Buffy rolled over in her sleep. She had managed to kick all her covers off except the sheet, which had wound itself around her mummy fashion. Her feet had escaped, but her torso was wrapped so tightly that her breathing was labored. Bangs clung to a forehead wet with sweat. She made a small sound of protest as her arms tried, in vain, to emerge from the sheet and fight off danger.

"Buffy! Wake up!"

She awoke with a stifled scream. Her mom was shaking her, but when she saw Buffy’s eyes open, she stopped and put her arms around her.

"It’s all right, sweetheart, I’m here," Joyce Summers told her daughter. "It was just a bad dream. You’re home now, and everything’s going to be okay."

Buffy realized her mom was trying to help, but also knew that she wasn’t a child anymore and kind reassurances wouldn’t change the facts. Everything was not going to be all right. In fact, things were never going to be the same again.

"I thought I was doing you a favor by letting you sleep," Joyce told her. "I know you got home late last night from slaying and since you’re not back in school yet, I decided it wouldn’t hurt to let you sleep a little longer. Well, get dressed and come downstairs. Breakfast is ready and I’d like to eat with you before I go to the Gallery."

She left and Buffy pulled on a T-shirt and a pair of sweat pants. When she walked downstairs, her mom frowned at her fashion selections, but let it pass.

"Mr. Giles just called," she told her daughter. "He asked me to tell you that a new martial arts course is starting this week at Sunnydale University and he thinks it would be a good idea if you tried to attend it. I think he said the teacher’s name was Richards…Ms. Richards."

She walked over and gave Buffy a hug. "I’m so glad to have you home, and you’ll see, things are going to get better. I know that your nightmares are scaring you, but Buffy, they’re just dreams."

Buffy only stared past her mother in silence.

Buffy Summers, the Vampire Slayer, assessed her opponent. He was thin, and not much taller than she was, with carrot-colored hair and a dusting of freckles across his cheeks.

"He's probably taking this course because he's been bullied his whole life by people bigger than him," she mused inwardly, deciding he looked rather nervous to be facing her—no doubt due in part to her reputation for violent behavior. "This is unfair--why do people automatically assume I'm going to beat the crap out of them? What have I ever done...well, yeah, I was wanted for murder a few weeks ago, but everyone knows that was a mistake, and okay, there was the time I slammed Jenny Calendar into a desk in front of her students because I found out she'd been spying on me..." the thought trailed off with a mental sigh. To people that didn't understand her Slaying Duties there was plenty of evidence that Buffy had aggressive tendencies.

"At least Billy has an actual desire to learn self defense. Most of these twits are just taking this course so they can brag about knowing martial arts. Besides, we're getting the Mulligan Stew approach to learning. Mix a little of this and a little of that: a little karate, and a little judo, a pinch of kung fu and a dash of tai chi and bring to a boil. Serve with a sprinkle of Chinese boxing and viola! I'll have to see exactly how useful this will be."

She returned her attention to Billy who remained motionless. "Why is he just standing there?" she wondered, then realized that he was waiting for her to make the first move. In some instances, this would have indicated a crafty adversary, but not this time. Billy was simply scared stiff.

"He's obviously not been paying attention lately. I've not wailed on anyone here, in fact, I've deliberately restrained myself. He should think I'm a pushover. Guess it just proves what happens when a girl gets a reputation."

She shrugged and then feinted a blow to Billy's left, which seemed to spur him into action. He reached for her slowly and awkwardly enough that she could have evaded his grasp, but she let him throw her to the mat. When she looked up, he had a "gee-did-you-see-what-I-did" look on his face. Since she had tried for his left side, he guarded it, unknowingly leaving the whole right side of his body open.

"Ah, look at him glow," Buffy thought and went for the left again. As before, he threw her to the mat. As she got to her feet, she realized their instructor was watching them.

"Good work, Billy," the woman said in her strange, unplaceable accent and then looked at the Slayer.

Buffy thought she saw disapproval in Ms. Richards' eyes and blushed. She'd lost track of how many times today she had allowed someone to "get the drop on her" so to speak. Giles had asked her to take the class and then added she should still try to preserve her secret identity as the Slayer. As far as she could tell, the two goals were mutually incompatible.

Ms. Richards walked away and observed the students next to them. Buffy breathed a sigh of relief. Ms. Richards made her extremely nervous.

The woman who had unintentionally created such unease within the teenager was a striking woman who appeared to be in her twenties, although an exact age would be rather hard to say. She was dressed in a black tank top and a blue gai with a waist-length braid of light brown hair, nearly as thick as it was long, that Buffy had heard Billy describe as being the same shade as a jar of honey held up to the sunlight. The long hair emphasized her height, which made the much shorter Slayer feel like a pygmy compared to an Amazon. She never wore makeup, but as she was blessed with good bone structure, flawless skin, and shapely mouth and naturally long, dark lashes, she could get by with it. All of these features set off an extraordinary pair of eyes. The eyes made her age so difficult to pin down. They were a rich brown, dark enough to drown in and seemed to radiate wisdom and experience.

She now addressed the class. "All right everyone, time to cool down."

They all turned to face front following her lead, then went down into the seiza position she had taught them, sitting on their heels.

"Remember, your knees should be two fists apart," she instructed. "Now I want you to close your eyes and concentrate on slowing your breathing."

Buffy dutifully obeyed, but could not relax. Her mind journeyed back to remember the first time she'd felt a strange vibe from Ms. Richards only to realize it was the day they'd met.

She had walked into the dojo late due to an unexpected ambush by a hungry vampire and quickly discovered that tardiness was not the way to her new teacher's heart. Ms. Richards had frowned at the interruption.

Buffy had just enough time to notice little incongruities about the woman: no makeup or fingernail polish, but her toenails were a bright reddish pink. Then the two guys next to her started talking.

"Listen to her. What's she know about martial arts anyway?"

"Probably more than you do."

"Says you. I'm telling you she's from England or someplace. They don't know the first thing about fighting."

"My watcher is English," Buffy thought, "and I pound him pretty hard sometimes but he could put both your butts on the floor, you morons." She thought about mentioning this to the guys when they noticed Ms. Richards had stopped speaking.

She must have heard the conversation because she looked straight at the guy who had doubted her abilities and crooked a finger, beckoning him to come to her. Buffy saw him swallow and look wide-eyed in the classic, "Who me?" pose.

"Oh, no," she thought, "you've challenged her authority and now you have to pay the bill."

He swallowed again and followed Ms. Richards to one of the mats. She faced him and bowed solemnly. He bowed as well, and then stood uncertainly. He glanced back at his friend who shrugged and made a motion saying, "Get on with it." Returning his gaze to his opponent, he saw her raise her hand and wave him forward.

Gritting his teeth, he rushed her and found himself on his back a split-second later. He shook his head to clear his vision. He’d only seen a blur. God, she was fast. He got to his feet. She waved him on again. He tried a good old-fashioned punch, despite his boasts of martial arts skills, but at the last moment before he could connect, she stepped aside. Her foot shot out, hooked his leg and pulled him to the floor.

He lay there stunned until she offered him a hand and pulled him to his feet. She repeated the familiar hand gesture, ready for another round, but he'd had enough. Mutely, he shook his head. She bowed again and let him return to his place with the other students.

Buffy had watched with a mixture of amusement and awe. This woman was very fast and her movements were very clean, completely efficient. The oddest thing, though, was that the whole contest had been soundless aside from a few grunts from the guy as he hit the ground. Ms. Richards had been completely silent throughout.

She now addressed the students as a group. "Does anyone else wish to challenge me?"

No one answered and she continued, "Please, if anyone else has doubts about my abilities, let's settle it right now. Believe me, if someone here knows more than I do, I will gladly switch places and let him or her teach this class."

