Chapter Two

Nobody realizes that some people expend tremendous energy merely to be normal. Albert Camus

The airport was small and dirty. A strange smell, a mix of jet fuel and stale food, assaulted Michael's nose. The big airplane was sitting dutifully outside, barely visible through the dirty glass as it was loaded for the flight. He glanced briefly at Selene, who sat beside him on the bench in the terminal. Her face was blank as it always seemed to be.

"Are you sure this is safe?" he asked her for the umpteenth time that day. "I'm not liking the looks of this place."

Selene shot him a glare. "Of course not. You're afraid."

"I am not. How many times do I have to tell you that?"

She chose not to answer, instead shifting uneasily beside him as she tried to get comfortable in her new clothes. The whole human thing wasn't working for her. The last time she had worn 'normal' clothes, normal had been corsets and long, layered skirts. The simple shirt and pair of pants she currently had on was terribly uncomfortable, itching in places she didn't know could itch. It was torture. Plain and simple.

"We'll be greeted as soon as we land," she told him quietly, being careful to omit words that would cause a bit of worry among the others in the terminal. News had arrived by phone late the night before, informing the two of them that they had been granted sanctuary with Amelia's kin. "An escort will be provided to accompany us to the house." She patted his hand, which was clenching the hem of his own itchy shirt. "We'll be fine. Don't let the plane scare you."

"I am not afraid of the plane!" Michael protested yet again. "I just…don't like flying. But I'll get over it."

"In the next five minutes?" Selene prodded, hiding a smile as a woman by the gate announced boarding. "Come on; let's get seated, then."

Michael suppressed an involuntary shudder as he stood, reaching to the floor to grab the magazine and book of brain puzzles he had bought to keep himself occupied. "Do we really have to do this?" he asked as a last attempt to save his sanity from the grasp of changing air pressure.

Selene sighed, shaking her head. "You're worse than Erika, and she complained about everything. Now come on." She pulled out the two tickets and extended her hand, gesturing for him to go first. "I'm keeping an eye on you. No running off."

His shoulders slumped as he walked forward and through the gate. He had to consciously remind himself to breathe as his feet brought him closer and closer to the plane itself. A panic attack would do no good. Especially not now. It saddened him to think that he had just killed the most powerful lycan in existence but an airplane scared him senseless. Childhood fears die hard, he thought. Selene reached around him to hand their boarding passes to an obviously American stewardess. They had reached the entrance to the plane and he hadn't noticed.

The woman gave them both a large smile. "Going on your honeymoon?" she asked innocently, all beauty and no brain. Neither corrected her. "New York is a lovely place. I'm sure you'll enjoy yourselves." She looked down at the tickets. "Business class, 33 A and B. On your left."

Selene grabbed the tickets back and pushed Michael in the proper direction. The aisle was a good size, big like the plane. That made him feel a bit less claustrophobic. Of course the plane is large, he berated himself. It's an international flight.

"Here," Selene said quietly, forcing him to really get his bearings. "Four seats. Ours are on the inside." She glanced up at him, a coy smile flitting across her lips before disappearing just as quickly. "Would you like to sit by the window?"

"No," said Michael stubbornly. But he slid into the window seat anyway, not pausing for a second to see her triumphant face. Selene sat beside him and adjusted her pants over her thighs, clearly still not thrilled with her apparel. He was about to jab her about it, wanting to get her back for all her teasing, but didn't get the chance as a large man ambled down the aisle and stopped beside their row. A quick glance down at his ticket confirmed Michael's fears. The man plopped himself down beside Selene, whose eyes widened in obvious repugnance.

"I'm Bryan," he said through a think New Orleans accent. "On my way home from a trip through Asia. Where're you guys headed?"

Michael looked worriedly at Selene, who was staring at the headrest of the seat in front of her like she could set it on fire with her smoldering eyes. "Um, New York," he answered when her jaw clenched even tighter. This was going to be a very long flight.

"Beautiful city," Bryan mused. "What're you going there for?"

Michael paused, eyes darting again to Selene, who offered him absolutely no help. "Honeymoon," he supplied lamely, repeating what the stewardess had suggested before. That got Selene's attention. Those smoldering eyes turned on him, and he swore he would have burst into flames from the fury emanating from her body if it were possible.

