William's gift to Morgan grew like a weed as his breed was inclined to do. By the time he was taken to the vets for his final injection in the series of puppy vaccinations, Morgan could barely lift him onto the exam table. Penwarden was forced to help her whilst his own dogs created chaos in a pen in the waiting area. Fenris showed his gratitude at the attention as only a large ungainly canine can. He licked Martin's face thoroughly, even succeeding in shoving his icy black nose into the Immortal man's mouth in his exuberance. Morgan sniggered as her mentor drew out a handkerchief and wiped his face with affected dignity.

"Angel Morgan Doyle" he scolded. "That was not in the least bit amusing".

"Yes it was!" she chuckled. "Hey! Don't you full name me!"

Fortunately further conflict was averted by Fenris struggling to jump down to floor level now that the vet was finished in his ministrations. Morgan was forced to let go of the huge puppy's leash in order to prevent injury to herself or the dog.

"Clean bill of health" the vet announced. "You can walk him off your property now if you wish. We'll see you in a year for his booster shots. Remember if you have any problems..."

"The surgery number is on speed dial" Morgan promised.

About half an hour later saw the two Immortals walking easily towards home. Delighted to be off the lead for the first time, Fenris leapt and bounded, chasing and being chased with Martin's two Cavalier King Charles Spaniels, only a fraction of his size. Gradually the path turned down towards the canal cutting and the gleaming water came into view. Almost like a painting, the visible area was framed by a red brick arched bridge on one side and a lock gate on the other. Their current route would lead them across the bridge and down onto the tow path. However before they had come within ten metres of the bridge, Penwarden stopped dead and whistled the spaniels to him. "I think the other way is quicker" he muttered.

"Is it that late?"

"I… uhm… it's getting on for time" he replied quickly. "We should take the short route home, back across the fields".

"I didn't think it was that much shorter".

"Trust me, it is".

"Martin?" Morgan was concerned at this abrupt change in behaviour and it showed, deep in her eyes. "Martin, are you alright? You've gone very pale."

"I'm just fine. Come on, let's go home" he tried to turn away from the bridge but Morgan caught his sleeve, abruptly stopping him.

"It's something to do with the canal isn't it? You just don't want to go down the towpath. What are you afraid of?"

Martin flexed his jaw wordlessly for several long moments, looked down then swallowed and looked back up at Morgan. "I'm… rather… I'm…. afraid of water" he confessed.

"I see" Morgan frowned slightly, not quite sure what to say. Until this moment she had not regarded either Martin or William as being capable of having fears.

"It's nothing new, Morgan. There's no reason for you to worry. It's not a problem." She merely nodded and Martin smiled at her. "Come on then" he said. Let's get home, I could use a shower.

"Yeah, you do kinda stink".

"Why, you impudent brat!" he laughed.

As they reached home and managed to convince the dogs to sit and stay neatly while the door was unlocked, neither of them noticed the banged-up old car that slowed to a crawl as it passed the house. Martin quickly cleaned himself up and hurried out to his surgery moments before the first of his patients arrived while Morgan headed into the brick built shed that Martin had allowed her to turn into a workshop. Fenris curled up on his quilt, chewing happily on a bone. For the rest of the afternoon everything seemed peaceful.

The next day, Martin was still hard at work with his private clinics. Some of his patients had not been overly impressed at his extended absence. The Counsellor had been run off his feet by those who had made double, or even triple appointments to make up for (their) lost time. When William knocked on the front door, it was Morgan who answered.

"So…" he grinned. (It was difficult to conceal how the thirst for vengeance was wearing him down). "It's a fine day, it's not raining for once and the Royalist's garden is like a jungle. Feel like exercising your sword arm?"

Morgan chuckled slightly. "Well if that's your idea of an invitation, then I accept". Her lips parted in an amused half smile, revealing dazzling white teeth. She allowed William to enter and he waited on the back step while she returned with her sword. The two Immortals made their way outside. William wasn't kidding, the garden was, to say the least, unkempt apart from the well trodden down path between the house and the workshop shed.