No one moved. They barely seemed to breathe.

"I'll have no hard feelings if someone busts me. I'm fully aware that there are people in the world better than I am. It doesn't bother me because I can learn from them, but it's important we settle this today because if you do not respect my authority you will learn nothing. In other words," she gave a sudden, ferocious grin, "there can be only one alpha wolf in this pack and until someone pins my ears back, I hold that position."

They laughed uneasily, but no one stepped forward. Satisfied, she continued with the day's lesson. With such a beginning, Buffy expected a hardcore traditionalist who would accept nothing but perfection, but to her surprise Ms. Richards was patience herself. She had enjoyed the evening, despite the handicap Giles had given her -- protecting her secret identity. Things had run smoothly until Buffy was ready to leave...then the questions started.

On that first evening, they had been casual break-the-ice-type inquiries. Buffy was the only girl in the class and supposed that to be the reason for her teacher's interest. Each time class convened, though, the teacher's remarks grew more personal. The day before, Ms. Richards had asked if she had a boyfriend. Buffy had quickly dismissed the idea with a breezy, "Not at the moment."

She'd hoped Ms. Richards would drop the topic, but her brief answer had only served to increase the woman's questions. "Why not? What are you looking for? Aren't there any interesting guys out there?"

Buffy had said next to nothing and finally answered, "I had a boyfriend but we broke up. I'm not ready to date someone else yet."

"Was the breakup that bad?"

"Yes"

Buffy refused to say anymore. Just those few words had reopened wounds still too painful to probe. Saying her breakup with Angel was bad was like saying William Shakespeare was a fair playwright. She quickly blocked out any more thoughts of her former lover before the hurt could be fully experienced.

"Very good everyone, I'll see you tomorrow," Ms. Richards announced.

Buffy opened her eyes, stood up and stretched out her legs. She walked to the side of the spacious dojo where a row of chairs held students' gym bags and a row of shoes ran under them. She opened her own bag and pulled out a towel with which to wipe her face. Before she had a chance to sit down and pull on her shoes, she saw the tall woman approaching her and groaned.

"Just what I need," she muttered, "another edition of the Spanish Inquisition."

"Buffy, may we talk?" the woman seemed to be completely serious tonight.

"Sure, Ms. Richards," the girl replied, politely.

"I'm concerned about your performance. When do you plan to let yourself fight?"

"I beg your pardon?" Buffy stammered.

"As well you should, girl. What are you playing at? You could knock every one of these boys into next week, yet everyday you let them win. Why?"

"I'm not letting them win. They're beating me all on their own. I can't help it if I'm weaker than they are," Buffy gave her teacher her best helpless-girly-girl smile.

"Really?" the woman looked contemptuous.

Buffy swallowed. Like the rest of her class, she longed for this woman's respect but she was under strict orders to behave herself. "Yeah," she repeated, feeling foolish, "I give them everything I've got."

Ms. Richards' dark eyes narrowed, "If that's true, then there's nothing I can do for you, goodbye."

"Goodnight," Buffy responded cheerfully and sat down to pull on her socks and shoes.

"Not goodnight, "the unexpected reply came, "goodbye. I don't expect to see you here again."

Buffy's mouth dropped open. "You're kicking me out of class, why?" she sputtered in outrage.

"I have no time to waste on girls who think this class is a good way to meet men. If you're not serious about learning, get out."

Buffy's ego was stung in too many places to count. "I did not come here to meet guys," she said, hotly. "I told you yesterday that I'm not interested in dating anyone."

"So, why are you acting all fragile and vapid? I have to say you've shown no improvement since the first day you walked into the dojo. Tell me, how does that happen? I'd assumed that you were an experienced fighter who was hiding her skills, and I wanted to know, if so, why you were bothering to take the class. If I'm wrong in that conclusion, then you're not trying at all. Either way, you're not taking the class seriously and are wasting my time and yours as well."

"What if I improve?" Buffy countered.

"It would have to be a hell of a comeback because at this point I'm not convinced you could knock a fly from the wall."

"I’ve been pretending to be bad. I can't really explain. I have my reasons, but I'm not allowed..."

"Out of the house without a bodyguard? Come on princess, we both know that you're no Xena, so why don't we just call it quits."

"I can fight," Buffy stated firmly. Her cheeks were flushed with anger. "In fact, I can kick your ass back to the old country."

They were circling each other warily, now.

"Oh, the cub snaps back. Do you really think you're alpha enough to pin my ears?"

"Oh, yeah," Buffy's blue eyes gleamed.

"Prove it," the challenge came.

Before she could stop it, Buffy's fist flew out, striking Ms. Richards in the face. The teacher flew backwards into the wall.

To the Slayer's surprise, the woman picked herself up with a smile on her face, despite the blood trickling from her mouth. As she walked nearer, the girl could see a split lip and the beginning of a bruise on her cheek.

"Not bad," Ms. Richard said cheerfully, "not bad at all, but this isn't boxing class."

Without warning, Buffy found herself sprawled on the floor. She looked up to see the older woman reaching out a hand and saying, "Shall we take this to the mat? It's much softer."

During the next few minutes the Vampire Slayer found herself trying every punch, every kick, every move she ever knew to no avail. Ms. Richards would calmly block, duck or step aside and Buffy would find herself on the floor again. She launched one last kick, aiming at her opponent's head, but suddenly there was no head there, her foot was caught and her legs pulled out from under her. She couldn't understand how the woman could move so fast. Did she have some supernatural powers?

Ms. Richards laughed, "Don't worry, Buffy. I don't bite."

"What?" now she was truly startled. Could she read minds?

"You're like I was at your age--a face that tells everything you're thinking. It's something you have in common with your classmates. You're stronger, faster and more experienced than they are, but you still broadcast your moves clearly enough that someone with as much experience as I have can see you coming a mile away."

"So, I guess I was the one with the pinned back ears," Buffy said ruefully, getting to her feet.

"Well, I guess I remain alpha wolf in the dojo, but I hope that we can be friends outside of class."

"Friends?" Buffy was dubious.

"Yes, I think we can be friendly now that we've established that you’re a capable fighter. I still say that you're wasting your time when you pull your punches."

"I know, but I've been, well, kind of forbidden to expose myself to the class."

"Tell you what...if you'd like I'll give you some private lessons after class."

"Why?"

"Because you're the most skillful fighter I've met in years and I'd like the chance to help you become even better. Will you excuse me for a second, I'd like to wash my face."

"Sure," but as the teacher walked away rubbing her jaw, Buffy could have sworn she heard the words, "Bloody Slayers," mumbled under the woman's breath.

"What?" she asked as her heart raced.

"Huh? Oh, nothing. I'll be back in a minute." Ms. Richards walked into an office and began gently cleaning her face.

"Who is this person and how does she know I'm the Slayer?" Buffy wondered. She stood frozen with indecision until Ms. Richards returned. "That's odd," Buffy thought. "I must not have hit her as hard as I thought because there's barely a mark left."

"Why have you been playing Barbara Walters?" she said aloud.

"Excuse me?"

"You know, asking me so many personal questions."

"Oh, that. It just seemed to me that you were extremely sad…like you had lost someone important to you. I thought you might want to talk about it."

"So, why did you assume it was a guy? Because I'm 17, I must be a love-struck teenager?"

"No, I didn't assume anything. I thought it could have been a boyfriend but it could have also been a friend, or a parent, maybe."

"My parents are fine. My mom lives here in Sunnydale and my dad lives in LA."

"Divorced?"

"Yeah, but that's not a recent thing. I'm okay with it."

"Really? I still miss my mother."

