capable of changing. But I was wrong. Give him a chance."

"But we promised to kill him because of what he did to you," the warrior Maura broke in. "We have to keep our promise."

"No," Cassandra said firmly. "No, you don't. It was a foolish promise made in the heat of emotion and I would never hold you to it. And you mustn't hold yourself to it either." She turned back to the older Maura and took her hands as she forced her to look into her eyes. "You didn't betray me, Maura. I know that and you must know it, too. Do you remember what you said to me that day we were out in the field, how it wasn't my fault that I thought he cared for me because I was a prisoner and I needed to believe I had some control over my life to remain sane?" The girl nodded numbly.

"Well the same thing happened to you, it just ended differently. You believed in Darius because you had no other choice but to believe or go mad. For us there was not even the comfort of eventually dying to escape our prisons. But Darius fell in love with you and that set you free. Perhaps in his own way Methos cared for me, but that was a different time and a different place and Kronos was much more dangerous than Grayson could ever have dreamed of being. There was no place for love in that world, but there is a place for it now."

"Are you the same person who hurt Cassandra all those years ago," Darius asked Methos.

Methos was too stunned by the question to answer, but a response did come from a surprising source. "No, he's not," little Maura said confidently, walking over to her older self and looking directly into her eyes. "Ever since he got here, he's been taking care of me, making sure nobody hurt me," she said, casting a swift glance at her warrior self still sitting hunched on the floor. "He doesn't want to hurt us. He wants to help us. Please give him a chance."

"I'm not sure he's going to want that chance once we get out of here," Maura responded wryly. "Not after all this craziness," she added gesturing around the room.

"Take that chance," Methos responded fiercely.

Without hesitation she reached her hand out to him and he took it.

Methos raised his head from the bed slowly as his aching muscles complained loudly about how long he'd been sprawled in that awkward position hunched over the bed. He was aware that he still had Maura's hand in his but he was momentarily confused by the weight of another hand pressing down on top of his. He looked over in time to see Cassandra raise her head from the bed and meet his eyes. Duncan MacLeod groaned loudly beside him and pulled himself up, at the same time pulling his hand off the top of the pile. Cassandra's stayed there a moment longer before she lifted it away, and he felt a momentary stab of gratitude that she no longer reacted with disgust to the very sight of him, let alone to that touch.

Maura moaned softly and began to stir, her eyes fluttering a few times before they managed to open. She looked groggily around the bed at all the anxious faces -- Cassandra, Richie, Amanda, Joe, Duncan and Methos looked back at her anxiously, until the moment was broken by Ann Lindsay swooping in to check her vital signs. "It's good to have you back, Maura. You gave us quite a scare," the lovely doctor said in her best bedside tone. "I wasn't sure how I was going to explain it to Mary if we lost you."

Maura smiled weakly at her, unsure of how much of what she remembered was real and how much a dream, but grateful that all of her friends were there with her.

-----

Maura ran her fingers lightly over the tiny scar that was the only remaining evidence that she had almost died less than a week ago. Ann had ordered bed rest for several days and she was very happy to finally be allowed to go out again. Sitting on the sofa, she ran her fingers lightly over the long metal box sitting on the coffee table in front of her as she listened to the words of the song playing on the stereo - "You are safe in my heart and my heart will go on an on." They were comforting considering what she was planning to do today.

"Are you ready," came Methos' voice from the doorway pulling her from her contemplations.

She smiled at him and nodded, picking up the box as she got up.

"Let me take that for you," he said with concern.

"It's okay. I've got it," she responded with a smile.

-----

Joe's Place wasn't open for business yet when they arrived, but they were expected. Richie opened the door with a big smile and grabbed Maura around the waist, spinning her quickly around before plopping her back down and planting a kiss on her cheek. "It's so good to see you. You look fantastic!" he said, his smile lighting up the room.

She smiled gratefully, clutching the box against her as she tried to regain her balance.

They were all there – Duncan, Joe, Amanda, Richie, Ann, little Mary and Cassandra -- smiling and happy, glad that she was alive. And for the first time in months, she felt glad she was alive too.

She put the box in the center of the table and looked at it for a moment. "Joe, Duncan," I need your help with something, if you don't mind," she said thoughtfully.

"Anything you need, sweetie," Joe said, putting their usual drinks down in front of them, "just ask."

"Come sit for a minute," she requested, her tone serious.

