Miranda wasn't sure what time it was when she cracked open her eyes but, the minute she did, she wanted to just shut them again. It was hard to breathe and her throat was on fire. Every inch of her body ached and every ounce of energy was gone. Even breathing felt like a chore. It had been thousands of years since she'd been sick but, the closest thing she could remember to feeling this miserable had been her long voyage aboard the Bristol. Abducted and held at the whim of the crew, Miranda had borne the brunt of more than a few beatings. The aching whole body pain of those beatings was the closest thing to how she felt now. Each movement sent more pain shooting up her limbs and seemed to take every ounce of strength.
The mortals in her life often thought Miranda had an incredible tolerance for pain but, the truth was, in fact, the opposite. She was able to tolerate near fatal gunshot wounds or devastating injury because she knew the pain would be over far more quickly than if she were mortal. She was used to pain coming and going in the blink of an eye. This constant discomfort was something she was not accustomed to at all.
She had not wanted her former student and friend to endanger himself for her but Henry had been a wonderful presence, caring and kind. Methos often scoffed at her for teaching the Duke, seeing his gentle nature as weakness but Miranda knew that underneath that gentility was a man of iron. He was unfailingly loyal and saw the beauty in everything and everyone around him. Before, Miranda had selected students for their mettle; their grit. After she met Henry, her values shifted and she began selecting her students for their heart. It was why she planned to teach Ianto when his time came.
Henry was sitting in a low armchair that Ianto had brought up from her rooms. He was reading Victor Hugo's Les Miserables in the original French. A small coughing fit brought his head up.
"Would you like some tea?" Henry asked softly, setting aside the book.
She nodded but before Henry could get up, she grabbed his hand. "Wait. We need to speak, your grace."
Henry sat back down. "Of what?"
"First, I need you to go upstairs. Get Fish alone and tell him to turn off the surveillance in this room and the hallways outside. All of it. I need a complete blackout," she said.
Henry eyed his teacher. "Joe will be reluctant-"
"Tell him it is a favour to me," she insisted.
The Duke nodded and left the room. Miranda kept her eyes focused on the CCTV camera's light. After several minutes, she saw the camera's light go off. Henry's reappearance quickly followed. He had a mug of tea in his hands.
"Joe says you have ten minutes," Henry said. He helped Miranda sit up and then placed the tray with the mug across her lap. "What is this about, Mei-Xiu?"
Miranda sighed. This was going to be a difficult discussion. "If this device does not work-"
"Do not say such things," Henry interrupted.
It made her throat hurt more, but Miranda raised her voice over him, "-we must discuss a course of action."
Henry shook his head and made to leave the room but Miranda reached up. She seized her student's hand in an iron grip.
"We will speak plainly to each other, Henry," she snapped, emphasizing her use of his name rather than his title.
He sat down, a worried look on his face.
She let her hand fall back onto the blankets, the movement exhausting her. "The course of this illness is clear. Tomorrow, I will be in a coma and four days after that I shall be dead. The bodies liquify after twenty four hours and I will take no chances with my quickening. Forty eight hours after I become comatose… you will take my head."
"Absolutely not!" Henry shouted. He got up and whirled away, his hands waving.
"Do you think I have survived four thousand years to see all that I am scattered on the winds? YOU WILL DO THIS!" Miranda ordered, her voice thunderous. The volume caused her to go into a coughing fit.
"How can you ask this of me?" he asked her. "Why me? Why not Arjun or Amunet? They are also your students."
"Because you are my favourite," she said simply. Her voice wavering on the last word. "Henry, you are not the most gifted student I have ever taught but you have the most heart and the largest soul. Amunet and Arjun… they are too lost in the past."
Henry shook his head. "Why not someone else? The Highlander? Or Methos?"
"Neither needs it… and when I pass into the next life, my promise to you will fall to Methos," she said, softly.
"I don't care about what you promised me, Mei-Xiu!" Henry exclaimed. "You are my teacher! You are my best and oldest friend! I owe you my life! I love you! I cannot do this! I will not!"
"You will," she insisted. "You will carry out my final wishes and you will be here for Ianto when-"
"I will never take on a student!" Henry said, vehemently.
"I do not expect that of you, Henry. The Highlander will instruct him in my stead." Miranda tried to sit up a bit more but was too weak. She took a few deep breaths. "Henry. Please."
He gaped at her. He never thought he would hear Yi Mei-Xiu beg.
"I cannot do this, Mei-Xiu," Henry repeated, shaking his head. The disappointment he saw in her eyes made him feel ashamed and he couldn't hold her gaze.
She stared at him, the honey brown eyes ripping into him and through him and Henry felt ice pour down his neck. "When Matthew died and you wanted to die yourself, do you remember what I said to you?"
"Yes," Henry said, his voice breaking a bit. Miranda had been close by, touring the young nation called America. She'd arrived for the funeral and had stayed at the plantation with him. Drunk and grief stricken, he'd burst into her room and attacked her. It had taken her less than a few seconds to disarm him. Her blade had been at his throat and he'd begged her to end it. She had said, 'Live, my lord. Live and one day, when it is truly time and you are truly ready, I will do this thing you ask. But that day is not today.'
"And what did I say after you agreed?" she reminded.
"That for that lifelong promise, one day, you would ask for something in return," Henry said. His voice was far away, like he was remembering a dream.
"And I am asking you for this," she said, softly.
He wanted to recant. He wanted to tell Miranda that he didn't need her promise. There had been times, over the years, that he had thought about asking but something had always held him back. Now, he looked towards the main Hub and thought of the day when memories would be all he would have of Joseph Fischer.
He closed his eye as tears ran down his cheeks. "I will do as you ask."