"Did she leave your dad?"

"Sort of--she died when I was two."

"Oh, I'm sorry," Buffy swallowed. "Does the pain go away?"

"The pain of losing someone you loved? No, it doesn't. It gets to the point where it can be borne, though. There comes a time when you stop thinking about it, dwelling on it. Certain things will bring it back, but life goes on eventually."

"Yeah, according to conventional wisdom."

"Did you know that according to the Lakota as long as there is one person that can still remember someone, it doesn't matter how much time passes that person is never truly dead?"

Buffy let that sink in for a moment. "I like that," she decided.

"I thought you might. I know I've found it comforting over the years."

"How did you know that I've lost someone?"

"I recognized the look, but also to be completely honest, because I know who you are. I know you're the Slayer."

"How?" she was stunned.

"Rupert Giles is a very old friend of mine."

"Giles set me up? How dare he?" Buffy's temper was rising again.

"He dared because he cares about you. He thinks that there's no one you can talk to because all your friends are too involved in the story to be objective."

"So he thought telling my story to a perfect stranger would help? No thanks." Buffy walked back to the chairs and began pulling on her socks.

"Sometimes an objective listener can make all the difference in the world -- especially when that person can relate to your experience in some way."

"Yeah right, you can relate to my experience."

Ms. Richards stared at her, "I told you less than five minutes ago that I lost my mother in a car accident when I was two and you think I know nothing about dealing with loss?"

"No," the girl cast about her for the right words. "I'm sure that was incredibly painful, but it was natural. People die in wrecks. It's tragic, but hardly the same thing as..." her voice trailed off.

"The same thing as what? What's eating you up inside Buffy?"

"What, didn't the great father figure tell you everything?"

"No, Rupert said it would be best if I heard everything from you. All I know is that something happened to you that was so terrible that you left your home, your mother and your friends and ran to LA. Rupert contacted me because you'd abandoned your duty as the Slayer and he was afraid your friends would get themselves killed trying to take your place."

"He brought you here to protect them, and they never noticed you?"

"Actually, they didn't. I stayed in the shadows and took care of the ones that got away."

"Why would he ask for your help? What, were you a Slayer in a former life?"

"Not exactly, let's just say I consider vampirism to be the eighth deadly sin. I was happy to lend a hand. Your friends didn't do too badly on their own, though."

"Yeah, well speaking of my friends I'm supposed to be meeting them right now, so I'm going to have to bail on this little heart-felt chat." She was lying through her teeth. Willow and Xander were spending private time with their significant others this evening, and she was sure neither Oz nor Cordelia would appreciate the intrusion.

Ms. Richards made no sign that she saw through Buffy's deception. Instead, she wished the girl good night.

"I might show up for the private lesson, but I'm going to think about it first. I don't really know you and I certainly don't intend to share my life story."

"I hope to see you," the teacher said simply.

Buffy left with her mind in turmoil. What had gotten into Giles? She understood him protecting the Scooby gang's life and egos by bringing in extra help. What gave him the right to push her into a relationship with this woman, though? She had no use for a new best friend, mentor, or psychologist.

It's true he was her Watcher, and rather paternal in his own way, but didn't he know how to mind his own business? He should respect the fact that she didn't want to talk about Angel to anyone. How could any of them understand, anyway? Angel had killed Jenny Calendar, the woman Giles loved. In the last battles that had taken place before she'd gone to LA, Kendra, the Slayer who had been called when Buffy had technically died for a few seconds, had been killed. Xander, and especially Willow, had been hurt and Xander had always hated Angel with a bitter jealousy anyway. How could any of her friends really empathize with her loss, and if such understanding was impossible to expect from them, how could a total stranger possibly relate?

Ms. Richards had seen some suffering in her day -- that was clear when you looked in her eyes. Yet, how could she know what it was like to personally send the man you love to hell?

She sighed, "I haven't given up, I just have moments when I think this is never going to end. It's been so very long, my friend. I'm beginning to doubt my own memories."

The words echoed in her ears as she woke up. Throwing off her covers, thick by the standards of southern California, she reached for one of the silk kimonos she preferred to conventional robes. This one, a midnight blue embroidered with golden tigers and scarlet dragons, was her favorite.

She stumbled downstairs to the kitchen and made herself a cup of soothing herbal tea. It didn't calm her nervous system, which felt like it had drunk nitroglycerine instead. Slamming down the teacup, she found an unopened bottle of single malt Scotch whiskey. She poured herself a shot and gulped it down. Liquid fire burned its way from her esophagus to her stomach. She grimaced. During her time in the Highlands, she had learned to drink more potent brews than this, but she'd never learned to like it. She poured another. She hated the stuff but needed to find a little peace even if it was produced artificially. She didn't want to get drunk, though, just slightly numb.

Despite the warmth the Scotch produced internally, she still found herself shivering. Cold was a constant companion and since she knew fully well that there was nothing wrong with her physically--no fear that she'd ever develop anemia--she assumed it was a psychological problem.

She sighed and built a fire in the fireplace. Long years of experience gave her a deft touch and blazes soon crackled merrily. She knelt on the floor gazing into the flames.

"Start at the beginning," she muttered. "And just where would that be? My childhood?"

Inwardly, she thought, "We've already discussed the fact that her dad's not around much since the divorce and my mother died when I was two. So, where do we go from there?"

She went into her small personal dojo--the one luxury she'd allowed herself in this temporary residence. Stripping off her kimono, she picked up a bokken, and automatically began her routine of katas. Forward and downward cuts, strikes and slashes all helped clear her mind.

Finishing, she rested a few minutes in the seiza position she had taught her students and then rose. She walked to the hall, opened a closet and pulled out a soft rag, oil and other cleaning supplies. She took them to the living room and sat down in front of the fire with a sword. It was a Japanese katana with an ivory handle. She stared at it for a long moment and then began wiping the blade with sword-cleaning paper.

"I found Mommy's one day. I was playing with them and Daddy caught me. He got really mad because I was using Mommy's things."

"Forever," she promised, so seriously he had to laugh. "All right, mo nighean, my lass, you should always remember to check your blade for chips and cracks. If you get into a fight, you don't want your weapon breaking on you. Also, make sure that not a trace of powder or anything else remains. You don't want your sword to rust, do you?"

"No, I do not," she said aloud, having failed to find any damage on the katana’s gleaming edge. She applied a light coat of oil to protect it from the fire. "Always and forever, mo luaidh, my beloved."

*****

In the darkest part of the night, Buffy was yet again trapped in the clutches of a night terror.

She was in Giles' house, which was softly illuminated by candles. She moved to a table where champagne was chilling and two wineglasses awaited. Opera music was coming from somewhere nearby. "Puccini's "La Bohème," she thought, and absently wondered how she knew. Picking up a piece of cream colored stationary that seemed vaguely familiar, she read the word 'upstairs.'

"I'm getting such dèjá vu, how do I know this?" She was halfway up the steps when she remembered. "Jenny. She's lying on his bed with a broken neck." She wanted to stop but her feet continued to climb until she stood at the top, a few steps away from the bedroom. She tried to turn her head, not wanting to see Jenny's poor broken body lying there. Once more, she was powerless to resist the will of the dream. She took the last steps and gazed, horrified at the sight before her.

With the last scream, she managed to wake herself up. She tossed the covers aside and walked to the window.

She was dreaming about Angel every night now. The nightmares were becoming increasingly horrific as well. She was almost to the point of trying to avoid sleep entirely.

"Maybe if I told someone about these dreams, they'd go away," she thought, "but maybe if I talk about them, they'll get worse."

