What the Heart Wants
by Raine Wynd
The Heart Series, Part Five
Disclaimer and Notes: Duncan MacLeod, Joe Dawson, Mary Lindsey and Dr. Anne Lindsey, as well as Charlie DeSalvo and Connor MacLeod (mentioned in passing, don't get excited) are the property of TPTB. As usual, I'm just playing in the Panzer/Davis sandbox with their characters, and I'm not making any money off of this. However, Kelly Siobhan Pyron, Josh Stone (a.k.a. Michael Eastbrooke), Emily Canyon, Jamie Ferguson, and Robert Young are mine.
Admittedly, this is the result of listening to way too much Poison, Genesis, and sad country songs. If you think that's an unusual combination, well... Kelly is an unusual woman, and Josh is one of a kind. Kelly was first introduced in Heart Without A Past. Josh was first introduced in Find a Way to My Heart.
Beta thanks: to Amand-r, who spent one Sunday morning in an incredibly long IM session with me, and got me inspired again to write this story, then turned around and challenged me to write it better; to Dana, who helped me flesh out Josh and Kelly, and to Molly McGowan, for making me think about where I wanted to go.
Warning: explicit nonconsensual sex, violence, and strong language.
"Courage isn't the absence of fear — it's the ability to push through it, the fortitude to do what has to be done in spite of the odds." — Mack Bolan
February 2001 — Seacouver
The jungle heat clung to Kelly Pyron's skin like a layer of grime she couldn't wash away. She wondered why after all these years the stickiness of it bothered her. The Costa Rican jungle was no stranger to her; yet, something told her that this time was different.
She couldn't explain it. The innate sense of imminent danger was strong, like the rich, dark coffee she'd drunk that morning. The scent of rain still lingered, but it was fading, almost overcrowded by the smell of greenery and animals. Above that, though, the air felt heavy with anticipation. Kelly tried to shrug it off as her own eagerness to find the bastard who'd sliced her father to ribbons, but this, she knew, was more than that. After years of learning to trust her instincts, she didn't doubt that gut feeling. A flick of her finger disarmed the safety on her automatic rifle. Cautiously, she approached the enemy camp.
Suddenly, gunfire erupted as freak lightning lit the sky. Instinctively, Kelly hit the dirt. She was tracking the source of the gunfire even as she attempted to find better cover than laying out in the open. A part of her brain wondered at the lightning, and she firmly told herself to ignore the mysteries of nature. The hail of bullets was incessant, and she had to do something about it before one of the bullets hit her. She went to fire, and her rifle jammed on the first shot. The gunfire was getting closer, and she couldn't clear her weapon fast enough.
She swore viciously, trying to dislodge the stuck round. Something made her look up, and she had just enough time to see the laughing, maniacal, alligator-shaped face of her executioner before she felt a blade pierce her heart....
The shrill ring of the phone woke Kelly from a restless sleep. Startled, on the verge of screaming, she sat bolt upright in the bed. For a half-second, she thought the phone was a part of her nightmare, and her heart pounded madly with the fading, subconscious fear generated by the dream. Then the phone rang again, and she sighed. Turning over, she switched on the light and reached for the cordless phone on the wooden nightstand beside the bed.
"Hello?" she answered, not bothering to stifle a yawn.
"Hello, love," Mac greeted her. "Did I wake you?"
Kelly glanced at the clock on the nightstand, reading the time: 5 a.m. "Yes, but I would've gotten up in a few minutes anyway." She tucked the receiver underneath her chin and stretched, catlike, on the bed.
"I was hoping to catch you before you opened the dojo for the day," he told her. "It looks like I'm going to be in New York a few days longer than I anticipated."
"Oh? I thought Connor just wanted you to check on a sword that he thought you'd be interested in," she asked, slipping out of bed to gather what she would wear that day. The loose, faded, white, bar souvenir T-shirt she wore concealed most of her lithe, battle-scarred body. She pushed her just-past-the-shoulder-length burgundy-black hair from her face. The action revealed a ragged, four-inch scar on the left side of her heart-shaped face.
"Well, it's gotten complicated. Seems someone else wants the same sword."
Kelly paused in the midst of rifling through a dresser drawer to pick out a clean T-shirt. Dread filled her, though she trusted Mac's ability to defend himself, and figured that Connor could do the same. "I see," she said, as calmly as she could manage. "You were afraid this might happen; that's why you didn't want me to go with you."
"Kelly — " Mac began.
She sighed tiredly. Mac's protectiveness of her was at once reassuring and frustrating. "It's okay," she assured him, her voice heavy with resignation. "I know you mean well."
"I love you, Kelly." He said it as if he might not be saying it again, and Kelly shut her heart to the finality of his voice.
"I love you, too," she returned. "Do what you have to do and don't worry about me."
So saying, she ended the call and set the receiver down on the nightstand.
For a long moment, she stood there, a tall, proud, stunningly attractive woman whose lover was a thousand miles away and getting ready for a battle to the death.
Then she picked up the knife that lay on the nightstand and threw it into the wall with one vicious curse. She stood there, chest heaving, tears welling in her emerald green eyes, then took a shuddering breath.
Mac had good reason to want to protect her. A year before, she'd been the target of an Immortal, and had nearly died. Kelly hadn't known then that all her mercenary training and experience were little match for someone who couldn't die. She knew it now, though, and realized it wasn't a lack of faith in her abilities that caused Mac to continue to want to keep her out of Immortal business. Still, the difference of opinion was just one more thing to pick at in a relationship already feeling strain.
Ever since Thanksgiving, Kelly had been feeling restless. Maybe it had been seeing Mac with his goddaughter that had gotten her thinking about how she fit into Mac's life. Up until her path had crossed Mac's, she had never been truly in love with anyone. There hadn't been any room in her life for love, between the lies she manufactured to facilitate her work as a soldier of fortune, and the constant fighting in which she engaged. It had been the only life she'd ever known.
Now she was the manager of DeSalvo's Martial Arts, and Duncan MacLeod's lover. The novelty of having the responsibility — and the freely given love — had long ago worn off. If Mac had been someone she merely shared a sexual connection with, Kelly would have already been out of the door, and halfway to her next battlefield. She was beginning to think, though, that she was ill-equipped to deal with this particular kind of war. The discomfort made her edgy, irritable.
Naturally, Mac noticed, and questioned her. Not having the words to express her feelings, scared that once she told Mac what she was thinking that he'd find her to be silly, she reacted by going on the defensive. Their fights had become so frequent, so routine, that even Kelly could've choreographed them.
How did we come to this? she wondered. I don't understand.
Even as she thought the words, she knew them to be a lie. The truth was that she was very much afraid of letting Mac protect her. Everything she had in the world right now was a direct result of their relationship, from the clothes on her back to the job she held. The sense of obligation, from which Mac expected no repayment, threatened her sense of independence. Kelly didn't know how to cope.
She sighed, and stared at the knife before crossing the room and pulling it out of the wall.
Guess I'll have to patch that before Mac comes home, she thought as she changed clothes and got ready for the day.
Fuck it, she abruptly decided. If he sees it, I'll fix it. Otherwise, I don't care.
"It's not fucking working," Kelly wailed in frustration around lunch time as she stared at the computer screen. She emphasized her irritation by slapping the monitor.
Robert Young, the dojo's assistant manager and its chief instructor, looked up from the stack of membership applications he was perusing to the nearby desk where Kelly sat. He was a reed-thin man with an oddly angled face set under a wild mop of black hair.
"What now?" he asked, knowing that Kelly wasn't computer literate.
"You said to save this fucking thing to the damn disk, right?"
Cautiously, Robert rose from his chair to stand behind Kelly. "Yes, did you follow my instructions?"
"It's not fucking working," Kelly said again. "The fucking little pointer thingie isn't going fucking anywhere."
Robert looked at the screen, then at the drive. He bit back a sigh as he reached over Kelly's arm and pulled out the disk that stuck halfway out of the drive. Flipping its direction, he re-inserted the disk. "Now try it," he suggested.
She did, and to her surprise, it worked. "What did I do wrong?" she demanded.
"You put the disk in backwards," Robert explained.
"God, I feel so fucking stupid."
Robert smiled. "Don't worry about it, Kelly," he said reassuringly. "You're still the best knife fighter I've ever met."
Mollified somewhat by his words, she sighed, and ran a hand through her shoulder-length reddish-black hair. "I'd like to take a knife to this fucking thing and kill it."
Robert chuckled. "You did that once already," he reminded her, recalling how she'd taken out her frustration on the computer nearly two weeks previously. "I don't think Mac would appreciate having to buy another monitor."
"When I said I'd manage the dojo for him, I didn't think it meant learning how use a fucking computer." Kelly pushed back her chair and rose gracefully to her feet. She raised her arms above her head and stretched, getting the kinks out her shoulders and neck from having spent the last four hours in front of the PC.
"What did you think it meant?" Robert was curious.