"How nice for you two newlyweds," Bryan chuckled. "Mr. and Mrs…?"

"Cor-" Shit. Another of Selene's glares stopped him dead in his tracks. Okay, so the real name thing was a bad idea. "Corv…ik…inson."

"Well, it's a real pleasure to meet you, Mr. and Mrs. Corvikinson." He extended his hand and Michael had to reach over an unresponsive Selene to shake it. "And you, little lady." He stuck out his hand for her to shake as well. Michael chanced prodding her in the ribs to get her to move. Her fingers barely touched the man's palm before they were jerked back and clenched tightly in her lap. The man smiled and turned his attention away from the two of them as a stewardess walked down the aisle offering drinks before takeoff.

"Michael," Selene growled as soon as the attention was off them. "What the hell are you doing?"

Michael looked at her, thrown. "He started it," he retorted, pointing to Bryan's back. "I was just being sociable."

"You're going to expose us!" she hissed.

He didn't back down this time. "Well, we'll be exposed a lot faster if we don't speak when spoken to. What was I supposed to do? Pretend I was deaf? Didn't speak English?" When she didn't respond right away, he charged on. "Look, it seems I know how to be human more than you do. Maybe you'd benefit listening to me for once. At least when we're in such a confined space with so many people." Christ, what am I saying? But he didn't have a choice. Michael clenched his teeth and forced himself to meet her gaze.

"I was just as much a human as you were before I was turned!" she spat back heatedly.

Realizing he was pushing her too far, he said quietly, "Yeah, but that was a while ago, wasn't it?" Seeing her eyes flicker in momentary understanding, he continued. "Just…be nice to him. Or at least don't cut off his head with a plastic knife."

"His neck is too thick to get through even if I had a sword." Selene sighed, trying to suppress her unjustified anger. He was right, and she knew it. "Hand me that damn magazine."

Just as she settled back in her seat an announcer came over the speakers. "Welcome aboard," the pilot said enthusiastically. "If everyone would please buckle up, we're ready to take off. We're due in New York at ten pm Eastern-Standard Time."

Michael visibly tensed at the announcement. Selene glanced over at him, eyebrows furrowing as he gripped at the armrest closest to the window. "Are you all right?" she asked, worried. "You won't tear apart your seat, will you?"

Bryan laughed at her words. It seemed he had already buckled himself in and leaned back, watching the 'newlyweds' interact. She hadn't realized he'd been listening. "You afraid of flying, Mr. Corvikinson?"

Michael bristled. "Of course not," he muttered indignantly. "Let's get this show on the road."

Selene pursed her lips, refusing to look at Bryan even though she could feel his eyes on her back. "Calm down, Michael. Just breathe."

He was unable to do so when the engines roared to life, igniting the childhood fears he had tried to repress. After a moment the plane jerked as it backed out of its spot at the terminal and straightened to go down the runway. The hand on the armrest squeezed so hard the padding began to push against the seams in the fabric. Selene watched him, trying to think of something to do to help ease his obvious apprehension. Acting quickly, she reached across and pried his hand off the protesting armrest and encased his fingers with her own.

"Calm down," she whispered again, this time so only he could hear it. "If you get too scared you're going to change."

Michael felt like a little boy being reprimanded, but right then he didn't care. His other hand groped about blindly until she held it as well.

"If I had known this would be such a problem we could have traveled by ship instead. You should have said something." Her voice was soothing now, not demeaning as he had expected it to be. Who are you, Selene? Who are you really?

The plane accelerated down the runway, the front wheel jumping off the ground as the wings caught the air. Michael closed his eyes and squeezed her hands just as hard as he had been squeezing the armrest, but she didn't seem to be pained by it. Instead of asking him to ease off, she leaned over toward his ear and continued whispering, focusing only on keeping him from having a panic attack. "Don't worry," she repeated over and over. "Everything will be fine."

After an agonizing twenty minutes, the plane leveled out in the air. Michael breathed deeply, trying to get his heart to slow back to normal. He really did have a full-blown phobia, but he would never admit it. Selene's hands were cool in his; she made no move to pull them away as she settled back into her chair. He was terribly embarrassed at his reaction and was about to apologize when she gave him a look that clearly read, You have nothing to feel sorry for. You're welcome.