The dual began in a light-hearted manner, as an elaborate but gentle dance of swordplay and technique. Neither combatant was particularly breaking a sweat over it. About ten minutes had passed before a deep shadow seemed to come over Farrell's face. His eyes became hard and cold, his attacks became stronger and more focused.

Morgan was finding herself hard pressed to block and soon she was being forced to retreat. "If I didn't know any better" she gasped, breathlessly. "I'd think you were really trying to kill me".

William did not reply. The violence unleashed inside him was out of control. Using the pommel of his sword, he smashed the back of her wrist, shattering bones and breaking her grip on her own weapon. With a snarl, he shoved her against the brick wall of the tool shed workshop, pressing the edge of his sword against the smooth, white skin of her neck.

Morgan's mouth was bone dry but she didn't dare swallow, lest the motion lead to the blade slipping.

The manic, burning light in William's eyes brightened "What the hell has that fucking Royalist done to you?" he spat. "You're pathetic. You won't last five minutes fighting like that! Get a grip woman! Do you have any goddamn idea how easy it would be for me to kill you right now, without hardly flexing a single muscle?"

"Do it then!" Morgan answered softly, meeting his flaming stare. "Quit pissing about and take my head if you intend to! Get it over with... DO IT!"

Giving her one final glare, William lowered his blade, turned and stalked off leaving Morgan alone. He did not turn back to see her wrap her diaphanous scarf back around her scarred throat with trembling hands.

"What the fuck is wrong with you, Farrell?" she yelled at his departing back. He did not respond and gradually his Presence faded from her mind. However it was a good half hour before she dared venture back into the house. Fenris slunk up to her and pressed reassuringly against her legs. Almost instinctively Morgan's hand slipped through his thick silky fur, stroking him and taking solace in the animal's unquestioning devotion.

His clinic was all but ended for the morning when Penwarden's receptionist knocked on his office door. "Your twelve thirty is here Martin" she announced.

Penwarden glanced at his filofax. "Janice, I don't have a twelve thirty booked".

"There was a cancellation, I squeezed him in. I'm sorry I must have forgotten to put it in your diary."

"Alright, send them in".

Janice nodded and left the room. A minute later, the door opened again and heavy footsteps crossed to the area in front of Martin. The warning Presence of another Immortal jolted down his spine. When he looked up, he was not expecting the person who stood there. "Farrell, not now I'm busy".

"I know"

"I have a patient due any second"

"And I'm here".

Martin looked up again and his eyes narrowed sharply. "That's not funny" he growled.

"I'm not joking. Seriously Martin, I'm as sincere as ever I've been. I need your help; I need your professional help".

"I see. You'd better take a seat" he gestured to the armchair opposite his own and turned to a fresh patient notes document. "Right, now what can I do for you?"

"Oh God Martin… I think I'm going insane!" William's voice was wavering, then it cracked completely. Penwarden was shocked to see tears run down his mentor's face. "I almost killed her!"

"I thought we already talked about this. You can't blame yourself for something that happened when you weren't there. It was a situation beyond your control."

"Not that!" He paused for a split second. "Morgan"

Martin sat bolt upright and his eyebrows shot to the top of his head. When he next spoke, it was after several long seconds that a perfectly calm voice that left his throat. "William, what have you done?"

"She and I sparred… then it started again".

"What started?"

"The rage… I feel so angry, I want revenge… I want to kill. I was seconds from taking her head!"

"What stopped you?" Martin's voice was quiet, soft and gentle… even coaxing.

"She did. Would you believe it? She stood there, stared straight into my eyes and dared me to kill her! I wouldn't have believed it if I hadn't seen it. That timid little mouse of a girl… we must have done something right."

"How long have you felt like this?"

"It started just after Miranda... died… I think."

"Would you like to expand on that?"

"I can't be sure… It could have been before, I… I… at least, that's when I first remember it distinctly.

"And before then?"

"At first I thought I was imagining it. My feelings are turning into urges so strong that I can't resist! And Morgan almost paid with her life" Farrell stopped speaking and began, to Martin's surprise, to cry in earnest, huge gulping, gut wrenching sobs."

"What do you think has triggered this?"

"I don't know! God I don't know! You have to help me, Penwarden!".

"And I will" the Counsellor confirmed.