His smile faded a little as he looked questioningly at MacLeod, who shrugged his broad shoulders in response and looked at Methos, who flashed them both an 'I don't know either so don't ask me' look, as they came and sat down. Maura saw the concern in Richie's eyes from across the room and said reassuringly, "It's all right. All of you can come over. It's just that only Joe and Duncan have the connections to actually do what I need."

The others pulled over chairs, looking curiously at each other and at the box in the center of the table. It was rectangular, approximately 5 feet long by 2 feet wide with metal latches on the side. It was nondescript and could be holding anything from a clarinet to a small bazooka. They all watched as she carefully undid the latches and opened the lid. Nestled on a satiny platform was an intricately carved flute. Ann gasped briefly at its beauty, and was surprised when Maura picked it up and tossed it aside carelessly and began lifting the satin platform that had held it.

Underneath, carefully wrapped in protective cloths were two swords. Methos knew immediately that they were very old from the workmanship and detail.

Joe's voice shook as he asked, "Damn, are these what I think they are?"

Maura lifted one of the ancient blades and offered the hilt to him for inspection. "This is the sword used by the mighty barbarian chief, Darius, as he swept across Europe in the 4th and 5th centuries. Truth be told, he was using it during the 2nd and 3rd centuries too, but that would be very difficult to explain to a potential buyer."

"Buyer?" Joe asked, stunned. "You want to sell this?"

She looked at the shiny blade that she had carefully maintained for 13 centuries and nodded. "The man who wielded this blade died a very long time ago, and the man who took his place never wanted it. I kept it because it was a way to keep the dream alive, the dream that some day the world would go back to the way it used to be, and then I could be happy again. But I was looking in the wrong place for that happiness. The past is gone and it can never be recaptured. All we really have is right here and right now." She looked around the circle of friends listening intently to her words. "And I think here and now with all of you is a pretty terrific place to be."

They all smiled at that as she continued, "so here is the favor I need to ask. I want you to arrange to sell these -- the twin used to be mine -- for as much as you can get for them. I understand provenance will be a problem, so do the best you can. Then I want the money to go to Darius' church, to help continue all the good work he was doing there before he died. Somewhere in his Bible there's something about beating swords into plowshares. Although this isn't exactly the same, I think he'd appreciate the symbolism." She smiled softly. "Do you think you can do that for me."

"It won't be a problem," Duncan said, gently running his fingers across the ancient hilt, being careful not to touch the still deadly sharp blade. "Even without the name Darius attached to it, the age and condition of the weapon alone will put it in the 5 figures range."

"I might know a few people who are interested as well," Joe added.

"You two can work it out," she said. "I trust you both to do the right thing."

They both nodded, humbled by the compliment.

Later, when they were alone at the table, Maura slipped something into Joe's hand. "This is for your private collection," she said with a gentle smile.

Taking a quick glance around to make sure no one was watching, he opened the tiny blue jeweler's bag and poured its contents into his hand. Two gold wedding bands glittered on his palm and he felt the tears well up in his eyes as he looked at them. "I don't deserve to have these. It was my brother-in-law who killed him. I have no right to even be touching them. You kept yours all this time. Why give it away now?"

"Because I don't need it anymore," she said softly. "Don't you understand, Joe. I kept it, and after I got his, both of them, for the same reason I kept the swords, as reminders of what I used to have, of what used to be. And of all the things I'd lost that I wanted back. Darius knew what he was doing 1400 years ago when he released me from our wedding vows but it's taken me all that time to realize it. And now it's time to let go of all of the things that have kept me living in that past, waiting for that life to come back to me. I want to live again and I want to love again." She cast a fond glance at Methos who was in deep conversation with MacLeod and Richie at the bar. "He deserves much more than the leftover scraps of love of a woman who has been pining for centuries for someone else. And I think I'm finally ready to give it to him.

"I thought about selling these, too, but I knew you'd be horrified. And since I know they mean something to you, I want you to keep them, not as a symbol of a love that died or was stolen away, but as a symbol that life can and should go on."

Overcome with emotion, he could only nod. She leaned over and kissed him gently on the cheek. "You're a good man, Joe Dawson. No matter what happens, never forget that. Or how lucky we both are to have all of these really good people as our friends."

As she left him to join the lively discussion at the bar, Joe Dawson took a good look at those people Duncan, Richie, Amanda, Methos, Maura, Ann and little Mary, even Cassandra whom he was only just beginning to know -- and did feel lucky, and incredibly grateful, to have all of them in his life. He tucked the small blue pouch in his pocket and ambled over to the bar to enjoy the precious time they had together.

THE END