Bryan chose that moment to lean close to Selene, interrupting the silent conversation. "Seems your husband has a bit of a fear-factor thing going," he said robustly. "I've never been afraid of planes. Fly all the time."

Selene glared at him, biting back the impulse to bare her fangs. "Michael's father died in a plane crash when he was thirteen," she said evenly, not batting an eye. The lie worked. Bryan shut up. Her attention turned back to Michael, who was now staring inertly out the window, holding her hands gently in his lap. "Feeling better?"

Michael gave her a weak smile. "I guess." The planed dipped and righted itself. Turbulence. The smile turned to a grimace. "Not really. How long is the flight?" The question was met with silence. "What?" He looked at her, nausea coating his stomach.

"Close your eyes," she ordered under her breath. "Quickly!"

"What's wrong, Mr. Corvikinson?" Bryan queried, leaning into the conversation again as he balanced a cup of champagne in one of his chubby hands. "You look a little blue. Can't you breathe?"

"Give him some space," Selene demanded, frustration with the man growing by the second.

"Oh, protective little girl, eh?" Bryan mocked. Alcohol was suddenly thick on his breath. "I like that."

She had to bite her tongue to keep herself in check. Wisely choosing to ignore him, she concentrated entirely on Michael. "Listen to me," she breathed into his ear again. "You need to focus. You're just afraid. You're in no real danger." His skin took on its normal tone. "You're safe. We're both safe."

A few seconds after that, he opened his eyes and gave her a wary glance. A quick nod was all he needed to know he had succeeded in controlling himself. "Shit…" His head hit the back of his seat.

"Everything okay over there?" Bryan asked loudly.

"Fine," they said together. Selene gave her companion a tight-lipped grin, more akin to a smirk than a smile. He returned it, some strands of thick hair falling across his face as he titled his head further back. She tightened her hold on Michael's hands, offering him a contact point to focus on as a distraction from what was going on around him.

"We're safe, huh?" Michael muttered through a set jaw. "What about my poor father, the one who died in a plane crash when I was thirteen?"

Selene kicked his leg hard enough to leave a bruise. "Drop it. I was protecting you."

"Yeah, you were." She stared at him, not expecting him to actually agree with her. "Thanks."

"Sure," she responded hesitantly, waiting for him to say something else. Don't start this again. When no other words were forthcoming, she chose to be honest about the question he had asked before. "The flight is about ten, eleven hours long. There's a stop in Paris, but we don't have to switch planes. Will you be all right? We could get off at Paris, sail from there."

"You really think a ship will sit better with him than a plane?" Bryan butted in again, thoroughly amused by Michael's dilemma.

Selene turned and gave him one of her worst glares. "This is going to be a long enough flight without you harassing us the whole way!" she snapped, grabbing hold of her temper before she did something she'd regret.

"Whoo-ee!" Bryan exclaimed, causing the people in the rows around them to look in his direction. "A mean little Brit."

"Hey, um…" Michael spoke up, fighting through his sick stomach to come to her defense as he felt her tense with fury beside him. "You might not want to say that."

"Why not?" Bryan asked drunkenly as he threw aside his fifth empty cup.

Selene looked to Michael, giving him temporary leave to say anything he could think of. "She's…mentally unsound. She might crack." Until he said that. He instantly realized his mistake. "I-I mean, she's not…violent. Or stupid. Just…don't say anything like that, okay?"

"Mentally unsound?" Selene breathed, deadly quiet. She shook her head angrily and Michael could feel the noose getting closer around his neck.

Luckily for both of them, Bryan just laughed. "Mentally unsound!" he chuckled loudly. "I find that hard to believe! I'm a doctor, you know."

Selene's anger toward Michael shifted quickly. "If you're a doctor, why aren't you in first class?" Leaving us alone.

"Never liked first class," he mused, just as loudly as before. "Like sitting back here, with the underprivileged." He raised his hand and smacked Selene's shoulder a few times. "You know, the people who can't afford anything but this."

"We can afford it," you bastard, Selene all but growled. "We just don't enjoy wasting our money. But if I had known whose company we'd be in, I'd have spent that extra to get other seats."