Talking to someone made her think of Ms. Richards. She frowned. The woman claimed to be a friend of Giles' and that was easy enough to check. She didn't really want to talk to him for a few days, though. It would give her time to cool off about his irritating interference.

She got a good vibe from the teacher, who seemed genuinely interested in helping Buffy. The trouble was, Buffy wasn't ready to deal with her problems yet.

She could still take Ms. Richards up on her offer of private lessons. Her ego was more bruised than her body after this evening's little brawl, but it was still smarting. She was the Slayer and she'd been tossed around like a rag doll.

"Face it girl." she told herself, "you could learn a lot from this person if you want."

She thought about it for a few minutes and nodded. She would be stupid to pass up the opportunity to train under a master, but that didn't mean she had to pour her heart out.

"She's welcome to be Bruce Lee," the girl muttered to herself, "but no Sigmund Freud is allowed."

The next evening found Buffy back in the dojo being thrown around by the guys. Every now and then, she actually allowed herself to fight back with a punch here, or a kick there.

It was after the male students had gone that her real workout began. Ms. Richards would spar with her for a few moments, stop and correct her in her technique, spar some more and then talk about ways to camouflage movements.

The time flew by until Buffy was startled by the sudden appearance of a guy entering the dojo. He was of average height with thick, light-brown hair. He appeared to be in his early twenties so Buffy assumed he was a college student. Good-looking, she concluded, in a boy-next-door kind of way. Nothing to compare to the stomach-twisting, swoon-inducing lusciousness Buffy associated with Angel... her mind froze at the comparison, not daring to go on.

He gazed at her appreciatively with clear blue eyes, and then turned to the instructor, "Are you done for the night, Ms. Richards?"

She smiled at him, "Yes, we were just leaving, Ben."

"Don't rush out of here on my account," he told them warmly.

Ms. Richards glanced at Buffy, and then told him, "Maybe some other day you can show us around your place, but not today."

"Anytime," Ben told them. He walked out of the office and toward a closet nearby.

"His place?" Buffy queried.

"He lives in a loft above the dojo," Ms. Richards told her. "It's one of the perks of his work-study position. He does a little maintenance and janitorial work and gets to stay in a very nice place with very low rent."

"A nice place above a gym?" Buffy sounded skeptical.

Ms. Richards looked wistful for a moment and said, "In my more nostalgic moments I envy him."

"Did you live in a place like that?" Buffy asked softly.

"No, but a friend did," Ms. Richards shook herself out of her reverie and looked at Buffy. "So, would you like to grab a cup of tea?"

"Make that a cup of hot chocolate and you've made a sale," Buffy said, putting on her cheeriest face.

"All right then, I keep some chocolate on hand for friends. I'm afraid I don't touch the stuff myself."

"So, are we going to be friends?" Buffy asked.

"Well, I certainly hope we're not enemies," the woman raised an eyebrow.

"No."

"Well, then let me get my coat and we'll see about getting you that cup of chocolate."

She walked toward a coat rack and carefully picked up a black duster. Buffy could see that it was really a long windbreaker, but she couldn't believe that the woman was serious about wearing it until she saw her slip it on.

"You're wearing a coat? This is California; it's probably seventy degrees outside."

Ms. Richards laughed and told her cryptically, "I freeze easily."

Buffy shrugged and the two of them stepped out into the night. It was a beautifully clear evening. The stars had begun to appear and the moon, pale and lovely, hung over their heads. They started across the campus. Buffy had noticed that not a mark remained on Ms. Richard's face from the previous day’s blow.

"So," Buffy said, "I'm the Slayer and have a sacred duty to fight vampires, what's your excuse?"

"Oh, I just think as a general rule, piles of ashes are less apt to hurt someone than a living vampire, if you'll excuse the oxymoron."

"No arguments there," Buffy agreed, "but yesterday it seemed like you had a personal grudge, or something."

Ms. Richards sighed, "I guess I do. Most of my experiences with vampires, dating back to age five, have been decidedly nasty."

"Age five? How did you meet a vampire then? Win the lottery?"

"Something like that," Ms. Richards laughed. "If it hadn't been for my guardian angel, I wouldn't be talking to you now."

"You have an actual guardian angel?"

"Well, that's what I called him."

"Tell me about it," Buffy prompted.

"I was on a trip to New York. Until the night the vampire attacked, I'd been enjoying myself immensely. I'd gotten to see the Statue of Liberty, the Empire State Building, Times Square, the museums..."

"FAO Schwartz," Buffy guessed.

"Yes, and dozens of other places. On the night in question though, I was returning from the theater. A friend of the family had taken me to see The Sound of Music..."

"Poor you," Buffy commiserated.

Ms. Richards smiled, "Well, he thought I would like it because there were so many children in the cast. I did have fun, but mostly because I enjoyed the spectacle more than the plot. I remember it was a beautiful night, much like this one, and we walked most of the way home. A couple of blocks from the hotel, though, my friend was alarmed by someone he saw and believed to be following us. He hid me in a doorway in an alley and went to confront this person."

"Ooh, not the smartest move," Buffy disapproved. "You shouldn't desert five year-olds in alleys at night. Not a good policy, I must say. Family friend gets demerits."

"He thought he was doing the right thing. Unfortunately, a vampire had spotted us, and when I was left alone, it made its move. I tried to run but it caught me easily. It could have killed me instantly but it was enjoying my fear-- a little too much as it turns out. Those few extra seconds cost it dearly."

"What happened?"

"One minute I was trapped in this monster's arms and it was leaning in to bite me. I'll never forget the way its fangs gleamed in the moonlight and its breath smelled of old blood. The next minute, though, something had plowed into it from the side. It was another vampire. He fought the first one, and ultimately used a slat from a crate as a stake, killing it.

"I stood there terrified, thinking uh, oh, frying pan to fire, when his face changed. The demon side disappeared and I could see what his human half looked like. He turned out to be the only good vampire I've ever met."

"A good vampire?" Buffy's heart was beating faster. "How could that be? A vampire is not a person. It's a demon that's taken over the body of a human being."

"This one was different," Ms. Richards told her. "It seems he was cursed by a band of gypsies who restored his soul. Buffy, are you all right?"

The girl had grabbed the teacher's arm. Despite the darkness, Ms. Richards could see that the Slayer was deathly pale.

"Why did you call him your guardian angel?" she asked roughly.

"Why because he saved my life, of course. It also seemed to fit because he was extremely handsome and, as it turned out, his name was..."

"Angel," Buffy finished.

"Yes. Buffy what's wrong?"

They were walking through a stretch of the campus that was rather deserted. They had not seen anyone pass them by in several minutes. The sidewalk ran through a stretch of trees, and they had just finished walking to the other side when they realized they were no longer alone.

"Vampires!" shouted Buffy. "Stay back, Ms. Richards."

Buffy’s friend Xander joked that she even showered with a stake and that was close to the truth. As the Slayer, being without a weapon was much the same as pinning a "Go ahead and kill me" sign to her chest. She faced the nearest vampire, stake at the ready, and when he rushed her she neatly sidestepped, and kicked him as he went by. She saw a blur out of the corner of her eye where Ms. Richards had been. She had just enough time to wonder how her teacher was doing when the vamp recovered and came at her again.

At the sight of the vampires, Ms. Richards had opened her coat. Realizing she was surrounded, she swiftly counted their numbers and gave a little laugh, "I’ve always wanted to try this."

In one smooth motion, her left hand thrust the blade that had been hidden in her coat through its material into the vampire that had been creeping behind her. Freeing her katana she switched hands and, with a long, hard sweep, decapitated the fallen creature and two of his comrades who were rushing her from the right. Before a fourth vamp had time to finish a snarl, Ms. Richards's sword cut her head off with a returning pass.