"So… why now?" the older man snuffled, plucking a handful of tissues from the box on the table and wiping his face.

"We all have a natural inbuilt ability to protect ourselves from the violence in our lives."

"So you did pay attention in between all your preening and praying" William smiled weakly.

"Now that sounds like the old Farrell". Martin managed to return the smile. "Going against everything I've been taught about the need for the patient to discover their problems and come up with their own solutions, but in your case I'll make an exception. I think the immense emotional stress of your wife's death, compounded with the negativity of the emotion of revenge has somehow fused your mental circuit breaker."

"You mean I'm going to be like this forever?" William's voice was very small.

"I don't know. It may settle down or it may persist until you become more emotionally aligned."

"Meaning?"

"Until your thirst for revenge is quashed."

"Oh".

Martin rapped on the door of Morgan's workshop with the knuckles of his left hand. As soon as the woman's voice from within the room sounded, he turned the handle and entered. There was no preamble, he paused only to inhale. "Did he hurt you?" he demanded.

Morgan was silent for a moment. Deftly she twisted a length of silver wire into an elaborate spiral with a pair of pliers before she looked up at her Mentor, then glanced away. "No" she replied softly. "Not really". Despite herself, her hand wandered to her throat before she clenched her fist and picked up another tool.

Martin half nodded to himself and sat down in the chair, in the corner beside the work table. "He thinks you'll never trust him again".

"Trust him?" Morgan was incredulous. "He's totally lost it! He tried to kill me Goddammit!"

"I didn't know you studied psychiatry". Martin scowled.

"Does he know you're telling me?"

Martin covered his hurt. "Yes. I would never betray a confidentiality. In fact, he asked me to speak to you. He didn't want to frighten you in case you didn't want to see him".

"He's right there!"

"Morgan, as Immortals we have a kind of… inbuilt genetic ability to block the intensity of our violent lives, from our waking minds. Look at it like a wall if you will. Farrell's has begun to break down. He is almost two thousand years old. Make the calculation. That's a lot of dark thoughts kicking around".His student did not reply verbally, but a shiver passed through her. He heard the soft clatter of metal on metal as her hands trembled with tools gripped between her fingers. Hoping that he was not imagining the softening of her eyes, the older Immortal decided to press on. "He didn't know what he was doing" Martin explained. "He would never deliberately hurt you. Far from it, he would die defending you!"

Morgan slowly nodded in understanding as Martin stood and went to the door. He opened it and gestured to Farrell, who stood in the knee length grass, looking the absolute picture of abject misery. Martin nodded and held the door open for the older man to slink into the workshop. William could not look Morgan in the eyes. She was his best friend's student. He himself thought of her as a sister, or a granddaughter, a member of his close family; yet he had been moments from murdering her. The shame was overwhelming. Weeping openly, William fell to his knees at Morgan's feet.

Morgan inched tentantively back from him, glancing rapidly from William to Martin and back again.

"Child, I'm so sorry! I won't beg for your forgiveness, I don't expect you to trust me again after what I did to you. I daren't even come near you without Martin present!" his voice trailed off into deep wracking sobs.

"I... I... I need to..." fleet as a startled Doe, she dodged around Farrell and darted through the gap between Penwarden and the door. As Morgan fled across the lawn, Martin turned in surprise. "Morgan!" he yelled. "Morgan please. You have to talk to him!"

"Let her go..." his friend sighed. "It'll do no good forcing her..." Farrell wavered for a moment and then collapsed to the floor as his body shook with the power of his emotions. He wailed and wept like a child. Groaning inwardly, Martin closed his eyes and took a moment to rest his head upon the door frame in exhaustion. Distantly both men heard the front door slam, footsteps receded on the driveway and Morgan's Quickening faded from their awarenesses.

The town only had a very small ice rink, but it boasted a fairly skilled rec team. As a Canadian, Morgan was ineligible to join. It would have been considered an unfair advantage akin to bringing in a ringer. However since she had entered foster care after leaving the commune, the rink was where she had always gone to vent her frustrations and be alone. She paid well to have the ice to herself for an hour or two and, unwilling to lose this lucrative source of income, the manager maintained discretion about the occaisional wet paw prints. Besides, it wasn't like the big black dog was bothering anyone as it followed the pucks from its position halfway up the spectator stands.