Kelly shrugged, laughing softly at her own naivete. "Anything but what it is. I'm going to get some lunch. Do you want anything?"
Her companion eyed her warily. "Is it anything you've cooked?"
Kelly glared at him. "Just because I screwed up when I made dinner the other night and Mac told you about it doesn't mean I can't cook."
He snickered. "Sure, Kelly, whatever you say."
"Just remember who signs your paycheck, buddy," Kelly threatened.
Undaunted, Robert replied with an innocent smile, "Mac?"
She reached for the knife on her belt, and Robert held up his hands in surrender. "Okay, okay, I get the hint," he acquiesced. "I do have to take care of the dojo while you're on vacation tomorrow."
Kelly let go of her knife. "I don't know why I'm even bothering. Mac probably won't be back tomorrow."
"You deserve it," Robert answered. "All work and no play makes Kelly a dull girl."
She shrugged. "Dull, maybe, but a rich one," she retorted as she headed for the door.
Robert shook his head, but returned to his paperwork. He heard Kelly greet someone, and decided to ignore it.
"Josh!" Kelly exclaimed, hugging him. She noted, as always, how lean and compactly built he was, particularly in comparison to Mac. For some reason, it always took her by surprise, even having known Josh for a few months now. She supposed a part of her expected Josh to change somehow, and knew that he never would, frozen in time as he was in the body of a thirty-five year old. Drawing back, she looked into Josh's deep blue eyes, seeing his good humor reflected there.
Her visitor grinned, returning the embrace. "Good to see you too, Kelly. Is Mac around?"
She shook her head. "He's on a business trip."
"Not that kind of business, I hope."
"I wish," Kelly replied bitterly.
She watched comprehension dawn on her friend's vulpine face.
Awkwardly, Josh stuck his hands in the pockets of his jeans. "I was hoping he'd be around to spar."
Kelly cast her gaze to the ceiling for a moment, and reminded herself that taking out her frustration on Josh because he was both available and Immortal would solve nothing. Even as she did so, a thought occurred to her. She took a deep breath, then looked at Josh. "Well, if you're looking for a fight, I could use someone to blow off some steam."
Josh looked worried. "I know you convinced Mac to turn the second floor into a salle, but are you sure?"
Kelly smiled. "As long as you promise not to laugh at my sword skills. I'm better at using a knife than a sword." She chuckled at Josh's dubious expression. "Come on," she said encouragingly, her adrenaline pumping now at the prospect of a fight.
Josh shook his head. "No, I think I'd better just wait," he decided. "Somehow, I don't think Mac would appreciate it if he found out I went at you with a sword, however innocently, unless he knew about it."
Kelly's eyes flashed at Josh's words, resenting the implication. "He ought to be glad that I want to learn how to use a sword, instead of going about it half-assed. I trust you not to kill me, so why shouldn't you teach me? I already know how to kill someone with a knife, what's the difference?"
"Kelly," Josh responded gently, "he loves you, and wants to make sure you don't get hurt needlessly. Is that such a bad thing?"
She exhaled heavily. "I love him, too, but I can take care of myself, damn it." Then she smiled, aware that Josh was merely pointing out the obvious. "I'll let him know you stopped by when he gets back."
She then hugged Josh again, and he left shortly thereafter. Neither noticed the troll-like man lifting weights depart in Josh's wake.
Later that same day, Kelly had just bid Robert and the last customer goodnight when she noticed the strange woman standing near the door. Thinking that it might be a potential client, she walked over to greet the newcomer. As she did so, she assessed the other woman.
She was shorter than Kelly's own five feet, seven inch frame, with a thinner, more fragile build. Pale blonde hair framed an oval face set off by a tiny, upturned nose. She wore an earth-toned, hip-length leather jacket over an amethyst-hued shirt and a free-flowing gold-toned skirt . Kelly raised an eyebrow over the stranger's choice of footwear — a pair of three-inch heels — then decided that just because she wouldn't wear heels if someone paid her didn't mean that someone else couldn't.
"Can I help you?" Kelly asked, stopping in front of the other woman.
The stranger smiled.
Kelly's hackles rose. Something was off in that smile. She wasn't sure what it was, but instinctively, Kelly didn't trust the stranger. She tried to remind herself that she wasn't on the battlefield anymore, and she couldn't automatically distrust other people. Still, two decades of conditioning died hard. With an effort, Kelly focused on the woman's words.
"I'm looking for an old friend of mine," she said in a crisp English accent. "I thought that maybe he'd be here."
This better not damn well be another fucking Immortal, Kelly thought. If she's hunting Mac, she's gonna have to come through me. I don't care if it kills me.
Despite the protectiveness that surged through her, Kelly kept her voice neutral. "Who?"
"Michael Eastbrooke," the stranger said. She glanced over the dojo, nodding as if to confirm her assessment of its purpose. "He loved places like this."
Kelly sighed, relieved it wasn't Mac that the woman wanted. Mac had told her that he'd never changed his name, never pretended to be anyone other than himself. She frowned as she recalled that piece of information had come her way after he'd found her forging a driver's license in another name to avoid taking the driver's test. She really hadn't seen the point having to prove she could drive...but that wasn't the problem currently at hand. She was tired; it had been a long day, and she wanted nothing more than to head upstairs and fall into bed.
"I'm sorry," she told the stranger honestly, "I don't know anyone with that name."
"Oh, I think you do, you just don't know it. My friend says he was here with you earlier, so I know you know him." The stranger's smile never wavered. "Would you tell him Emily Canyon is looking for him? We have... unfinished business."
Kelly's green eyes narrowed. She hated being accused of lying when she hadn't been. Bitch... With effort, she reined in her quick temper. "I told you, I don't know who you're talking about. I manage this place, and I know everyone who comes here."
"Well," Emily said, "then I'll just have to make sure he knows I'm here, won't I?"
Before Kelly could react, Emily shot her.
Kelly awoke slowly. She tried to clear her throat, and found her mouth cottony and metallic-tasting. It took her a moment to figure out she must've been hit with a tranquilizer dart. It took a bit longer to pry open her eyes. She tried to stretch, and discovered she was securely bound. The room was dark, and unlit; she couldn't tell where she was. The air felt damp and clammy on Kelly's skin, and she realized abruptly that she was completely naked. Her legs had been tied so that her feet were spread apart.
Her knives were gone, and she hated the sudden feeling of being unarmed. It was completely irrational, as she could defend herself quite well without a gun or a knife. She tested the strength of her bonds, and found them tighter than she'd expected. She contemplated forcefully breaking out, before remembering that unlike some people she knew, she would spend months healing whatever injuries she incurred.
Nor, she thought darkly, do I really want Mac fussing over me while I do that. He's bad enough as it is.
She sighed, and debated pain over waiting to see why she'd been kidnapped.
I wonder if anyone will notice I'm gone.
She laughed softly at her own folly. She knew that unless she got herself out, no one would think to look for her. She'd developed a habit of taking off with little or prior notice to anyone, sometimes not even Mac. Most times, it wasn't very far — a bar frequented by soldiers of fortune or a local gun shop that had a firing range — though she was known to go out to Mac's island and not come back for days. Usually it was when Mac had gotten on her nerves about something, and everyone close to them knew better than to go near her until her temper had cooled down. If Mac came back early, he'd probably assume that she had decided to vent her frustration at his need to play guardian. Once he found out from Robert that she'd decided to take a vacation, Kelly knew that Mac wouldn't expect her to be back for a few days.
Face it, Kelly, you definitely are not going to be missed.
Just then, Kelly felt warmer air rush in. She surmised that the door to the room was somewhere behind her. Footsteps down a short flight of stairs confirmed her theory.
"Well, well," a man's voice drawled, "looks like someone left me a present."
The light switch was thrown, and Kelly could see that she was in someone's unfinished basement. The part where she was being held prisoner had been paved, and most of the wall to her left and right had been finished. A wall of dirt lay before her, and she could see exposed pipes and wiring in the ceiling of the room. The rope binding her hands and arms was tied to a hook on a pulley suspended from the ceiling. A padded bench had been placed before her at exactly waist level.
The owner of the voice came around to stand before Kelly. He was a burly, denim-clad man with black hair and a troll's face. He smelled of cheap whiskey and chewing tobacco. He leaned in closer, and grabbed her chin when she would've recoiled.
"Be nice to Jamie, and you'll hurt less," he warned her.
Kelly wanted to throw up. She knew exactly what Jamie had planned for her. It wasn't the first time she'd ever been held prisoner, nor was it the first time she'd ever faced the threat of sexual assault, but it didn't make the situation any better. If anything, it made it worse.
Images flashed through her head: a dark, dirty alley in back of a bar in Manila when she was sixteen, the two drunken friends of her father who'd decided she needed a good fuck. Her father stumbling out of the bar at the sound of her screams, then killing the men when he realized what was happening.
"Is that right?" she sneered, but she heard the tremor in her voice. A glance at her captor confirmed that he'd heard it as well.