Turning her attention to her left, the swords-woman made a long slash, that dusted a tall vampire, and turned it into a short one that got his smaller companion. Flipping her sword back to the front, she caught the front vamp and then with one final reversed slash, she killed the last one standing beside him.

Surveying the scene, she nodded approvingly, "Mifune and, I think, Sanjuro himself would be proud," she murmured.

Buffy had just staked her vampire and looked up to see if her teacher had been hurt. She saw vampire after vampire explode into dust, and when the eighth one fell, she stared at Ms. Richards in shock.

Ms. Richards raised herself from the ashes of the last vamp and looked Buffy in the eyes.

"Where did you learn that?" The teenager asked in disbelief.

The older woman shrugged, "I saw it in a movie once." Suddenly aware of a movement behind Buffy, Ms. Richards rushed toward her.

A tenth vampire had apparently hung back upon seeing the formidable combination of the Slayer and the swords-woman in action. It had now taken the opportunity to pick up a tree limb and come up behind Buffy. Before Ms. Richards had a chance to do much more than knock Buffy out of danger, the vamp had bashed her in the head with his makeshift club. Staggering, her right hand had opened, and the sword dropped to the ground. The vamp swooped upon it and before Buffy could reach him, he stabbed the older woman in the chest. It was his last action. Buffy staked him and, with horror, wondered how she could help.

"Pull out the sword," Ms. Richards rasped.

"If I do, you'll probably die," Buffy protested. "Let me go get some help. We'll take you to the hospital. You'll be all right."

"No hospitals," the woman insisted. "Pull out the sword. I'll be fine if you pull out the sword."

Buffy hesitated, but reached down and started pulling it out slowly.

The woman groaned, "Don't torture me. Rip that thing out of me, girl!"

Buffy did as asked. Blood gushed from the wound, and the teenager realized that this was a fatal injury. "I'm sorry, Ms. Richards. I should have seen that vamp coming and killed him before he could get to you."

"It's not your fault," the dying woman softly told her, "I should never have allowed him to hit me. I must be getting old..." She stopped breathing.

Buffy started sobbing. She could not believe she had let her teacher die in front of her and reached down to close the dead woman's eyes. All the pain she had been holding back crashed through the barriers she had erected, and she lost herself in weeping. Here was one more person she had not been able to save. She'd lost track of time, but suddenly thought she heard a noise. Looking down, she saw Ms. Richards's eyes were open and air was rushing back into the woman's lungs.

"Oh my God," Buffy thought. "Is she a vampire? She said she wasn't. Did she get bit or something? I didn't think so. Oh, God she's moving. This is impossible. She must be a vampire." She picked up her stake where she had dropped it beside the "corpse". In fear, she stabbed the reviving woman.

"Ah," the woman cried, "Buffy, what are you doing?"

She had not turned to ashes, and by now, Buffy was completely confused and terrified. She ran as fast as she could.

"No, Buffy," she heard behind her, but she did not stop running until she reached the house of her Watcher.

Rupert Giles had plans for the evening. Sunnydale seemed to be going through one of its periodic lulls between supernatural terrors, and he intended to take full advantage of the rare peace and quiet. For some men such plans would involve going out on a date, but since the death of Jenny Calendar romance was the last thought on his mind. No, his "date" for the evening was with Charles Dickens’ Bleak House, a bottle of fine wine, and Vivaldi’s "The Four Seasons" playing in the background. Unfortunately, it was far too warm for a fire, which would have made his scenario perfect, but he was willing to make such a small sacrifice.

He had followed his plan to the letter, and enjoyed losing himself in the non-supernatural world of Dickens’ characters and the intricacies of the fictional lawsuit of Jarndyce v. Jarndyce. In fact, he had immersed himself so deeply in nineteenth century London that when his doorbell rang he did not hear it. Suddenly, someone was beating on his door and yelling, "Giles, open up. It’s me, Buffy. Oh, please be home."

He sighed, but rose to open the door. If he did not let Buffy in soon, she might break his door down. "So much for a quiet evening," he thought sadly.

The last remnants of his tranquility disappeared with Buffy’s entrance. She dashed in as soon as the door opened. Giles was startled by her appearance. He supposed that she’d been out patrolling and had slain some vampires. The teenager normally took great pride in her appearance, but now her hair and clothes were unkempt, to say the least. She had been wearing her hair up, but now blond wisps fell in clumps over her face. From her clothes, it was obvious she had been working out, he supposed at her martial arts class, but he’d never seen Buffy in torn and dirty clothes unless she’d been fighting. All of these details were not what concerned him, however. He’d seen Buffy looking "pretty rough", as she would phrase it, before. Rarely had he seen her look so shocked and panic-stricken though.

"Good heavens, Buffy, what has happened?" He asked her, fearing the worst. He hoped whatever had frightened her was not on the same scale as Angel losing his soul, or for that matter Angel’s death. He doubted either of them could handle such a personal crisis this close to the last one. Buffy, her friends, and her mother were desperately in need of some healing time.

"Giles, Ms. Richards is some sort of demon or something," she told him in a rush. "Well, maybe she’s not a demon, but she’s definitely on the top ten list of Sunnydale’s Scariest Supernatural Spirits."

"Spirits? Buffy, I hardly think Ms. Richards qualifies as a ghost."

"Well, you think up a word that begins with ‘s’, besides what do you call someone who comes back from the dead? She wasn’t decaying so I don’t think she’s a zombie, and she didn’t turn into dust when I staked her, so she’s not a vamp. What else does that leave?"

"You staked her? Why, in heaven’s name, what on earth made you think she was a vampire?" Giles stammered.

"Hello, let’s rewind here and pay attention please. She died. Do you hear me? D-I-E-D died. As in, she was dead: you know that strange state where there's no heartbeat and no breathing. She died right in front of me, and then wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am she was alive again."

"Maybe you misunderstood what you saw?" Giles suggested.

Buffy stared at him. "What was there to misunderstand? A vamp cracked her head open and stuck a sword through her. I pulled out the sword, and she stopped breathing. Then suddenly she was opening her eyes and sucking in air, and when I looked down her wound was healing right in front of me. I mean I heal quickly, but I’ve never seen that before. I know, let’s just dial 911 and donate her to medical science. I’m sure there’s a Dr. Frankenstein out there who’s just dying to have her number."

Giles sighed. "Buffy, Ms. Richards is not a ghost, a vampire, a zombie, or a demon. She is something else entirely different and most importantly she is not evil. Did you say that you had staked her?"

"Well, what was I supposed to do? Let me give you the paint-by-numbers version: she was rising from the dead. I slay things that rise from the dead. Get it? Got it? Good." Buffy told him exasperated.

"Sit down, please. There are some things that I need to tell you." Giles motioned her to pick a chair, thinking, "well at least, her fondness for puns has returned." She took the couch leaving him his favorite chair, but sat down scowling.

"No kidding, you have lots of things you need to tell me, Giles. So, go into full purge mode. You can start with why you asked this "woman" to start messing with my head."

"You don’t have to make that a qualifying statement; Ms. Richards is definitely a woman," Giles started.

"Oh, so you do notice these things," Buffy mumbled, "I’m not even going to ask how you know for sure."

"What?"

"Nothing."

"Yes, well, you see Buffy, I am not the only Watcher in the world. I belong to a vast organization. They watch as well, but their job is different from mine."

"Different how?"

"Well, my job is to watch and guide the Slayer, and I am the only one appointed to that task…"

"Yeah, yeah, since there’s only one Slayer; at least most of the time. So what do your buddies do?"

"They are involved in a project vastly different. In fact, most of them think the work I do is unimportant. Since you are my only charge, they consider my job trivial when compared to the more important subjects of their scrutiny."

