Disclaimer and Notes: Still not mine. Still not queen. Not beta'd, so any constructive criticism is welcome. Slashy, het-y, short.

Tangled

by Raine Wynd

Sometimes Amanda steps into Duncan's life, and she knows she's not welcome, but she stays anyway, just to prove the point that she knew him first, she knows what he looks like when he comes, and that she will be the one he runs to when his heart breaks, as it invariably does. Since he tends to fall for mortals, it is a fairly easy game to play, and she's gotten good at keeping her true emotions at the situation hidden.

She forgets that he knows this is a game they have played for centuries, and it's because he so rarely does it to her she forgets he has every right to do the same to her. She forgets, too, that they've managed to not talk about their relationship in a thousand ways that needed to be said long before this particular moment in time.

He watches her now as she moves around the bar, dusting the bar that doesn't need dusting, pouring herself a glass of wine she doesn't really want. His eyes are steady, but she can feel his quiet anger, and knows this time, she's crossed a line. For a moment, she doesn't care that the shoe's on the other foot, doesn't care that the foot in question is her own. She's angry at being questioned about her life, when she has yet to press Duncan about his own. Resentment flares up, is swallowed, and left to smolder like cigarette ashes.

She brings the glass to the table where he sits, waiting impatiently, and sits down, trying to inject the heavy silence with chatter about the vineyard she's held for centuries, about how this was one of the first bottles distilled with her name on it. His face quickly reminds her it's not like he doesn't know this already, and the words die in her throat. She takes a deep breath. "Why the hell are you here, Duncan? You haven't been here in five years."

"When were you going to tell me about Nick? I had to hear about it from Joe." His words are gentle, not condemning, but they hurt for their simplicity.

She steadies herself with a drink; the wine is as dry as she suspected it would be. Setting the glass down, she licks her lips and swallows, noting the way Duncan doesn't react to the gesture. "You weren't here when I met him."

"You never said a word to me the whole time we were dealing with O'Rourke. Never said you'd bought a bar, that you'd met someone else, that you were willing to die for me despite all of that."

She looks at him, surprised at his words. "I loved you first," she says evenly. "Then, after O'Rourke, you disappeared on all of us." She shrugs and carefully adds, "I was frantic until Methos told me not to worry, that he was looking after you."

Now it's Duncan's turn to stare. "I'm sorry," he says. "I called Joe first. Methos answered the phone. He said Joe was doing fine in Chicago, that I should come stay with him in London. I didn't feel like going back to Seacouver." He pauses for a long moment, and there's a wealth of unspoken words in his silence, words that confirm what Amanda doesn't really want to know. For the breadth of the silence, Amanda wishes to God she didn't have the memory of having seduced Methos, in addition to the many encounters she'd had with Duncan, in her brain to help paint out the graphic details. "I only started to wonder about you when Methos dropped Nick's name in connection with you. I'd...been distracted."

It's not in Amanda's nature to be vicious with a former lover, not unless it's warranted. "I figured you were...busy," she says, smiling lightly despite the sudden, sinking sensation that she'd lost Duncan to Methos...possibly forever. It's the same sensation she felt the night Methos saved Duncan from O'Rourke. "So why aren't you with Methos now?"

Duncan looks startled, again. "Amanda," he begins, then stops. Takes a deep breath. "I came to ask you if you were exclusive. I never expected to see you in love." Wonder colors his voice, and she knows he's never seen her like this: so in love she's willing to die for it, willing to lie for it, willing to give up being a thief for it. He's never seen it because he took for granted such devotion from her would be his.

Amanda closes her eyes, feeling like a thousand knives are sliding through her skin, and yet...she knows something Duncan doesn't. Knowing it makes her in control of the knives, and she knows just where to throw them. Opening her eyes, she meets Duncan's gaze. "You never looked for it from me." She rises to her feet, and Duncan stands with her like a puppet on a string. "I waited for you to see it. I waited for you when you were with Tessa, with Anne. I can't wait around for the next time you're not with someone, Duncan. I'm certainly not going to be your partner in some one-night stand."

"Amanda," Duncan protests. "It's not like that."

"No?" She arches an eyebrow. "I'm tired of not being welcome with your lovers, Duncan. I know where I stand with Methos -- he'd rather I be as far away as possible unless he needs my talents for something. Then he'd better be the one doing the asking, not you. Till then, my darling: you're out of room in the bed, and I...I'm not willing to be there." Briskly, she adds, "Go home, Duncan. I'm happy. Feel free to help yourself to the wine. The door will lock automatically behind you."

"Amanda!" he calls her name as she starts to walk away from him. "Please."

She stops, turns and faces him, wondering if he even knows what he's begging for. "What? I'm not interested, Duncan. Do you need me to spell that out for you any more clearly?" Deliberately, she adds, "I thought even that thick, Scottish head of yours understood the meaning of the word 'no.""

"That's not nice, Amanda."

"No? I'm not the one looking up an old lover to ask if she's willing to be in a threesome. Or was it just you because you've had a falling out with Methos?" The embarrassed flush of Duncan's face tells her it's the latter, but she presses on anyway. "Sorry. The answer's still no. Nick doesn't share well with others, and I'm starting to see his logic."

Defeated and slightly dazed, Duncan asks, "Where are you going?"

"Home." She smiles as she says it, and heads upstairs. She's not surprised to find Nick stepping out from the shadows of the landing of the second floor. She knows he's heard every word. She expected nothing less of him, and it warms her heart to know he didn't disappoint her.

He kisses her gently, then leads her into the elevator. Only when the doors are shut does he look at her with too-observant eyes and says quietly, "Liar. You still want him, and I never said you couldn't be with someone else."

She looks at Nick. He's surprised her again, and something tells her he always will have the ability to do so. "Doesn't change the fact I love you, either," she admits.

Nick nods, kisses her again. For a brief, heartbreaking instant, she allows herself to be caught up in his passion, lets herself go in the arms of the lover she's chosen. Then he breaks the kiss, but keeps his arms around her. "I know," he tells her. "But someday, 'Manda, you two need to sit down and talk."

"Maybe," she concedes, but her heart isn't in it. For the moment, she has the distance she needs, and it's enough. In time, maybe things wouldn't be so tangled and she could look at the relationship more objectively. For now, she has Nick, and for the moment, he is exactly what she needs.

4/9/07

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