Jamie nodded his head in silent appreciation of her recognition. "I see you're not unfamiliar with this arrangement."
"Just tell me why me."
"Because," Jamie replied, "Emily gave you to me." He did something to the rope holding her arms and hands and shoved her forward. The rope latched with a click as she landed, stomach down, on the bench. Her arms were bent uncomfortably back, forcing her to keep her head up.
Kelly tried for her best seductive voice. She cursed silently when she heard her voice wobble in the attempt. "You could just let me go. I haven't done anything to you." No, please God, not this again.
This time, no one would hear her screams. No one would come to rescue her. She swallowed nervously. Her skin prickled with fear as a cold knot formed within her stomach. She knew what was coming. It had happened before and would happen again, and there was nothing she could do but hope that her tactics worked. "If you really want me, I could make it better for you."
Jamie slapped her. "Shut up. Jamie likes it this way."
Kelly's cheek stung from the slap. A look at her captor's eyes warned her that any further disobedience would be met with more force. She didn't care. Suddenly, the prospect of pain didn't seem all that frightening.
Jamie unzipped his jeans. He shoved them, and his underwear, down unceremoniously. Kicking them off, he moved in front Kelly. He pinched her nose, forcing her to open her mouth to breathe. He took advantage of that to thrust his soft penis into her mouth. She gagged with the sudden intrusion of flesh.
"Bite me," he warned her, "and Jamie will kill you with his bare hands."
Kelly realized she was dealing with someone who wasn't completely sane. For a moment, Kelly was tempted to see if Jamie would make good on his threat, but Jamie quickly withdrew his penis before she could even make the attempt. Grabbing her hair, he forced her head to remain even more upright as he thrust into her mouth. The pain of pulled hair was a constant reminder of her position as he worked himself into a frenzy.
"You've done this before, haven't you?" he asked her, not expecting an answer. "You're a cock-loving slut, that's what you are, oh yeah." He reached for one of her breasts, and squeezed the nipple viciously as he fucked her face. Waves of pain washed over Kelly, and she closed her eyes against the tears.
He laughed at the expression of pain on her face. The pace of his thrusts increased, and she felt him grow harder inside of her mouth.
Finally, he withdrew, and let go of her hair.
"Bastard," she hissed.
Jamie laughed, and backhanded her twice, once across each cheek, with a closed fist. The blows stunned Kelly, leaving her to sag against the ropes and the bench.
He took advantage of her position to move behind her and between her legs. Suddenly, Kelly felt his hand on her buttocks. Unconsciously, she tried to flinch away from the touch, but the bench was bolted to the floor, preventing all but the smallest forward movement. Jamie slapped her, and she cried out with the pain.
At the same time, he buried his penis into her vagina. The sudden intrusion hurt, and she cursed him. He hit her again, and she cried out.
"Yeah, baby, scream for Jamie." His hand left another imprint on her buttocks as he chanted.
He began plunging violently into her, seemingly turned on even more by her screams and protests. The more she screamed, the more he hit her, and the harder he raped her. Clenching her muscles against the assault only made it worse, but even that realization gave Kelly no peace.
Though she'd been prepared to seduce Jamie into a false sense of security, Kelly hadn't been prepared for this reality. She'd only intended to make him think that he had control, then she had planned to escape. Now that option was gone. She couldn't control the shiver that rippled through her, and earned another hit for the spasm.
"Come on, bitch, Jamie knows you want it," he urged her.
The memories of her past combined with her present to create a feeling of powerlessness that threatened to overtake her sanity. Trying to cope, she tuned out the sounds Jamie made, the smell that rose, putrid and inescapable, from every intrusion he made, from every thrust. He eventually orgasmed, then left her alone to start cataloguing the various bruises. Just when she'd started hoping he had had his fill, he would return to rape her again. He seemed to delight in taking her just when she'd just recovered enough to start contemplating escape.
Kelly lost track of time, lost all sense of anything other than the overwhelming pain, lost track of everything but the tiny little corner of her mind where she could pretend that everything was okay. She wasn't even sure when she lost her voice. All she knew was that Jamie stopped hitting her. He didn't stop raping her, though. If anything, he seemed to relish it even more that she couldn't talk back, couldn't curse him in any of the six languages she knew. She stopped caring.
Closed her eyes.
And surrendered.
Nobody knew where she was, anyway. She was as good as dead.
Two days later
Mac stepped into the dojo, ignoring the small group of patrons, and headed for the office. He found Robert, the dojo's assistant manager, going over some paperwork. When questioned, Robert denied seeing Kelly, adding that she'd decided to take a few days off. Then Robert had asked about a note he'd found for a Michael Eastbrooke, but as Mac didn't recognize the name, he told Robert to toss the note aside.
Mac swore again. He hoped that Kelly hadn't been drinking again; she had an unusually high tolerance for a mortal, but even so, she was still mortal. Having to take her to the ER a few weeks before, when she'd inexplicably decided to test the limits of her tolerance, was still fresh in his memory.
He bypassed the slow lift in favor of the stairs, hoping that he wouldn't find her passed out on the floor. Instead, the loft was empty. He immediately checked the shower, looking for, and finding, the diver's knife Kelly habitually kept there. He searched the loft, trying to find other clues that would tell him if she had left for good or was planning to come back. From the looks of it, she intended to return, but there wasn't anything to indicate how soon. The realization left him feeling reassured and anxious at the same time.
She'd left him before, and he'd nearly gone crazy wondering where she was and why she'd left. He didn't think he could stand a second time, knowing how volatile her temper was, how prone she was to drinking when she was angry. He knew she could hold her own in a drinking contest, but he hadn't forgotten how Methos had found her nearly comatose in a seedy Parisian bar the year previously.
Suddenly, a knock resounded on the street-side door. Hope rose within him before his common sense asserted itself; Kelly had no reason to knock on the door, as she had a key. In short order, Mac found himself signing for a courier envelope. It was addressed to the dojo, so Mac opened it. He found a plain white envelope containing a thousand dollars in cash and a plane ticket for Siobhan Kelly to Greece, leaving in the following day.
Puzzled, Mac set the envelope down on the coffee table, and waited for Kelly to return. His mind played with the possibilities; he knew Siobhan was Kelly's last name, and he'd once discovered her forging a driver's license using Siobhan as her first name. He didn't understand why she wanted to leave.
Unless the tickets were for her vacation? he mused.
That didn't make sense. Kelly preferred to plan out the important things in her life, and this would have counted as one of them. If she intended to go to Greece, she would have told him when he called the other morning.
Or would she?
Mac tried to remember the last time that they had really talked about her plans. He was troubled to realize that in all the time he'd known her, she'd rarely mentioned what she wanted to do. If she wanted to do something, she didn't waste time talking about it; she just did it.
He frowned as he thought more deeply about his relationship with Kelly. Ever since he'd gotten kidnapped at Joe's party in December, he'd noticed that Kelly had been restless. He'd dismissed it at first, but now, seeing the ticket, he wasn't entirely sure what to think.
How did we get to this point? he wondered. Have we fought so much that we can't talk anymore?
He knew theirs was a stormy relationship, even in the best of times. Kelly had a quick temper, sharp reflexes, as well as a tendency to drink too much and get into fights when she was upset. Like most of his friends, Kelly's code of ethics was less chivalrous than his own. Still, she was one of the strongest, most passionate women Mac had ever known.
He decided to head over to Joe's to see if she was there. He hoped he wouldn't find her drinking again. It didn't take him long to reach Joe's. He found Joe polishing the bar, getting it ready for the afternoon crowd.
"Well, glad to see that you're safely back here," Joe told Mac a short time later. "Wish I could help you figure out where Kelly took off to this time, but she didn't say anything to anyone."
Mac sighed. "Serves me right for not telling her what I suspected was going to happen," he acknowledged. "Guess I'll just have to wait for her to come back, like always."
Joe offered his friend a consoling look. "Maybe," he suggested, "you should work on not pissing her off so much. You know, maybe tell her the real reason why you left, instead of half the truth?"
Mac snorted. "And have her want to go with me?"
Joe shook his head. "She nearly killed that Immortal who was chasing Amanda back in December, when Caindale had you," Joe reminded Mac. "Did you forget about that, or did he cast a spell on your memory too?"
"It doesn't matter, Joe," Mac said vehemently, "I don't want Kelly getting hurt. She's been wounded enough times in her life."
Joe sighed. He'd heard enough variations on the same theme to know that Mac wouldn't change his opinion. He wondered if Mac knew just how close Kelly was to walking away completely. All it would take would be one more demonstration of Mac's need to protect Kelly, and she wouldn't be coming back from what she'd come to call her "breathing room trips". Joe doubted his friend knew; or if he did, Mac didn't want to acknowledge it openly.
Mac turned to leave just as the sense of another Immortal's Presence sang through his body.