"Thank you, my Lord Richmond," Miranda said. She relaxed against the pillows. She reached out for his hand, holding it gently this time. There was a letter for him among her most private possessions but letters were different than words spoken aloud. "Our friendship has meant much to me over the years. I love you, Henry, with my whole heart."
Henry knelt down. "Do not say good-bye yet."
"Not goodbye then. A final lesson," she said, smiling. "You have shown me beauty. You helped me look upon the world anew and, after all my long years, that was… surprising. There is only one thing in life, mortal or immortal, Henry - to love and to be loved. And your love has made my life all the richer and for that, I am grateful. "
Henry leaned forward. The kiss was long but chaste.
She closed her eyes and leaned back against the pillows. "You may have Fish turn back on the surveillance."
He nodded at her and got up. Just as he was leaving the room, Ethan Donovan was entering it.
"Who spit in his coffee?" Donovan asked, thumbing over his shoulder.
"A minor difference of opinion, nothing more," Miranda said, sipping her tea.
Donovan leaned over and kissed Miranda's forehead gently. "Can I get you anything?"
"No, I'm fine," Miranda said with a weak smile. She saluted him with the mug of tea before taking another sip.
Donovan smiled and sat down on the floor next to her cot and took Miranda's hand in his. She looked terrible, like death warmed over, if he was being honest.
"How are you feeling?"
"Terrible," Miranda said, closing her eyes.
"Joe thinks he's onto something. We'll have you up and around in no time. You being sick is really freaking everybody out," he said with a slight laugh. His voice became serious. "Jack told me you're different than him."
Miranda didn't say anything. She took her hand out of Donovan's and wrapped it around the mug. She stared down into the tea.
"You know, when you said that the path to survival isn't pure and noble, I thought you were talking about what you'd seen in other people. But that wasn't it, was it? You were talking about this Game of yours, weren't you?" he asked softly, tilting his head trying to catch her gaze.
Her mouth was thin and her eyes were smoldering. Donovan sat back up straight.
"Don't be angry with him, babe. He wanted me on the same page as everybody else," he said, reaching to brush a lock of hair off her head.
She pulled back away from his touch and her voice made the hairs on his arm stand up. "I have lived long enough to see my people vanish - nothing more now than broken bits of pottery in museums. Everything I have ever known is gone… everyone I love has turned to dust. I cannot even remember the sound of my own mother's voice." She turned, staring at him, her eyes like daggers. "The Game is all I have, Ethan."
Donovan heard the threat in her voice and stamped back the pity knowing it would only inflame her anger. Bravely, he reached up so he could run the back of his hand down her cheek. "I'll take that secret to my grave, Miranda."
He saw the skeptical look in her eyes. He leaned down again, trying to catch her gaze. "Hey, I'm serious, babe."
She nodded. There was nothing she could do but trust him.
"And, hey, the Game isn't all you got." He waved at the direction of the main Hub. "You got a job up there that matters. You're making a difference in the world. And more importantly, you got friends up there, Miranda; people who care about you. That counts for something."
He reached up, poking the tip of her nose. "And what about me? I'll have you know I'm quite the catch as far as American bureaucrats go."
She laughed at that and he felt a gush of affection for her. Sure, Donovan had expected to have the usual one night stands he had when he travelled to any city, but he hadn't expected this.
As his marriage had deteriorated, slowly, over the course of twenty years, Donovan began to feel his heart atrophy. He went about his work life animated and energized but at home, it was robotic and automatic. He and his wife had become the perfect roommates. Donovan figured that was just what marriage was and after a while, he figured he didn't need romantic love in his life.
What he said to Jack was true. Miranda was helping to heal his heart. When he and Heather had finally called it quits, Donovan had been relieved but what did he do now? It felt a bit ridiculous to remarry at his age even though his ex-wife was doing just that. So he'd come to Cardiff and run into the brick wall of Miranda Ryan. Jack was right. She was mysterious and tantalizing in a way that Donovan couldn't put his finger on. It had started out as just sex but as he'd gotten to know her, he couldn't deny his feelings.
They'd surprised him but not in the way he thought. It surprised him that the sex had turned into something more not because he'd wanted to avoid it turning into something more but because he'd honestly thought himself incapable of allowing it to turn into something more. A lot of people think that women are the only ones with the fantasies about love affairs and romance, but men have them too and Ethan Donovan is one such man. And here he was, in the middle of his own fantastical love affair.
He pushed at a lock of hair plastered to her forehead with sweat. "Still drop dead gorgeous…"
She gave him a strange look. It hadn't been a simple compliment. Even weary and ill, she heard the affection in his voice. The light bulb went on over Miranda's head. Donovan wasn't keeping her secrets out of obligation or honour. He was doing it out of love. Still worn from her disagreement with Henry, she really didn't want to have another difficult conversation. Jack's warning about Donovan's vulnerability was ringing in her head.
"Ethan…" she warned.
"I'm not fishing here, Miranda," he said, softly. "My Mom always used to say that some great stories are short stories and that being short didn't mean they weren't great. Look, I get that you don't feel the same way I do but that doesn't matter to me."
She gave him another skeptical look.
"I know you don't believe me but, really, it doesn't. In two weeks, you go your way and I go mine. Don't worry, I'll get over you." He tried to lighten the mood with a poor joke. "Might take years of therapy and psychotropic drugs…"
Miranda let out a weak laugh.
"I'll be fine," he said, smiling. He leaned forward, kissing her forehead again. His face softened more as he stared into her eyes. He whispered, "I do love you."
"Ethan…" Miranda started but he stopped her.
"I know you won't lie and say it back and, if you don't want me to, I won't say it again. I just wanted to say it once," he said, smoothing her hair. "You're amazing, Miranda, and you deserve to have someone tell you that every day of your life."
A hard rap on the glass brought both their heads up. Fish was waving at them.
"I've got it, Evie!" he shouted.