"Who are?" Buffy was getting impatient. "What do you mean they think that our work is trivial and unimportant?"

Giles smiled at her stung pride, but continued, "The Watchers follow the activities of a group of beings called Immortals. No one knows how long Immortals have existed, but Watchers have been chronicling their history for thousands of years."

"Immortals, huh? So, is Ms. Richards an Immortal?"

"Yes, Buffy, she is indeed."

"So what exactly does being an Immortal do for you? I mean, aside from bringing you back from the dead?"

"An Immortal lives an ordinary human life until they die. On that day they become Immortal. In other words, they stop aging, they are immune to disease, and are practically impossible to kill."

"Ah, but there’s a catch, right? I mean, nobody lives forever."

"There is a catch of sorts. An Immortal could conceivably live forever, for he or she is practically invulnerable except for one thing: they die if someone cuts off their head."

"Well, yeah, that will pretty much do it for anyone, Giles."

"No, Buffy, you don’t understand. That is the only way an Immortal can die, and few people in the world know about either Immortals or how to kill them."

"Except Watchers."

"And other Immortals. Unfortunately, Immortals participate in what they refer to as ‘The Game’. There are rules in this Game, and the most important of them states: there can be only one."

"Only one? Are they that antisocial? God, can’t they take a Prozac or something? Oh, I guess they didn’t have Prozac thousands of years ago. Well, I’m sure there was something that people took to feel good, and would stop them from whacking other people’s heads off."

"I’m afraid that my sentiments about ‘The Game’ are similar to yours, Buffy. Such killing seems barbaric, and beneath a people who have existed as long as some of the Immortals have. They do have reasons for the killing though. When an Immortal kills another Immortal, he or she receives all of that Immortal’s strength and power. The one remaining in the end would have the power of all the Immortals who ever existed. That is what fuels ‘The Game’, and the reason it continues. Just as humans can be good or evil, so can Immortals. So-called evil Immortals will continue to kill other Immortals to gain power, and so-called good Immortals will kill to prevent the catastrophe that would occur if an evil Immortal won in the end."

"So what is Ms. Richards, good or evil?" Buffy wanted to know.

"Ms. MacLeod would definitely fit into the good Immortal category."

"MacLeod? Who is Ms. MacLeod? And why did you say so-called good and evil?"

"The woman you know as Ms. Richards, I know as Ms. MacLeod. She has gone by many names over the years, but MacLeod seems to be a preference. To answer your other question, some Immortals are harder to classify than others. They run the gamut, just as mortals do. Some I do not hesitate to proclaim evil. Others seem to hover somewhere in the middle, and it depends upon who they meet and what happens to them to determine which side of the line they fall upon."

"But Ms. MacLeod is a good Immortal?"

"Yes, Buffy. Considering her story, I’d say that if she had been hovering in the center she’d have fallen on the wrong side. Fortunately, she has not. Which is not to say that she never makes a mistake, or does something that we might see as wrong. Somehow, though she has managed to hold on to hope, and it has seen her through many a time that might have destroyed you or I."

"So that’s why you wanted her to talk to me?"

"Yes. Above all, Ms. MacLeod is a survivor - like you. I’d like for her to teach you the trick to surviving without becoming hard and bitter."

"Gee, now I feel kind of bad about staking her. She did help me out with some vamps, after all. Actually, she killed most of them before I could dust one, but I guess she’s been at it a lot longer."

"Buffy, you really should go and apologize to her."

"Yeah, I should. I’m sure she’s not too happy about being stabbed twice in one night. Well, she will heal from everything, right?"

"Yes, she will, but she still felt all of the pain from her wounds." Giles scolded. "You should not have left her like that."

Buffy winced. "Ouch. Any tips on how to pacify an angry Immortal?"

"Actually, I think a sincere apology will suffice, but if you want to make her happy, tell her your story. I know you’ve told me everything that happened, supposedly," he added under his breath, "but it would ease her mind about you. Ask her to tell you her story. When you are feeling sorry for yourself, it might inspire you never to give up."

Buffy once more stood in front of a door, but this time she did not pound on it. Instead she politely knocked and hoped that Ms. MacLeod wasn’t too upset with her. She hated to think of the damage that the Immortal could do with her sword.

The door opened, and Ms. MacLeod stood there wrapped in a brightly colored silk kimono. Her long shiny hair was piled neatly upon her head, and a faint aroma of vanilla hung in the air. Buffy decided she looked quite good for a woman who had been knocked in the head and stabbed twice in one night.

The Slayer glanced down at her dirty shirt and ripped sweats then looked back up at her teacher. "Well, I guess you’ve had the chance to clean up." As an opening line it seemed rather weak, so she added, "I’m really sorry I left you there, and I’m sorry I tried to kill you, but in my own self-defense you came back from the dead."

"I know," smiled Ms. MacLeod. "Don’t worry, Buffy, your apology is accepted. Please come in."

Buffy swallowed and stepping into the Immortal’s house followed her hostess through a small vestibule into the living room.

"Wow," Buffy marveled, "Did Giles decorate for you?"

She was referring to the numerous bookshelves that lined the room, as well as the countless books of all shapes and sizes that crammed the shelves.

"Haven’t you learned yet, Buffy," Ms. MacLeod said, "that books are a girl’s best friend?"

"I’m afraid not," Buffy said emphatically. "Look, Ms. MacLeod…"

The woman interrupted her, "Buffy, why be so formal, you staked me tonight, after all. You don’t have to call me Ms. MacLeod. I guess Giles told you about the change in last names?"

"Yeah, he did but, what is your first name? I’ve never heard anyone use it."

"I’ve had many names over the years, but you may call me Mahleah."

"Mahleah - that’s an interesting name."

"It was given to me by someone a long time ago. It means unusual girl or beautiful young woman."

"Well, the second part sounds like a compliment, but I don’t know about the first."

Mahleah looked at the Slayer, "Oh, Buffy being called unusual can be a much greater compliment than being called beautiful, if said by the right person." She gestured to a comfortable looking sofa. "Won’t you sit down?"

Buffy sat and Mahleah followed suit in what was obviously her favorite chair tucking her feet beneath her.

"I guess the right person called you unusual," Buffy ventured.

Mahleah smiled softly, "Yes."

Buffy waited for her to elaborate, but Mahleah sat and patiently waited for Buffy to speak.

"So, just how long ago was this?"

"What did Rupert tell you?"

"He said that you were not evil but an Immortal, a member of a group of beings who play a game where people go around slicing and dicing people’s heads for ultimate power."

"I’m sure he didn’t phrase it quite like that, but essentially that is all true. Did he answer all of your questions about Immortals and Watchers?"

Buffy thought for a moment and then shook her head, "What’s the deal with the Watchers? Giles said that they regard his work as trivial. What do they do that’ s so important?"

Mahleah frowned. "Their job is significant, but not more so than his own. The job of the other Watchers is to write the history of Immortals. They are each given a specific assignment and act like spies. They keep track of what the Immortal does - all the people that the Immortal loves, hates, fights, or kills. They swear an oath to never interfere in The Game, and as their name implies, they just watch. Personally, I consider Rupert’s work with you much more important."

"Why is it he's allowed to interfere, but they aren’t?"

"Giles is The Slayer’s Watcher; he has nothing to do with The Game. His job is to guide you so you can prevent vampires from taking over the world. After all, there are dangerous Immortals but not all of us can be put into that category. How many vampires can make that claim? Anyway, I believe that two separate groups found a similar purpose and merged into one. It would be better to ask Rupert about the history of The Watchers. They are a very secretive lot, and few outsiders know of them at all."