Bryan muttered something under his breath before pushing himself from the seat and making for the toilets. Selene watched him go, her eyes filled with hate, before she glanced back at Michael. His face was pained, she could see it immediately.

"What's wrong?" she asked, softening her voice to a nice contrast against the one she had just been using. And then suddenly she knew. "Michael." Selene could almost feel the sorrow seeping from his pores. "You're still a doctor. More of one than that pig could ever wish to be. Really. You still try to heal me, after all, don't you?"

"You don't much need it," he spat. The barb wasn't directed at her, but at the situation. And she knew that. It hurt anyway. "I had my whole life ahead of me, and then it was gone in hours and I'm left with…this." He held up their joined hands.

Selene gave him a look, catching her breath. Isn't this enough?

"Oh, and stewardess?" It was Bryan coming back to his seat. "Another champagne would be wonderful." The young woman he was talking to flashed him a large smile.

Selene sighed angrily. "Perhaps you should lay off the alcohol," she advised rudely. "I can already smell it dripping off your very large body."

He turned to her, a lecherous grin on his face. "I'm from New Orleans, sweet pea. You might not know this, not being from the U. S. of A. an' all, but New Orleans is a big drinking city. We know how to hold our liquor."

"As I can see," she muttered, blocking him from her sight by turning her torso back toward Michael, who was actually holding back a laugh. "What?"

He shook his head and closed his eyes. "Nothing. I've just never seen you be so…civil when there were no weapons involved."

Her eyebrows narrowed, momentarily hurt, but she pushed it away. "I can be quite civil," she replied sweetly. "But Michael," and the joking was gone as seriousness crept back, "what would you like to do about this? Would you like to get to America on a ship? Would that be better?"

Michael was honestly dumbstruck. What he saw in her face was not concern for their disguise, but genuine worry over his wellbeing. She really cared. It was never something he had let himself consider, taking for granted that she was always just as cold as she seemed to be. But she really did care for him, and this was proof. He looked up at her, meeting her eyes and feeling his breath catch. Coming back to reality when Bryan coughed into his sleeve, Michael blinked and took Selene's question into consideration.

"You know," he said finally, "I'll be fine on the plane. I know you'd like to get to New York sooner rather than later, and I'll side with that over my stomach." He squeezed her hands.

Selene nodded and glanced down at his lap, where their fingers were entwined. His skin almost burned, it was so warm. Something she was not used to. That kind of heat had left her body so long ago she could barely remember it had been a part of her. A few lines of a myth she had heard years and years ago suddenly came to mind. "Vampires are cold because they cannot go into the sun. The moon chills their skin and blood until they're completely iced over. Lycans, on the other hand, never feel the moon's chill, as they have the sun to counter with its warmth." She couldn't remember who had said that, but it seemed true enough. Absurdly, she wondered if her skin would become warm again, now that she was able to go into the radiance of the sun.

"Selene?" Michael's voice brought her back. "You okay?"

A nod was all he got in the way of an answer. "Are you sure you'll be able to control your fear if we continue with the whole flight?"

"As long as you help me," he confessed, figuring it would do no good to hide anything now.

"Fair enough." Her lips pulled up on the left, as much a real smile as she could make right then.

"Hey, lovebirds," Bryan called over his shoulder, once again attracting the attention of the people around them. "Food is coming. Decide whether you want pork or beef."

"I forgot about the food." Michael paled. "What should we do? I mean, we can't eat it, can we?"

Selene thought for a moment. "I suppose we should just turn it down."

"Right, that'll go over well," he grumbled, sinking back into his seat. "We'll just refuse every meal."

"Well…" She bit the inside of her cheek, running through their options. "We'll just say that we like…natural foods?"

Hearing those words come out of Selene's mouth made Michael laugh. "Like blood."

"No, not like blood. Like…"

"Nuts and berries, right?" he supplied.

She shot him a look, but went with what he was saying. "Fine. We can say we brought our own food. Only if asked."

"Works for me." Michael shrugged. "Although I am rather hungry."

Selene kicked his leg again, hiding her own agitation at their predicament. Bryan interrupted. "So, pork or beef?"

She looked over his shoulder to see a steward at the end of their row with a cart filled with trays. "Neither," she said politely. "We're not hungry."