There were a lot of pucks today. As many so many at her peak that one blurred into the next as Morgan slammed them into the empty goal net. Most of the shots would have been enough to rock the frame off its foundations were it not firmly screwed into the ice. By the time the hour was up, she was exhausted and refreshed. The solid rubber discs had taken some serious damage and were now only good as dog chews. The others she slipped into her skate bag before balancing her hockey stick over one shoulder in a nonchalant hobo style. With Fenris at her heels carrying one of the damaged pucks, Morgan set out for home. The session felt good, she reflected. The fear and tension were much lessened. This time, she felt... capable of hearing Farrell out...

As Paul Van Art left the Rose and Crown public house, a sneer crossed his face. He had been thirsting for an easy Quickening for weeks and thanks to that idiot David Shaunessy, he was about to find one. The old man was all that passed for a village gossip around here. He had driven past the shrink's house the other day and couldn't wait to gleefully report that there was a woman living with the strange young man. Van Art had been barely able to repress the urge to crow victoriously. Penwarden, the Royalist had a new student... Van Art was very good with students. They were his speciality in fact.

Martin and William sat on the front step of Martin's house. The younger Immortal's two Cavalier King Charles Spaniels chase each other back and forth across the lawn.

"Those rats on ropes" grumbled William. "I swear you keep them just to taunt me!" It had taken him almost two hours to regain emotional control and even now his eyes were still bloodshot, his face still blotchy.

Martin chuckled. "My sole aim in life is to annoy you, Roundhead. I would have thought that you would have figured that out by now!"

"Actually I had noticed. Where is Morgan? Did you find her?"

"She sent me a text a minute or two ago. She's on her way home"

The question of where and why the younger immortal had fled remained unspoken but not entirely answered. "She'll be ok, she has Fenris with her"

Morgan was enjoying the warm spring sunshine and the breeze that fluttered her jet black hair over her shoulders as she walked along the woodland bridle path. She could have taken the bus from the town, but she preferred the exercise. Fenris was getting too big to seat comfortably anywhere but the wheelchair space or the priority seats and Morgan hated taking them up when there were so many other passengers that needed them. She was expecting Farrell and Penwarden to have come looking for her by now, so when she felt a distant buzz, she was alert but not overly concerned. It was not until the Presence drew closer that she realised it was unfamiliar. She stopped; her stance loose and relaxed but ready to fight if necessary. Ahead of her, bushes rustled in a clearing and a strange man stepped onto the track.

"My name is Paul Van Art. And we will fight!" he demanded.

He sounds South African thought Morgan. "Any polite person would say 'Please'"

"Draw your sword, Woman. Or I will slay you where you stand!"

It was only at this moment that Morgan realised with a sinking fear that she was unarmed. Not that Van Art seemed to care and Morgan knew she had to think fast if she were to escape with her life.

The Double-edged broadsword came forward in the right hand of its' wielder. As it drew level, he supported it with his other hand, putting force behind the aggressive attack. The blow was like a punch and Doyle threw herself to the ground, rolling fast to get away as the Templar sword embedded itself deep into the trunk of a tree. With a snarl of annoyance, Van Art tugged his blade free and turned to continue the attack. There was a flash of light close to his face and he jerked his head away from it. The razor sharp skate blade sank deep into the attacking immortal's collar bone. Just as Morgan had hoped it severed tendons and bit through nerves and sinew. Van Art's temple veins bulged as he fought to keep a grip on his weapon. Nevertheless, he laughed as Morgan scrambled for a weapon, any weapon. "Submit, woman... I'll make it swif...argh!" The sentence ended in a screaming howl of agony. Fenris, determined to protect his human had sunk his jaws into her attacker's most sensitive anatomy. "Good dog!" Morgan panted. A succession of blows with the pommel end of her hockey stick to her enemy's face and sword arm were enough to disarm him and drive him to the ground. Biting her lip, the younger woman prayed the blade of the stick was as sharp as old wives tales gave credit before she swung with all her strength.