He waited warily, not willing to go through the door with the unknown waiting outside. He was rewarded for his patience when a tall, fox-faced man with dark brown hair walked into the bar.
"Josh," he greeted the other Immortal. "Good to see you. How's Anne and Mary?"
"Safe," Josh replied grimly. "Thank God I was able to do that."
"Someone challenged you?" Mac didn't like the look on his friend's face. It wasn't often he saw Josh this way; the other Immortal was more of a peace lover than a fighter. Josh wasn't interested in the Prize, but he would fight if challenged, and he was good enough to hold his own. Furthermore, Josh didn't attract headhunters the way Mac did. If Mac had had to choose another Immortal for Anne, he knew he probably would've picked Josh.
From their previous conversations, Mac was aware that it was very rare for Josh to be challenged. That was, Mac knew, one of the reasons that Anne felt safe with Josh as her husband; the danger zone that Mac lived in was less of one for Josh. At the moment, though, Mac would've sworn that this was one challenge Josh would've rather not taken.
"It's old challenge," Josh explained. "I've been... avoiding it for fifty years."
"Why is that?" Joe wondered.
Josh looked at his two closest male friends. "Because Emily is insane, and I don't know what her Quickening would do to me."
Joe and Mac shared a look.
"Insane, how?" Joe asked.
Josh sighed, and motioned for a drink, which Joe poured. After taking a sip of the amber liquid, Josh closed his eyes a moment, as if he was trying to gain strength. "Emily didn't take too well to suddenly becoming Immortal."
"So why is she after you?" Mac interjected.
The other Immortal looked sheepish. "Because she blames me for making her that way, and," he drank again, "she would be right."
"You killed her?" Mac's voice betrayed his distaste for Immortals who triggered Immortality too soon.
Josh held up his hands. "Not intentionally, I swear."
"You know," Joe remarked into the sudden tension, "I've been looking for you in the Chronicles, and I can't find you."
Aware of the Watchers thanks to Mac and Anne, Josh wasn't surprised by the question. He'd been expecting it for some time. He had, however, been hoping to avoid answering it. He wasn't proud of what had happened. Knowing that the incident would be a part of his recorded history left him feeling more than a little uncomfortable.
Still, his friends were waiting. He could only hope that Joe would use his famed discretion in recording the tale. He took a deep breath.
"I used to go by Michael Eastbrooke," he confessed now. "Emily Canyon was my fiancee."
In retrospect, falling in love with Emily Canyon hadn't been the smartest thing Josh Stone had ever done. Then again, the only thing he'd claimed to be in 1948 was Michael, Duke of Eastbrooke. That, he decided, had been his first mistake. The second had been when he'd walked into his solicitor's office to sign some papers associated with his newly regained title, and said hello to the receptionist. Had he known he'd be shot by Cupid, he would've skipped trying to own something of his personal history prior to becoming Immortal.
He blamed it on the fact that he'd turned two hundred and forty-nine years old that year. Realizing that he was close to having lived two and a half centuries, without ever really trying to do more than just keep his head, had shook him up more than he'd cared to admit then. Somehow, he'd had the notion that he should've done more to contribute to society than just drift through it, hoping to attract as little attention as possible. He had had no desire to be a headhunter, intent on capturing the Prize. He did, however, have a healthy desire to stay alive. He'd come a long way from the duke of Eastbrooke, the man whose greatest concerns had been his tiny corner of England. He rather enjoyed the benefits his Immortality had given him, the changes the world had undergone that he'd seen.
Maybe it was the influence of the priest who'd been his first teacher that had left him content to just be. He fought when challenged, spent time on Holy Ground when he chose, toyed with middle-class dreams, and generally kept out of the limelight. By sheer chance, he managed to avoid getting involved in either World War, and came back to England after a long stretch of traveling to find that the estate he'd once stood to inherit was up for sale.
Then again, he hadn't been expecting the receptionist to be a slender twenty-seven year old with a fairy's face framed by shoulder-length hair so blond it was nearly white. Her petite, delicately fashioned body only added to the ethereal impression — one that was completed by the fact that she was a pre-Immortal named Emily Canyon.
Josh told himself that he shouldn't get involved with a pre-Immortal. Life was dangerous enough without adding the complication of someone who had the potential of becoming his student — or his enemy. He remembered clearly how his teacher had cautioned him about doing so. Still, it hadn't mattered to Josh. He fell for her the moment he saw her, and for six blissful weeks, they were happy. He didn't have to close his eyes to recall that rainy Sunday in June. The memory was etched into his heart.
Eastbrooke Manor
The huge, antique, four-poster bed had been the first thing Michael had moved into the master bedroom suite. It dominated the room unlike anything Emily had ever seen. The sight of that bed had never failed to produce a smile, and now, recalling the night before, her smile widened.
She hugged herself as she remembered. Michael had taken her virginity in that bed. She knew it was a sin to have sex without marriage, but she didn't care. She loved Michael. He was kind, romantic, quietly wealthy, and he was going to marry her. In a little over a month, she was going to be a duchess.
She giggled a little at that last thought. Oh, she knew it was just a title on a piece of paper, but the way Michael talked about it, it was like he knew intimately just how demanding a real dukedom would be. She let herself dream a moment. She'd be royalty, and what girl didn't dream of becoming a part of that? Oh, it wasn't like she would be a princess, but it was close enough.
The rain fell softly on the windowpanes as she stood in the doorway, watching her lover as he slept. They were supposed to have had a picnic in the woods behind the manor house, but the rain had altered their plans. Michael had received a phone call right after their return from church, and had hurried out on some errand. She'd lingered in the house, drawn to trying to figure out the enigma that was her lover.
She hadn't heard his return. She'd been too fascinated by his library of books to notice the passage of time. Her stomach's rumbling had jarred her back into reality, and she'd decided to detour into Michael's bedroom to see if he wanted anything before she headed downstairs to the kitchen. She smiled again as she thought of how he seemed to relish every taste as if it were a sensual experience, as if he might never taste that particular food again. She didn't understand him completely, not yet, but she figured she would in time. They had the rest of their lives to explore each other.
She approached the bed now, and saw that he seemed to be in the grip of some fevered nightmare. "Michael?" she asked, reaching out to touch him.
Faster than Emily would have believed someone could move, Michael sat upright. Time slowed into molasses speed. Emily saw clearly the dagger he drew from underneath his pillow as it arched upward to meet her heart. She felt the blade penetrate her skin, slicing through muscle and nerves and past bone to imbed itself. Adrenaline surged through her to compensate for the pain. She turned stunned eyes at her lover, then her legs gave way, and there was darkness.
Michael stared at the dead woman at his bedside. He couldn't believe what he'd just done. Emily wasn't supposed to have died, not yet, and certainly not by his hand. They were to be married in a month. He was going to spend the next few years being ordinary...well, as ordinary as life would allow.
Now, because of a nightmare, Emily was dead. As soon as he pulled out the knife, she would be coming back to life, and he would have to explain what she was. What they both were.
He cursed the headhunter he'd run into earlier. Why, oh, why, he asked himself now, do you have to take on every Challenge that comes your way? What are you trying to prove?
The answer resounded in his head even before he tossed the covers aside. He did it because there weren't that many that came his way. He was just a minor player in the Game, and he wanted very much to live. Now, staring at the corpse of the woman he loved, he realized he'd made one very big mistake. He never should've let Emily stay in the house when he'd left to meet the Challenge, but he hadn't been thinking of how he'd react to her after taking a Quickening.
He knew he was prone to falling asleep in exhaustion, only to have nightmares of the battle he just fought. As he'd been taught to do, he habitually slept with a dagger under his pillow; he'd never had reason to question that precaution, especially since it had once saved his life.
Moving purely on necessity now, Michael picked up Emily's limp body and set it on the bed. He braced himself, then pulled out the dagger. It came out with a squishy pop. He winced at the sound, and waited for Emily to recover.
It didn't take very long. Mortified by his error, Michael explained what she was. She was beyond horrified.
The shock had turned a sane woman into a crazed one. She'd blamed him for turning her into something more than mortal, and demanded that he kill her. He'd thought that in a few days, she'd get used to her new life, and stop demanding he kill her. He'd been wrong.
"I didn't ask for this!" Emily screamed at him a few days later, tossing the sword he'd just given her onto the ground. "You have to undo this!"
"Emily," Michael tried to soothe her as they stood in the parlor, "you're asking me for the impossible. Now, if you don't want to learn how to fight with a sword, we can do this later." He checked his watch. "Actually, if we don't hurry, we'll be late for the dressmaker's."
Emily stared at him. Her blue eyes were shadowed from lack of sleep. "You...expect...me...to still...marry you?"
He looked at her blankly. "Why not?"
"Because," Emily said, stomping her foot impatiently, "you — we— are freaks of nature! This is black magic!"
"Darling, we have a gift, and it's not black magic."
"How can it be a gift when I would rather be dead? You accidentally killed me, and I should be dead! Not walking around breathing! I demand that you kill me now!"