"Damn!" Bryan's random swear made her jump before her eyes settled on his face, which was red with shock as he dropped his spork onto the tray. "Those are some sharp canines!" He studied her even after she tightly pursed her lips. "Never seen any like 'em!"

Michael jumped in again when he saw her quickly becoming flustered. "She had them filed."

"How long ago?"

"Eh, five years?"

"Really?" Bryan leaned toward her as though it would get her to open her mouth again. "Must have been some fine work. Filed teeth usually get dull after a year. Those look like you could rip someone's throat out with 'em! Sure they're not capped? Seem a little long, in my opinion."

"What, are you a dentist?" Selene snapped before she could stop herself.

Bryan stared as she spoke, distracted. "Plastic surgeon." He glanced up at the rest of her face for a moment and flashed another smile. "I make people look young forever."

"I'm sure I won't be in need of your assistance," she stated before turning away.

"You sure?" he asked, stupidly reaching out and grabbing her chin to force her face back toward him. "I see some lines here around your eyes. You're what, twenty-five? Younger?"

Michael's eyes widened in horror. "Hey, maybe you should -"

"In a few years you'll get lines here and here as well," Bryan plodded on. Selene was trembling with rage. "I could get you a great deal on surgery. But you'd have to come down south to see me." His disgusting statement and the grin that accompanied it almost sent her over the edge. And then he just had to push his luck.

Her chin still clamped by his sweaty fingers, he clumsily lumbered on as his eyes fixed on her slightly open mouth. "You know," he slurred, "there's a medical condition called hermotidipsia. Makes people think they crave blood so they file down their teeth to get to it. Are you a little too obsessed with vampire movies?"

That was it. Years of carefully honed instincts kicked in, coupling with far too many repressed emotions to produce an impulse that was far too strong for Selene to control. She pulled her hand from Michael's iron grip, fastening it around the fat man's throat. He gasped in confusion, his drunk mind thinking he was imagining things as he went limp.

"Do not touch me!" she hissed furiously, her eyes briefly flashing blue in her rage.

"Selene!" Michael held onto her other hand as she tried to pry it loose as well. He was very aware of the people around them and tried as hard as he could to keep his voice quiet to avoid attention. No one was giving them any. Yet. "Stop it! Let him go!" He grabbed her arm with his free hand, trying desperately to get her away from Bryan, who was starting to turn purple. In growing panic, he reached over and unbuckled her seatbelt, then his own. Acting as it came into his head, he grabbed her around the waist and lifted her out of the seat – and away from Bryan, who was now passed out.

Michael took a calming breath to settle his stomach and carried her out of the row and down the aisle toward the bathrooms. "Morning sickness," he explained quickly at many curious glances. Some of the women nodded in understanding. He pushed the door open with his foot and pressed in behind her as he pulled it closed again.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" he asked wildly as soon as they were enclosed in the tiny space away from interfering eyes. "You almost killed that man!"

Selene's expression was bewildered as she finally turned to face him. "I-I don't know what came over me." But in actuality she did know. Knew very well. He had reminded her of someone. Someone she had hated.

Michael stared at her, concern written all over his face. "Are you okay now? Sheesh." He shook his head. "And you were worried about me losing control."

"Michael, I'm sorry." Her eyes begged him to forgive her. She sighed, visibly deflating. "I haven't been around humans in this kind of environment in a very long time. You were right. You know how to do this much better than I do." Lying was not an option. "Sometimes I forget how strong I am. And after living in war for as long as I have been, it's easy to forget. But I'm trying. I am."

The reality of what she said hit him hard. "I know." Her face was just as cold as it always was when he placed his hands on her cheeks. "And you're doing a wonderful job so far."

Selene snorted. "Right. I just killed a human on an airplane. I'm doing a splendid job."

"He's not dead," Michael told her, knowing exactly what he was talking about. Maybe she was right about him still being a doctor. "He's just passed out. The alcohol would have done that eventually, anyway. You just…helped it along. And to be honest, I doubt he'll remember a thing when he comes to."

The relief was welcomed as it overcame her. "You're sure he's all right?"

"Positive." He nodded and took her hand. "Let's go back and sit down. You're by the window this time."