A/N: Sorry for the wait, I know it is very mean of me to leave you all hanging but here it is... please read and review...

A chill ran down her arms. She didn't know what had awaken her, perhaps it was the feeling she'd felt earlier. The feeling of being watched. She pulled the sheet up to her neck and felt around beside her. When her fingers curled around the cold hardness of the temple dagger, she was comforted. That is, until she heard the noise.

It was very quiet, naturally, but she heard the tent flap being moved, and the sound of soft footsteps. An intruder.

He was breathless. The sight of her after all those days, after all that he'd been through, was incredible. The tent was very low, and he had to stoop a bit to avoid brushing his head against the ceiling. He stood fixed, not daring to breath. She was asleep, and he allowed himself the simple pleasure of watching her. It warmed him just to be in her presence. He had it all planned out up to this point. He had all the technical issues covered, taking care not to be seen and all, but when it came to this actual moment, he was clueless.

He could rush by her side and wake her, but he didn't think she would take in very well the sudden appearance of the man who was supposed to be dead. He was shaky, and it was as if he had lost the control of his limbs. It was a terrifying but fantastic experience. Slowly and silently he approached her sleeping form, keeping his eyes trained on the rise and fall of her chest. He swallowed. How was he going to go about this?

The next moment, however, decided for him. He barely saw the glint of the object in the corner of his eye before it came dangerously close to his neck. Instinctively he whipped around and the blade just missed its target and nicked his shoulder instead. He drew in a sharp breath and cursed.

Briseis perched on her bed, alert with a sheet in front of her, holding the knife in front of her defensively, breathing hard. Her eyes shone in the darkness. A drop of blood found its way and dripped down the blade. Then her mind clicked in with the image she was getting through her eyes.

"Where did you learn to fight like that?" Achilles grinned easily, applying pressure to his cut.

Briseis couldn't move. She could only stare at the man right in front of her. The man that was supposed to be dead. Slowly she drew the knife up to her eye-level and examined it. The blood on the knife was very much real, red and glistening in the dim light that came through a slit in the tent. The man was terrifingly real too. He noticed her staring and raised an eyebrow.

God, it is. But it couldn't be. Briseis blinked furiously. But the voice, the tone, the familiar taunting smile. It was all there, just as she remembered.

"Achilles," she whispered.

"Who'd you think it was?" He straightened and sat down beside her.

"You got something that I could use?" He gestured to his exposed shoulder, blood seeping between his fingers.

Briseis couldn't speak. Numbly she nodded. She reached across and handed him a washcloth from the foot of her bed. Their fingers brushed in the process. Briseis stared. Achilles stopped nursing his wound and gazed intently into her eyes. Slowly, as though he was afraid that she might bolt and run away, he leaned towards her.

Briseis watched in wonder as he came closer and closer, his eyes never leaving hers. She closed her eyes and closed the gap between them. His lips were soft and undemanding. His face was unshaven, and the stubble of roughness rubbed against her chin. All too soon, he pulled back, amused. She could swear that man always looked amused about something, as if the whole world was a stage, and the characters fascinated him. Gently, feeling that he might shatter in front of her very eyes, she reached out and touched his face. It was real. The skin beneath her fingers was warm and tanned. She ran a thumb along his jaw, fingering the small curl of his lip.

"Achilles," she whispered again.

"Yes, I was thinking of meeting under a less shocking circumstance, preferring that no one got hurt, but I suppose it's too late for that now," he smiled ruefully and gestured to his shoulder. All at once Briseis sprang into action. She snatched the washcloth off the floor, where it had fallen when they kissed, and soaked it in the pail of water by her bed, then wringing it out, she pressed it to his cut gingerly. Achilles closed his hand over hers.

"You'd think that I've never been wounded before. It's just a nick, and I think we both know that I've been hurt a lot worse than this."

He stared at her with such intensity that she had to look away, and that was when she realized that she was not wearing anything, other than the sheet, which had slipped down to her stomach. Self-conscious all of a sudden, she yanked it back up. Achilles ran his gaze along the length of her body, from the top of her head to her hips, covered by her sheet, to her toes poking out from underneath. Her eyes opened wide as he cracked a smile.

"It's stopped bleeding. I'm fine," he said reassuringly, averting his eyes, "I know, it's a shock to you and you would want me to explain everything-" Briseis cut him off and put her arms around his neck.

"We will speak in the morning." She brushed a strand of hair out of his eyes and tilted up her face to kiss him. His hands ventured to her sides, caressing her back before settling them on her waist. He was surprised when Briseis pressed herself into him and deepened the kiss, threading her fingers through his hair and tugging gently at his shirt. He got the hint. Slowly he pushed her onto her back, against the furs, kissing her neck. Then lifting himself off her, he untied and slipped out of his shirt before returning to kiss her shoulders, and working his way down.

Before Briseis closed her eyes again, she saw, over Achilles, the rising of a full moon.