Michael stared at her for a long, measuring moment. He could see that she wasn't going to accept her new status in life. "I am not going to kill you." He walked away, too disgusted to continue any attempt at a sword lesson.
He heard her footsteps pounding the ground after him, and turned just in time to see the sword she'd discarded aimed right for him. He reacted instinctively, bringing his sword up to parry the unexpected attack. He easily pushed her blade aside, and was halfway into the riposte before he realized that was exactly what Emily wanted him to do.
She wanted him to kill her. He pulled back on his attack, and stepped away from Emily. "Not today, darling. I won't kill you."
She glared at him. "Then I'll just haunt you until you do."
At the time, he didn't realize that was a vow.
Seacouver
"I refused to kill her," Josh repeated, finishing up his story. "She's been hunting me ever since. I gave her a sword, but I didn't dare teach her anything. I hid out on Holy Ground for a while, faked my death, and started over. I didn't want anything to do with a sword, the Game, or anything remotely Immortal."
He sighed. "I was really hoping that in fifty years, someone might've gotten rid of her for me. She almost succeeded in getting her wish fifteen years ago, but I called the police. I don't think that's going to work this time."
"So what will you do?" Mac asked. Something nagged at him, something he'd seen, something he knew he should know now that he knew Josh's former alias, but he couldn't remember what. He shrugged the flash of memory off and focused on his friend's problem.
Josh looked at Mac. "I'm tired of running." He took a deep breath. "I meet Emily in — " he checked his watch "— two hours." His gaze met Mac's, silently pleading.
"Whatever Anne and Mary need, I'll be there," Mac answered quietly.
Josh closed his eyes briefly. "I hope it doesn't come to that." He stood, shook hands with his friends, and walked out the door.
The sun was just starting to set over the water when Josh walked into the waterfront warehouse where he'd agreed to meet Emily. The strong stirring of Presence washed over him as soon as he walked through the warehouse doors and into the empty space. He could see Emily standing in the center, waiting for him.
She looked as ethereal as he remembered, though she'd cut her hair to a short-cropped bob. The hairstyle gave her a more ruthless fairy look. She wore a long-sleeved purple jumpsuit and boots. He caught himself wondering why she wasn't wearing a dress, like he remembered she preferred, and then shook himself out of the memory.
Now wasn't the time to be lost in the way things used to be, he told himself firmly.
"Emily."
She drew her sword at the sound of her name. It was the same one he'd given her fifty years before, he noted, an Italian style swept-hilt rapier. He noted also that somewhere along the way, she'd learned not only to hold it properly, but her stance indicated that she'd learned how to use it. He hadn't wanted to teach her, not once he knew what she wanted from him.
"Michael," she returned evenly. "You're a hard man to track."
"I didn't want to be found," he answered her, drawing his own sword. His was a single-hand broadsword, custom designed to his specifications. The weight of the blade was a reassuring comfort, even as a part of him decided to remind him that despite a year of sparring with Mac, he hadn't really fought anyone in over five decades.
"You could just walk away, Emily," he pleaded one last time. "You know that I never intended to hurt you."
"Oh really?" she argued. "I spent fifteen years in a mental hospital thanks to you."
"Nice to know that the Chicago police were on the ball that night you came after me," Josh observed, regret in his voice. "You gave me no choice, Emily. I didn't want to kill you then, and I don't want to kill you now."
"Doesn't matter," she shot back. "You made me this way, and you have to take it back."
With those words, she attacked. To Josh's surprise, he parried it easily, and countered with a move of his own. Too late, he realized the initial move she had made had been a feint. He was forced to retreat in order to block the attack. Emily, it seemed, had learned a few new tricks.
On and on, parry after parry, the deadly duel continued. Emily fought with a singular intensity that Josh found difficult to ignore. He spared a moment's thought to wonder who had taught her. She wasn't the woman who'd been terrified of even touching the rapier he'd presented to her.
Then again, he thought dourly, I'm not the same man I was fifty years ago.
Without warning, her blade sliced his forearm. He cursed his inattention and introspection, and quickly switched weapon hands from right to left. He watched in grim satisfaction as her eyes widened in surprise. He'd never showed her that he was actually better at swordfighting as a left-hander, and he used that advantage now.
She was forced onto the defensive. She parried more awkwardly now, as if she had never come across a left-handed swordsman, and didn't realize that the moves she'd learned just had to be adjusted slightly to compensate for the different angle of attack. Josh cut her shoulder twice before she got lucky and pushed his blade aside. It wasn't enough, though. He disengaged her blade and thrust his sword into her gut.
She fell to her knees in agony. Her face was a mask of pain as her sword dropped to the ground and she clutched her stomach. Josh kicked the rapier away, out of her grasp. He hoped she wasn't one to have a last-ditch weapon; as close as he now stood, he would have a very difficult time to try and recover from a Hail Mary maneuver.
Hating the Game, he brought his broadsword in line with her throat and pressed the blade against the soft flesh. He breathed heavily from the exertion of the duel and told her, "I'm sorry. Forgive me?"
Her blue eyes stared defiantly at him. "When you kill me."
Josh inhaled deeply as pictures flashed through his head.
Emily, in a sky blue silk sheath that clung to every curve, laughing in the park at something Josh had said.
Exhaled.
The way her face had softened when he'd told her that he loved her.
Brought his left hand back to prepare for the swing.
The angry words she'd hailed at him when she'd discovered Immortality.
Emily closed her eyes and waited for the killing blow. There was a smile on her face as she finally received what she'd been wanting for decades.
His hurried flight from Eastbrooke Manor onto Holy Ground when she refused to change her mind.
Josh swung his sword.
Oh, Emily.
The blade caught with the sickening yield of flesh and the crunch of bone, then broke free of the barrier. Even as the broadsword made its lethal cut, the Quickening was beginning, with little streaks of blue-white light beginning to emanate from the neck wound. The blood gushed down Emily's now headless body and splattered Josh. He felt every drop as if it were thick rain, hyperaware of everything thanks to the way his senses seemed to magnify right before a Quickening.
The Quickening rose like the mist of a cool spring morning. The unearthly energy enveloped and penetrated Josh, seeking purchase in his soul, and he screamed at the invasion. For a long moment, he could feel the twisted love Emily had for him. In that time, he understood the deep-rooted Christian fundamentalism that she'd believed in, the horror she'd felt at becoming something other than what she'd known or could comprehend, the unbearable agony she'd lived with while she tried to find the one person in the world she blamed for her suffering. Emily had hated being Immortal with everything she was...and she'd wanted Josh to take her Quickening so he'd know just how she really felt.
Josh dropped to his knees as the intensity of the Quickening became too much to bear. He knelt there as the power faded to a more bearable sensation and tears streamed down his face.
He felt the warning song of Presence and rose swiftly to his feet, his sword drawn.
"Josh, it's me." Mac advanced warily out of the shadows. "You all right?"
Josh sighed. "It's over."
Mac stared at his friend. "Emily?"
Josh looked at the ceiling of the warehouse, as if searching for divine understanding in the rafters. Then he met his friend's anxious gaze. "Not as bad as I thought it was going to be...but it's going to take a few days to get over this."
Mac nodded his understanding, and the two Immortals moved out of the warehouse.
The following morning
Josh wasn't sure what prompted him to drive to the fading middle-class neighborhood on the east side of town and park his car in front of the beige, weather-beaten frame house at the end of a cul-de-sac. A cherry-red 1957 Chevrolet Bel Air was parked in the gravel drive, and he gave a moment's appreciation to the now-classic car. He'd told Anne that he felt the need for a drive, just to clear his head from the stresses of his latest computer contracting project. Getting out of his car, he realized that those reasons weren't entirely why he'd driven this way. Something important was here, and he had to know what it was.
Now, he found himself reaching into the wrought iron mailbox by the front door as if he'd been there a million times before. His fingers extracted a key, which he guessed would open the door. He was only partly surprised when it did. He stepped into a musty-smelling living room decorated in furnishings that sagged with age and wear. Following the nameless urge that had brought him this far, he walked through the living room, into the avocado-hued kitchen, and down the basement stairs.
The smell of raw sex and blood, combined with the sound of someone grunting as flesh slapped flesh, assaulted him even before he was halfway down the stairs. Cautiously, Josh took the final steps. A large man was thrusting methodically into a woman who was bound over a bench. Bruises marred the woman's face, but Josh knew he'd recognize that burgundy-black hair anywhere.
He was suddenly, absurdly grateful for the momentary lapse of memory that prevented him from saying her name. She was a friend, he knew. Judging from the pleading look in her eyes, she was a friend in trouble. The man assaulting her had his eyes closed. He was chanting an endless stream of vulgarities. It was a simple matter for Josh to knock him off of her. He fell to the ground, unconscious.