"How do you know about them? Is it because you are an Immortal?"

"Oh, no. Very few Immortals know of the existence of the Watchers. It would be dangerous for both Immortals and mortals alike for things to be different. Since the Watchers keep track of as many individuals as they can, they could be coerced into revealing valuable information, which could drastically change The Game. Someday, I may tell you how I know about them, and how I met Rupert Giles, but I’m talking far too much about myself. How are you feeling, Buffy? Have you thought about my offer? I’m ready to listen if you want to talk."

Buffy swallowed. Her mouth was dry and her eyes were moist. "I don’t know if I can talk about this summer."

"Don’t start with this summer, then. Start with a happier time.

"Well, I've met your guardian angel before," she began.

"I gathered as much," Mahleah said dryly. "You practically had a stroke at the mention of his name."

"Not a stroke, but a heart attack, maybe. Angel always did have an unhealthy influence on that part of my body."

Buffy slowly began to tell Mahleah about moving to Sunnydale and meeting Angel for the first time. He only appeared when a catastrophe was about to occur until the day that the Three attacked her. The Three were unusually vicious vampires sent to kill her. Angel arrived just in time to give her a fighting chance that allowed them to escape. She’d hidden him in her house, only to discover at a romantic moment that he was a vampire.

"Poor Angel," Buffy reminisced. "I took one look at his game face, wigged out, and started screaming my head off, so he jumped out the window."

"It's strange. Before we met, I agreed to see if I could help you for Rupert’s sake, but it seems now that this was meant to be. I owe Angel my life, so if I can aid you in any way Buffy, I will be honoring both him and the service he did for me."

"Giles was right: the story of your life must be fascinating. Will you tell it to me?"

"I’m afraid I would have to play Scheherazade and stretch my saga over several days. It is far too long to tell in one night. Speaking of the time of night, shouldn’t you be getting home? I’m sure your mother is worried about you."

Buffy was sure she was as well. Since the news had been broken to her mother about her daughter being the Slayer, her mom worried from the moment night fell until the moment Buffy stepped into the house. "If she realized how many monsters I’ve fought during the day she’d probably worry from the moment I got out of bed in the morning." Buffy thought. She did not want to go home now, though, just when the story promised to tell her something she did not know about the man she had loved.

"Would it be all right if I spent the night?" she asked hesitatingly. "I mean, if it’s no bother. You could still tell me the first part of the story that way. I mean it’s not like I have school in the morning."

Mahleah was pleased. "I’d like that, Buffy, but please call and talk to your mother first."

She led Buffy to a telephone. Joyce was relieved to discover that her troublesome teenager was safe. Buffy asked permission to stay with her teacher for the night, but Joyce was concerned about imposing. Mahleah was reassuring that she would be delighted to have Buffy’s company, and so after a few minutes of coaxing, Buffy’s mother agreed to pick up the girl in the morning before Mahleah’s first class at nine o'clock.

"You mentioned that you’d not had a chance to clean up, Buffy, so would you like to take a bath before I start spinning my tale? I have some clean things that you can change into, and while you’re doing that, I’ll find something for us to eat."

Both suggestions sounded heavenly to a grimy Slayer whose stomach was beginning to growl loudly.

Buffy discovered the source of the delicious vanilla scent that trailed her hostess could be found in the soaps and shampoos lay out in the bathroom. She picked up a bottle of bubble bath and inhaled deeply. Her stomach rumbled in response and she reluctantly decided to take a shower instead of a bath because she was not only starving but also dying to hear more details about how Angel had saved Mahleah’s life. When she stepped out of the shower, she found a pair of peach silk pajamas and matching robe waiting for her. Slipping them on, she returned to the living room, and found that Mahleah had put together a small smorgasbord of fruit and cheese.

"It’s rather late to eat very much, but if you like I could cook something else," Mahleah told her.

"No, this is fine," Buffy replied and started eating. Mahleah handed her a large mug with steam rolling from it, and the girl grinned, "You remembered the hot chocolate."

"As I said, I don’t touch chocolate myself but I do keep some around for my friends."

"You don’t like chocolate?" Buffy was amazed.

"No, I don’t actually. I did as a child, but found out that I was allergic to it and learned to live without it. When I became Immortal, I was fortunate enough to escape my allergies: truly, a great side benefit, I might add. I discovered, though, that chocolate no longer held much appeal for me."

"I couldn’t live without it," Buffy declared emphatically.

"Spoken like a true chocoholic," Mahleah said with amusement. "You’ll find Buffy, that you can live without many things if you have no choice."

At her words, Buffy got quiet. "Really?"

Mahleah understood. "Granted, some things are harder to give up than others. Some are irreplaceable, and we can live without them if we have no choice, but often with great sacrifice. It's a very painful process."

"Have you found anything that eases the pain?"

"Hope." Mahleah said calmly. "You have to have a strong belief that things are going to improve. Often you can make things better; it may take some time, but there are things worth waiting for, wouldn't you say?"

Buffy looked at her closely, "So have things gotten better, or are you still waiting?"

Mahleah stared back at her. "To be honest, Buffy, life has gotten easier to bear, but I’m still waiting."

"What are you waiting for?"

"Once again that is a long story, and the only way you can understand it is if I start at the beginning. You should know that there is much more to being an Immortal than The Game, or at least there should be. Immortality is a gift and some of us try to treat it as such. This is one of the most important lessons my first teacher ever made me learn, and he taught by example."

Buffy noticed that Mahleah’s voice had softened when speaking of her teacher. "Was he the one who called you unusual?"

"Yes, he was."

"What was his name?"

"His name was Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod." Mahleah’s dark eyes shone with emotion.

"You said ‘was’, is he dead?"

Mahleah shook herself; "We’re jumping from the beginning of the story to somewhere in the middle. I should warn you, Buffy, I’m going to tell you things that will seem impossible, even paradoxical, but they are true. Just listen to what I have to say, and eventually it will make sense, I hope."

She saw Buffy nod her head. Taking a deep breath and a drink of tea, she began: "I can’t remember a day when I didn't know Duncan. I refuse to imagine what my life would have been like without him. You see Buffy, one day when I was around two years old my family was going to my grandparents’ house for Christmas. On Christmas Eve, snow had fallen but it had later melted in the sun. Overnight, however, the wet road had frozen and though it looked innocent enough, it was actually covered in ‘black ice’. My mother thought we should stay home, but my father insisted that we go to his mother’s for Christmas dinner. Our house was placed on top of a small mountain, and while driving down the curvy road my father hit one of the hidden patches of ice. Our car skidded out of control and flipped over, careening down the side of the mountain, only stopping when it hit a tree."

Mahleah’s voice dropped so low that Buffy could barely hear her speaking. "I was in the back seat and when the car started sliding, my mother unfastened her seat belt reaching out to protect me, and when we hit the tree she was thrown through the windshield, dying instantly. Luckily, for my father and me, Duncan was out in the woods that day. It has always amazed me that just when we needed him most Duncan was there."

"Sort of a ‘out of all the gin joints,’ kind of a moment, huh?" Buffy added.

Mahleah smiled at her. "Yes, actually it was. Duncan spent many years trying to stay out of The Game, tired of the killing. He wandered around the world, and ultimately became involved in both of the world wars. During the first, he was an ambulance driver trying to save lives. In the second, he was involved in various activities aimed at stopping Nazi atrocities and smuggling Jewish refugees to safety. In an ultimate attempt to escape intrigue and horror, he moved to what most people would consider ‘the back of beyond.’ He owned a cabin on a small island in Washington State, but decided to live on the East Coast for a change, and came to the isolated section of the Appalachian Mountains where I was born. We were his nearest neighbors and we lived several miles away by car. I think the road leading to his house was the most winding, crooked one I’ve ever encountered. As a child, I used to joke that it would take Paul Bunyan and his blue ox Babe to straighten out the kinks.