William stopped dead and looked up in alarm. "What in the hell!?"

"Oh no… a Quickening!" Martin drew his blade and charged ahead as William followed two paces behind. Both of them feared the worst and both were as one in their intention to kill whoever had taken Morgan's head. They reached the clearing just as the pyrotechnic display ended and the victor fell to the ground. Farrell let out a yelp of delight as he pointed at the body. The corpse was male. Suddenly, the sound of feminine giggling rang through the air.

The two Immortals moved forwards to where Morgan leaned on Fenris, who sat almost serenely in the midst of the Quickening debris. She was laughing fit to bust and grinned almost drunkenly at Martin as he knelt beside her.

"What the FUCK was that?" she gasped between giggles.

A faint, fatherly smile touched Martin's lips. "That, my dear, was the Quickening. Can you stand?"

"Oh yeah….. I think I could even fly!"

William looked on as Martin helped his student to her feet and he couldn't help the broad grin that spread across his face. He vaguely remembered Martin's first Quickening that had affected him the same way and then he sobered as he remembered the crushing low that would inevitably follow the euphoria. "Martin" he spoke softly. "We should get her home"

Martin nodded as he helped Morgan stumbled back onto the bridlepath. "Come on kiddo". He said. "You okay to walk?"

Morgan nodded breathlessly and Martin loosed his arm from around her shoulders. "His name was…. Van Art" she said. "Paul Van Art"

"You did well" replied William. "Keep that up and you'll live a long, long time."

"William... I..."

Farrell hesitated and looked at his friend's student.

Morgan leaned close to him and spoke softly. "I forgive you. I want to help you"

Confusion crossed the man's face "But… after… what I did to you…"

"It's what friends are for… We're Immortal; the friendships we make can last a very long time".

Martin raised an eyebrow. He had not expected Morgan to have such a profound point of view at her age.

William nodded weakly. "Thank you…"

Morgan gave him a reassuring smile and squeezed his hand gently.

It did not take the group long to reach Penwarden's home. Morgan immediately fell asleep on the couch, with Fenris sprawled on the mat at her side.

"Well she's taken the first step" William commented as he helped himself to a soft drink from Martin's refrigerator.

"Indeed" Martin agreed. "Sometimes, even I have trouble connecting her with that timid recluse we met in Vancouver."

"Quite. Although, I have been thinking."

"About Morgan?"

"Yes. Not long ago you pointed out that she's happiest when she's independent and alone, with no one around for miles. Well, gracious as I'm sure your hospitality is, she won't want to live with you forever."

"Yes, that had already occurred to me. Did you have something in mind?"

William reached into his jacket pocket and withdrew a glossy pamphlet, which he handed to Martin.

Martin stirred the bubbling saucepan of Bolognese and kept one ear open for any stirrings from upstairs. Fenris had been most disgusted at being dislodged from his comfortable rug and his defensive spot, but even his whining had not stirred Morgan from her sound sleep as Martin had carried her to her bed. As he was draining the Spaghetti, there was a creak on the stairs. Morgan's Quickening felt stronger, though when she appeared in the kitchen doorway, her eyes were bloodshot and red-rimmed with tears. The younger Immortal had come crashing down off the euphoric high that the transfer of energy had produced.

"How are you feeling?" Martin asked quietly as he rinsed the pasta under a kettle full of hot water.

"Kinda… wiped, I guess. It really happened didn't it? I killed that man…" she sounded so lost and disconsolate that Martin had to fight the urge to hug her tightly as he might a daughter.

"You defended yourself. Don't dwell on it" he placed a full plate down on the table. "Here, sit down and eat. You must be hungry".

"Thank you" she settled herself obediently at the table and waited until Martin was seated before picking up her fork and twirling it in the spaghetti.

"I thought we might go for a ride in the morning?" suggested the older Immortal. "I'll show you a little more of the area if you like."

"Yeah… that sounds nice. But I thought you had patients tomorrow?"

"The first appointment isn't until eleven, so there's plenty of time to go out beforehand. So what do you say?"

"Ok" Morgan half smiled.

"Good. Now eat up before the chef takes offence" Martin winked.