Quickly, Josh sliced through her bindings, using the dagger he carried as a holdout weapon. Naked, bruised, and bloody, she staggered to her feet, then collapsed against him as blood rushed to her extremities.
His eyes met hers. Suddenly, he remembered her name, remembered she'd been missing for several days now. He knew what had sent him here. Like freeze-frames on film, Josh saw the transaction that had brought her here.
Emily had laughed as she tied up her prisoner. "Jamie, I brought you a new pet," she had called to the man who now lay unconscious at Josh's feet.
"Who is she?" Jamie had asked.
"Michael's lover," Emily had said. "Just a little insurance this time around so he'll show up."
Jamie had bounced around with joy. "You're the best friend anyone could have," he had cried with glee.
Emily had petted Jamie like one would pet a dog. "Of course. I would do anything for the man who rescued me from that horrible mental hospital."
Jamie had grinned. "You're too pretty to stay locked up."
Josh's skin crawled with the dark images, the last echo of Emily's Quickening.
Kelly stared at him, waiting for him to hand over the dagger. Even knowing she would be justified in killing Jamie, Josh still hesitated.
"You don't have to do this, Kelly," he reminded her.
Her voice was a hard whisper. "Need to," she informed him. Her hand closed around his fist.
He glanced at her, then at the unconscious form on the floor. He handed her the dagger.
She shoved herself upright, then staggered over to the body on the floor. Without warning, Kelly dropped to her feet.
For a heartbeat, Josh thought she'd fainted. It took him a minute to realize she'd used her failing strength to propel the blade into her rapist's heart. A quick check of the stranger's pulse confirmed that Kelly had dealt him a killing blow. Josh pulled the dagger out and wiped the blade clean before sliding it back into its ankle sheath.
He stripped off his shirt, and bundled Kelly into it. She offered no resistance as he gently picked her up. She stared, unseeing, into a vision that played only for her eyes. As if she was a child, he placed her into his car. She said nothing until he started turning towards the hospital.
"NO!"
Surprised by the sudden shout, Josh stomped on the brake pedal. "You're hurt," he pointed out. "You need a doctor."
She shook her head, wincing at the movement. Determination shone in her eyes. "Home," she insisted.
"Promise you'll see Anne later today?" Josh demanded.
Kelly nodded.
Thinking that perhaps Kelly would feel better if she had a chance to clean up, Josh did as she requested, and took her home.
The loft was fairly quiet in the late afternoon sun as Mac stepped off the elevator. He recognized the sound of a roadhouse-style blues artist Kelly liked as it poured out of the speakers. Emotion, low, mournful, and powered by guitars, poured out of the speakers, uncompromisingly elemental in its purity. Mac got the sense that the music was meant to speak for Kelly. His gaze was immediately drawn to the center of the bed, where she sat, apparently mediating. Her back was to the elevator, and she didn't flinch at the sound of the gate being drawn. His joy at her return warred momentarily with his concern.
Her lack of reaction, combined with her stance, caught his attention right away. Even after nearly a year of being together, Kelly never dropped her guard, never turned her back on the door. The air felt suddenly heavy with a sense of something gone awry, and Mac approached his lover with more than his usual caution.
"Kelly?"
She didn't turn, didn't move a muscle. Scared now, Mac sat down on the bed in front of her. She stank of whiskey, just enough to let Mac know that she was well on her way to being drunk. He wrinkled his nose at the smell, and wondered for the umpteenth time why she rarely seemed to stop until she was thoroughly drunk. As he stared at her, he realized with a jolt that a large bruise darkened the left half of her face; the eye was nearly swollen shut. Bruises trailed down her neck, disappearing under the green T-shirt she wore.
"Kelly, what happened?" he demanded.
She met his gaze with her one good eye. "I lived," she whispered. Her voice was raspy, as if she had a sore throat.
Then, as if she'd been holding herself together through sheer will, she fainted.
A quick assessment of Kelly's injuries had Mac reaching for the phone. It seemed like an agonizingly slow time later that the ambulance arrived, and Mac found himself pacing the floor of the emergency waiting room.
At last, Dr. Anne Lindsey-Stone emerged. "Duncan," she greeted him. "I wish I could say that I'm glad to see you, but not under these circumstances."
He acknowledged her comment with a slight twist of his lips. "Kelly. How is she?"
"The good news is that whoever hit her did it in such a way that nothing was permanently damaged. The bruises will heal in time." Anne paused, trying to find a better way to say what she had to say. "Did she tell you what happened?"
Mac shook his head. "Only that she'd lived."
Anne took a deep breath. "Emily Canyon had kidnapped her. Kelly won't talk about the rest, but I can tell there's more."
"More? What do you mean?"
Anne hesitated. Mac could tell that she was holding back, but knew that Anne wouldn't break her oath of patient confidentiality. "Someone beat her up pretty badly," she said at last. "And she hasn't eaten in several days."
He sighed. "Is she going to be okay?"
"That is entirely up to her. I do need to keep her here for a few days to make sure she gets her strength."
Mac nodded his acceptance. "Can I see her?"
Anne hesitated again.
Mac gave her his best pleading look.
"I had to sedate her, so she's probably sleeping."
"I need to see her."
Anne looked at her friend, and relented. "Just a few minutes. We'll be moving her to her own room in a little bit."
As Anne had predicted, Kelly was asleep. An ice pack rested against one side of her face. Mac had the briefest flash of déjà vu, as he recalled other times of seeing Kelly lying on an emergency room's examining table.
Why are you always fighting someone? he wondered. I wish you'd talk to me about how you're really feeling. The only time I know is either when we're making love, or when we're arguing. I hate seeing you hurt.
He sighed, and brushed a lock of hair from her face.
"I love you, Kelly."
Then he turned, and walked out the door.
Joe's Bar — Three weeks later
The afternoon crowd was light as Josh stepped into the bar. He was surprised to find Kelly seated at one of the stools, her fingers restlessly tracing patterns on her glass of whiskey.
"I thought you'd be over at the dojo," he greeted, taking the seat next to her.
She shrugged indifferently. "Here, there, it doesn't matter."
Caught by the tone of her voice, Josh studied his friend a moment. She looked...miserable, he decided. "Everything going well?"
She shrugged again. Taking a drink, she drained half the glass. "It doesn't matter," she repeated.
"Why not?" Josh asked reasonably.
"Because I fucked up!" she yelled, slamming her glass on the bar with such force that it cracked. Whiskey sloshed over the rim, dousing her hand. She ignored the liquid and gestured expansively. Some of the droplets hit Josh, and he was instantly glad that he was dressed in easily washable clothes.
"You can't blame yourself for what happened," he told her quietly.
"No?" she scoffed. "I could've stopped it."
"How?" Josh reached for the stack of napkins on the bar and began wiping away the spill. "You didn't know what Emily was capable of doing." He swallowed painfully, the images from his former lover's Quickening flashing through his brain. "I didn't know either, and I loved her once."
Kelly let go of her glass, relaxing marginally. "I could've done... something," she insisted. "I'm — I mean, I was — a soldier."
"All that means is that you know how to fight," he pointed out. "Doesn't mean that you had the option to do so." He glanced over at her, seeing the almost-faded bruises. "Though I suspect you gave as good as you could before it became impossible for you to continue." More gently, he asked, "Have you told Mac what happened?"
Kelly stared at the row of liquor bottles behind the bar. "Not everything," she said at last.
"Why not?"
She shot Josh an annoyed look. "Anyone ever tell you that you ask the hard questions?"
He chuckled. "They're only hard when you don't want to admit that you know what the answers are."
She sighed and signaled the bartender for another drink, then added Josh's quietly murmured request for a beer to the drink order. "I want to tell Mac," she admitted, "but I... I don't know if I want him to know. He'll just get even more protective of me than he already is."
Their drinks arrived, and she drank a shot of hers. "I don't know what to say anymore to make things right. It doesn't seem like what I do is enough."
"Maybe," Josh offered, taking a sip of his beer, "you're both expecting too much."
Kelly shrugged half-heartedly. "All I know is that I'm not going to tell him." Her voice was firm.
"He needs to know, Kelly."
"I don't see the point," she countered. "It doesn't help anyone."
She watched as Josh stiffened and turned his attention to the door. She sighed, and downed the rest of her drink. "Mac?" she asked.
"Could be," Josh allowed. "Immortal radar isn't a fine-tuned instrument, at least not for me."
"Either way, I'm leaving. I don't want to see Mac right now." She threw some money on the bar and slipped from the room before Josh could say anything.
The front door opened, and Mac stepped inside. "Have you seen Kelly?" he asked Josh as he came up to the younger Immortal.
"She was here a few minutes ago," Josh said honestly, "but she left."
Mac swore. "Was she drunk?"
"No, but she was drinking." Josh paused. Mac didn't look angry, just concerned and annoyed, and Josh decided that Kelly had enough of a head start. "She went out the back door as soon as I sensed you coming."
"Thanks," Mac muttered, heading that way.
Josh sat a moment, silently debating whether or not to get involved. It wouldn't be the first time that he'd seen Mac and Kelly fighting; they were both strong-willed individuals with different perspectives on life. More than likely, this was just another minor difference of opinion... and then Josh remembered what Kelly had said.
Face it, Josh, if you'd never gotten involved with Emily fifty years ago, you probably wouldn't be debating this now. With a sigh, Josh rose, pulled out enough money to cover his drink, and went out the back door.
He knew from the lack of Presence that he'd missed Mac entirely. Kelly was nowhere to be seen. Sighing again, Josh decided it was time he went home, where he could distract himself from worrying about his friends.
Outside, Mac had caught up with Kelly.
"What is your problem?" he asked her. "All I asked you is whether or not you had gotten the membership dues from Jamie Ferguson, since Robert had mentioned that he's behind a month, and you bolted."
Kelly shook her head. "It's nothing," she lied, and forced a smile.
"'Nothing' makes you react like that??" Mac questioned dubiously.
"Really," she lied again. Deliberately, she leaned against him in what Mac recognized as her favorite seduction tactic. "I'm sorry, I just had a flashback." That wasn't a lie; Kelly just hoped Mac would assume that the flashback was something from her soldiering experience. She'd been horrified to realize that her rapist had been someone she'd casually accepted as a member of the dojo, someone she'd helped.
To her relief, Mac did as she had hoped. Together, they walked back to the bar.
Through sheer will, Kelly had made herself learn not to flinch at Mac's touch, the feel of his body near hers. Still, she wasn't entirely up to going all the way. She was running out of excuses, though she had nightmares to spare. She wondered just how deep Mac's patience ran. She had a feeling she was testing his limits, and knew that it was only a matter of time before he got around to asking what really happened three weeks ago.
They didn't pause as they walked through the bar and out to Mac's car. Silence reigned as the drive back to the loft was accomplished, and they were soon back in the loft.
Kelly picked up the magazine she'd abandoned when Mac had asked her the question that had set her off. She had just gotten comfortable when she realized Mac was staring at her.
"What?" she asked, looking up from the magazine.
"When were you going to talk about the kidnapping?"
Kelly blinked at the hurt she heard in Mac's voice. Setting the magazine aside, she countered, "I don't know."
"You don't know?" Mac asked incredulously.
"I'm okay now," Kelly replied, shrugging with a casualness she didn't quite feel. "It's not the first time I've been someone's prisoner."
Judging from the expression on her lover's face, that wasn't the right answer. She sighed tiredly. "What do you want me to say, Mac? It's over, and I'm safe."
Mac didn't look happy, but he accepted Kelly's point. "I love you," he told her. He sat down on the couch next to her, and gathered her into his arms. "I hate seeing you hurt, and these flashbacks of yours worry me."
"Relax," she told him with a smile. "At least I'm not on some battlefield somewhere having them." She shuddered delicately, half-laughing at the image.
"Now that's a reassuring thought," Mac responded dryly.
"Hey, it works for me," she offered.
Three weeks later
Kelly stepped onto the porch of the white frame house, feeling oddly nervous. You've survived getting nearly killed by an Immortal, two rapes, countless drunken brawls in seedy bars, and over twenty years of growing up and fighting in war zones, and you're nervous because Anne used to be Duncan's lover and they're still close. You've seen them together and know she's no threat to you, she reminded herself. Moreover, Anne is married to Josh, and anyone can see that they're in love with each other.
Yeah, but I've never been in this position before.
She inhaled deeply, trying to calm her racing heart. Then she rang the doorbell.
Through the open windows on either side of the door, she heard the clatter of footsteps. It seemed to take forever before Anne pulled open the door.
"Kelly!" Anne exclaimed in surprise. "Come in!" She opened the door and hugged the younger woman warmly. "Is Duncan with you?"
"No, I came alone."
Anne caught the odd note in Kelly's voice. Concern colored her features as she asked, "Is something wrong?"
Kelly breathed deeply, closing her eyes. God, I hate feeling like this. "You're a doctor, right?"
"Do you need one?" Anne countered, gesturing Kelly towards the sofa as she shut the door behind the younger woman.
"I'm not sure," Kelly responded. "I've never been pregnant before."
Shocked into silence, Anne stared at Kelly. Images of saying a similar statement to Duncan flashed through her mind. She knew that unless a miracle had occurred, the child wasn't Duncan's. She had to bite her tongue from stating that obvious fact. Swallowing, she asked finally, "Does Duncan know?"
Kelly laughed hollowly. "No." She ignored the sofa and began to pace, hugging her stomach. "I...I've been keeping some things secret from him."
Confused, for she had been under the impression that Duncan and Kelly were very open with each other, Anne looked at her friend. "Why?"
Kelly turned and looked at Anne. "Because if I told him, he'd only get more protective of me than he already is. As it stands, I'm feeling smothered by it."
Kelly shrugged awkwardly. "I know you've only known me a few months, and what you know about me is from seeing me around Mac."
She exhaled heavily, and sat down on the sofa. "I used to be a soldier for hire. My father was one, and that's what he raised me to be. I've tried my hand at a couple of other things when there wasn't a war going on somewhere that I wanted to be involved in, but I've never been very good at anything except war."
"Mac's very proud of the way you manage the dojo for him," Anne remarked.
Kelly laughed hollowly. "That's funny. We were arguing about it just last week. Seems like all we do these days is argue." She paused. "I don't understand why."
Anne studied the younger woman a moment, reviewing what she knew about her. It didn't add to much — only the impression of a strong, independent, blunt, and multi-lingual woman who was deeply in love with Duncan. What Kelly had been before she'd moved to Seacouver and become the dojo manager had been a mystery — till now. For some reason, the new information bothered Anne. She told herself to put that aside for the moment, and focused on the immediate problem.
"Have you decided what you're going to do about the baby?"
Kelly suddenly looked very young, and afraid. Anne's heart went out to her as she watched the other woman take a deep breath before speaking.
"I was hoping you could help me get rid of it."
The words hung in the air like an actor suspended on wires, waiting for a director's cue.
Compassion warred with personal ethics as Anne struggled to find a reply to Kelly's statement. Finally, she settled on a truth. "I'm not that kind of doctor, Kelly."
Kelly smiled, though it didn't reach her emerald green eyes. She seemed to withdraw into herself as she nodded her acceptance of Anne's refusal. "Okay."
She turned to leave.
"Kelly," Anne stopped her, "talk to Duncan before you decide anything."
Kelly didn't pause in her path to the door. "It won't matter anyway," she told Anne. "I doubt very much he'll want me to keep the child of a rape."
Shocked into silence yet again, Anne could only watch her go. By the time she realized she had probably encouraged Kelly to seek help elsewhere, it was too late, and the other woman was long gone.
Anne swore. Kelly needed more than an abortion; she needed counseling. Somehow, Anne didn't think Kelly would voluntarily seek the latter.
The following day
"Come on, Kelly," Mac cajoled her, "time to get up."
She ignored him and rolled over in bed, pulling the covers over her head.
He countered by pulling them out of her hands and off the bed. "Love, you've got to get up."
"Oh, go fuck yourself."
"You'd love to watch that, wouldn't you?" His gently teasing tone belied the worry he felt. She refused to let him touch her except in the most casual of ways, and she'd yet to tell him what had precisely happened while she'd been away. Ever since her return from the hospital two months before, she'd become increasingly withdrawn, and had taken to spending most of her time in bed. Yesterday had been the first day he could remember her getting out of bed, and she'd even sounded like the Kelly he remembered as she talked about going to check on a few things for the dojo.
Today, however, was back to the same routine.
"Just leave me the fuck alone, okay?" Abruptly, Kelly leaped out of bed, and ran for the bathroom, shutting the door behind her.
Startled, it took Mac a few seconds to realize what had happened. He arrived in the doorway of the bathroom in time to hear the sound of Kelly retching into the toilet. He heard the toilet flush, then Kelly emerged from the bathroom.
"You're sick," he observed, concerned.
"A fucking brilliant observation," she sniped, moving back towards the bed.
"Kelly, if you're sick, I think you'd better see a doctor," Mac suggested as he sat down on the bed beside her.
"Why?" Kelly asked, tunneling back under the covers. "It won't do me any good."
Mac narrowed his gaze on his lover. "That's not true, and you know it."
"I went to a doctor. She said she couldn't help me."
"Anne," Mac breathed, instantly comprehending who'd Kelly had gone to, and guessing where she'd really gone on her errands. "I don't understand. Anne wouldn't refuse a patient."
Kelly laughed hollowly. "Obviously, you don't know her as well as you fucking think." She turned her back on Mac and pulled the covers over her head. "Go the fuck away, Mac, and leave me alone."
"Not until you tell me what's wrong." Impatiently, he grabbed the covers.
She looked as though she was going to fight him for them one more time, then decided against it. "I'm pregnant."
Mac stared at her. Disbelief was etched into his face, and he shook his head, as if he wasn't sure what he'd heard. "How?"
"How the hell do you think?" she sniped, and tossed the covers aside. Impatiently, she climbed out of bed and headed for the bathroom.
"Kelly— " he began, only to have the bathroom door shut in his face.
He opened it to find that she had decided to take a shower.
"That's not what I meant," he told her. "Why did it happen?"
She completed what had to be the fastest shower on record and shoved the shower curtains aside. Grabbing the towel Mac handed her, careful not to touch his hands, she dried off just as quickly. Dropping the towel on the counter, she left the bathroom, ignoring him otherwise.
"Trust me, I didn't intend for it to happen," she informed him, pulling out a T-shirt and a pair of jeans from the dresser. "It's not your problem."
"It is, if it concerns you." Hurt at her betrayal warred with logic. "I thought you loved me. Did you find someone else?"
She laughed shortly at that suggestion. "If you believe that, Mac, I have a nuclear bomb I can sell you."
"Then how did it happen?"
She pulled the T-shirt over her head, foregoing a bra as she tended to do, and then looked at him. "It's not your problem," she repeated. "I'll take care of it." She picked up the jeans and pulled them on, missing the incredulous look Mac shot her.
"What do you mean, 'take care of it'?" he asked in a dangerously quiet tone, stopping her when she would've walked away.
"Just what I said." She slid on her current favorite pair of footwear — pale, butter-tan ankle boots.
"You don't want this child?"
"Why should I?" Kelly tossed back. "I never asked for it."
He reached to touch her, and she flinched even before his fingertips brushed her skin.
"I gotta go," she said abruptly, and headed for the street-side door before Mac could stop her. The door shut behind her with a solid thump.
Acting purely on instinct, Mac followed her. She hadn't gone far, only to the corner, and he caught up with her easily.
"Kelly, come back, and we'll talk about this," he urged her.
She turned away and hugged herself. "What the fuck do you want me to fucking say, Mac? There's no fucking room in your bloody fucking life for a kid," she pointed out ruthlessly.
"We can make it work," he answered steadily.
Shaking her head, she turned back to him, and the look she gave him held bitter resignation. "How? You won't even fucking trust me to defend myself."
"I do trust you," he tried to reassure her. "I just want to know how you got pregnant. If it's because I can't have children—"
"You think I deliberately got pregnant?" Kelly interrupted with a harsh laugh. "Think I might've just gotten drunk and forgot myself? Think again, MacLeod."
"Kelly—"
"It's not your fucking problem," Kelly told him as she walked away.
Kelly felt Mac's gaze on her as she walked down the street. Some part of her mind was screaming that she should turn around, tell him what happened, but she ignored it. Her pain was hers alone. When she was sure that he was no longer watching, she turned the corner, leaned against the nearest wall, and cried.
She knew what she had to do.
Determination, though, didn't make the decision hurt any less.
Leaving was never easy, and Kelly sighed as she made her way down the dojo stairs. She shifted the weight of the oversized rucksack more firmly across her back and blinked past the tears that threatened to obscure her vision. It was a beautiful spring day, no clouds, no breeze, nothing to obscure the sounds of the city as it went along, mindless of the frozen tundra that was Kelly's soul. Once, there had been a time when she wouldn't have dreamed of leaving, of feeling like one good hit would shatter her to a million tiny pieces. That time wasn't now.
For a brief moment, she allowed herself the luxury of remembering. God, it seemed like a lifetime ago that she'd walked into town, looking for her old comrade-in-arms, Charlie DeSalvo, and found herself falling in love with Duncan MacLeod. She'd been a mercenary hoping to find a new life. In the nearly two years since that time, she'd gotten more than she'd expected. Love hadn't been a normal part of her hard life, and now that she'd known it, she knew she'd never be the same.
She knew Mac wasn't in the dojo. She'd planned her leaving that way, taking the opportunity that his professorial duties offered. She tried to tell herself that she wasn't sneaking away. She just was following through on the promise she'd made to herself the previous afternoon.
She didn't look back as she crossed the sidewalk to the taxi waiting at the curb. As though she'd just been visiting for a few weeks, instead of having made the loft her home for the majority of the past three years, she proceeded to slide into the rear passenger seat.
"Airport, please," she told the driver. She fingered the unused ticket to Greece, and hoped she could convince the airline that she'd merely gotten confused on the dates.
Hours later, Mac came home to an empty loft. The sense of déjà vu was strong as he discovered that Kelly had left. Where her diver's knife normally rested lay a note.
It read simply: "Goodbye."
Mac read it, and swore. Crossing the loft, he found the phone. He had some calls to make. He had to get Kelly back, if only to talk to her and make sure that she was truly leaving him for good this time.
He was just beginning to make his first call when he felt Presence. Hanging up the phone, he abandoned the idea of calling Joe to get information. Automatically, he crossed the room, grabbing his sword along the way, when he heard the elevator start up.
The lift stopped. Through the gates of the grill, Mac recognized Josh. Relaxing, Mac stepped out of a guard position and put away his sword. "Afternoon," he greeted his friend. "What brings you here?"
"It's Wednesday," Josh reminded him. "We have a standing arrangement to spar on Wednesday afternoons, remember?"
"Oh yes," Mac exclaimed, shaking his head at his forgetfulness. "Sorry."
"Everything okay?" Josh asked, concerned. It wasn't like Mac to be distracted.
"Kelly left me."
"She'll come back in a few days when her temper cools off," Josh said knowingly.
"No," Mac replied slowly, "not this time. She's chosen someone else, and she's pregnant."
"Kelly? Leave you for someone else?" Josh didn't believe it. Then he realized what had happened. Kelly obviously hadn't told Mac everything.
"Mac, did Kelly tell you about the rape?" he asked urgently.
"Rape?" Mac croaked. "Kelly was raped?"
Josh took a deep breath, hating the fact that he was the bearer of bad news. He explained the events as he knew them.
"If I get my hands on that bastard who raped Kelly — " Mac swore.
"You're too late," Josh pointed out kindly. "Kelly killed him."
His vengeance frustrated, Mac was left to pace the floor. "Why didn't she say anything?"
Sensing that it was a rhetorical question, Josh didn't reply for several minutes. "Maybe," he offered, "she knew you'd get more protective of her?"
Mac didn't answer. He looked like someone had ripped a piece of his heart out, and Josh knew that the hurt ran deep. There wasn't anything Josh could do to ease his friend's pain, though. Heartbreak was a pain best dealt with alone, at least until after the initial shock wore thin. After a moment more of shared silence, Josh left.
Kelly stared out at the sea, and wondered when the ache in her heart would cease. The abortion had left her weaker than she'd anticipated, but she hadn't expected the guilt and uncertainty. She swore, and gripped her upper arms more tightly.
You made your choices, Kelly, she reminded herself. You can't go back now. You don't want to be smothered by Mac again, and it's doubtful he'll trust you the same way ever again.
She took a deep breath, and resolutely straightened her posture. Hearing her name called, she walked across the sand to meet the friend who'd called her. Her whole life was ahead of her now, and with the computer skills she'd picked up managing the dojo, there was a new world of opportunity ahead of her.
If that prospect didn't seem too thrilling at the moment, Kelly told herself that it was only fair to expect that nothing would match the last two years of her life. She was a strong woman; she would survive.
It was, after all, what her father had taught her to do.
if I left you now, would you know
that my heart lies like a broken mirror
all over the living room floor?
or would you think that I'm just as calm
as the ocean at midnight when the moon is full,
and that the storm of emotion you're feeling
isn't the same for me as it is for you?
I wish I could change the way that I feel,
but this road I'm on leads me to pain,
and I'm already carrying far too many scars
maybe it's just been a long time coming
and we both are too proud to admit failure
we've tried for so long to make this work,
but what the heart wants isn't always what it needs
if I left you tomorrow, would you listen
when I told you that all the blame is mine
and I really want you to accept my apology?
or would you believe that I'm just as truthful
as a blind man when he says he can't see the sunrise
and the new day that's dawning has been coming
for longer than we've both realized?
I wish I could doubt the way that I feel
but this journey of love hasn't been easy
and I've been tired of fighting for too long now
maybe I've just been postponing the inevitable
and we've never been meant to be together
we've tried for so long to avoid this moment,
but what the heart wants isn't always what it gets
if I had left you yesterday, would you now see
that I never meant to hurt you so deeply
and I would move mountains to have saved you
or would you perceive that I meant everything I did,
as intent as a starving hunter pursuing dinner,
and everything I did was a calculated means to an end
that you had no way of foreseeing?
I wish I had the words to express how I feel
but I've always chosen action over everything else
and I've never been one to stay where I'm not wanted
— Finis — ©5.9.99 Raine Wynd
Background and titles ©1998, 1999 Raine Wynd
Read the sequel, Forever in My Heart
Read a snapshot set around the time of this story: Chances