"Christmas Day, Duncan was walking in the woods and saw what happened. He managed to rush us both to the hospital, and saved my father’s life. Dad had hit the steering wheel of the car, and since we didn’t have airbags, had suffered a concussion and a couple of broken ribs. One of the ribs punctured his lung and if Duncan hadn't gotten him help, he would have died. I was much luckier. I had been strapped in a car seat and when we hit the tree the car seat fell forward and hit the back of my mother’s seat. I was a bit bruised, but otherwise unharmed.

"My father never forgave himself for my mother’s death because he was driving and she hadn't wanted to go in the first place. Duncan had been kind to us in the past, but after that Christmas, he was inseparable from my family. I think he felt that he could have done more to save my mother as well, and so tried to see that I would always be safe and protected. Since he could tell that I would eventually be an Immortal he knew that taking care of me would be a considerable task. It was good someone was there to take that responsibility. Dad wasn’t able to take care of himself, much less me. He lost himself first in grief and then in liquor. As a rule, I don't drink, and there has been only a handful of occasions in my life when I’ve actually gotten drunk. It doesn’t take a psychiatrist to see that my disdain for alcohol comes from the fact that it robbed me of my father.

"Almost immediately, Duncan appointed himself my private tutor, bodyguard, mentor, big brother, and best friend. School for me, when I started, was a waste of time in many ways. Duncan knew so much more than any of my teachers, and had seen and done things that they could only dream about, yet he insisted that I go to public school. He said social skills were a valuable part of my education and I wouldn't learn them by staying at home. So, I attended my local school and tried to learn how to make friends with children my age. This was not as easy as it sounds, considering that Duncan didn't just teach me the basics but also subjects like philosophy and theology that my peers didn't even know existed. At a very young age I was reading and discussing Shakespeare, Socrates, Dickens, Plato, and Melville. He introduced me to art and music, theatre and history. As you would imagine, history was a specialty of his, and I could sit for hours at a time listening to his tales of the past. Of course, he knew that eventually I would need to be a warrior, so he taught me that too. Oh, not just how to fight, or how to win, you see, but the philosophy of a warrior: the thought processes that would help me to survive.

"He actually started training me when I was three years old. Three years old, can you imagine? The problem is you can teach a small child many things, but they don't have enough strength to back them up, and so I nearly got killed when I was five."

"That’s when Angel saved you?" Buffy asked breathlessly.

Mahleah knew how important this part of the story was to Buffy. "Yes, that’s when Angel rescued me. Duncan was a firm believer in the educational value of traveling. By the time I was in high school he had taught me, literally, countless foreign languages, but felt a language was dead and useless unless one had contact with the culture and the people who use that language. The year I turned five, he took Dad and me on a trip to New York. I was ecstatic.

"Duncan had hoped that the trip would be good for Dad as well, but unfortunately, Dad had wrapped himself in guilt, and self-recriminations like a security blanket. While he had not hit the bottom yet, he was on a downward spiral. He had begun to drink about a year after Mom died and each year it dominated him a little more. While Duncan and I went out to see the city, Dad preferred to stay in the hotel and drown in his misery.

"Duncan, or Mac as I frequently called him, took me to see everything about New York that could delight a child. He also took me to bookstores, movies, Broadway shows, the ballet, and the opera. For some children this would have been an overdose of culture, but since he’d lain the groundwork for years, I enjoyed everything he showed me."

"So, why did he leave you at the mercy of the vampire?" asked Buffy.

"Well, I'll say it again, it was a beautiful night, and Mac had told the cabdriver to let us out a few blocks from the hotel. We were walking down the sidewalk, hand-in-hand, enjoying looking at the displays in the shop windows, when I felt Mac stiffen and look around closely. I asked him what was wrong and he stepped away from me, opened his coat and removed his katana. I’d known he never went anywhere without his sword, but I’d never known why. I think when I was young, I instinctively knew Duncan was different, but I didn't know any specifics.

"He looked at me, lead me to an alley, found a doorway and told me not to move from that spot. He looked so stern and serious that I wouldn’t have dreamed of leaving except for one small thing. While he went to face the Immortal he had sensed, a vampire was watching and realized that here was a golden opportunity to snatch a tender meal while it was unprotected. It waited long enough to see Duncan was completely occupied and then it attacked.

"Duncan had included the paranormal in my education so when I saw its face I realized what it was and tried to run, but it caught me easily. I tried to fight it, but as mentioned earlier it is hard for a child to fight an adult, much less an incredibly strong supernatural being. It could have hypnotized me so I wouldn't struggle, but it enjoyed my terror as much as it wanted to drink my blood. It grabbed me by the hair and pushed my head back, coming in slowly for the killing blow, but it had made a fatal mistake in doing so, for it was suddenly attacked from the side. I was only in its loathsome clutches for a short time, but those were some of the longest seconds of my entire life."

"And it was Angel who saved you?"

"Yes. As I said before, he plowed into the vamp from the side. It recovered quickly and fought back ferociously. My attention was distracted however, by a blinding flash of light at the end of the alley. Duncan had defeated his opponent, and was experiencing the Quickening..."

"The Quickening? What is that?"

"I thought Rupert would have told you. The Quickening is what The Game is all about. When one Immortal kills another, he or she receives the defeated Immortal’s Quickening. All the knowledge, strength and power of that Immortal is transferred to the victor. The Quickening is the most intense experience one could ever possibly feel. If you are watching one, it looks like the person receiving the Quickening was hit by a bolt of lightning and is being shocked by thousands of volts of electricity."

"What does it feel like?"

"I don’t know if there are words to describe it, Buffy. When you receive a Quickening, it’s like having another person’s soul blend into yours. You must fight to maintain control and make certain that the other does not take over. The actual physical sensation is...well, take the most intense pleasure you’ve ever felt as well as the most horrifying pain, combine them into one feeling and multiply that by a hundred."

Buffy stared at her, "That’s a powerful combination."

Mahleah nodded, "Yes, it is. In fact, some Immortals are addicted to the sensation much as a heroin addict. They are in The Game only to feed their hunger."

"What happened to Angel?"

"I was getting to that. I saw Duncan in the throes of the Quickening - the first one I had ever seen. He saw me being attacked by, in his eyes, two monsters and tried to make his way to me. Unfortunately, just after a Quickening an Immortal is very weak and so he wouldn’t have been able to help me anyway. I tore my eyes away from Mac just in time to see Angel grab a wooden slat from a crate sitting in the alley. Using it as a stake, he drove the makeshift weapon into the heart of the other vampire."

"Score one for Cryptic Guy," Buffy crowed.

Mahleah looked puzzled, "Cryptic Guy?" she asked.

Buffy blushed. "I used to call Angel that when we first met. Like I said before, he would pop up, say ‘There’s great danger coming,’ and disappear. I called him Cryptic Guy because I could never figure him out. He kept his emotions hidden for a very long time."

"Score one for Cryptic Guy," Mahleah agreed. "When he turned and looked at me, his face changed from a vampire to a normal human being..."

"There’s nothing normal about Angel’s face," Buffy stated. "His game face is terrifying and his human face is scrumptious."

"He was handsome," Mahleah admitted, "but at the time I barely noticed. I was scared to death. Mac had finally made it to us, and when Angel saw the sword in his hand, he hastened to reassure us that he meant no harm.

" ‘I’ve never met a vampire that wasn’t after blood,’ Duncan told him. ‘Why are you any different?’

"Angel explained to us that a Gypsy curse had restored his soul. Mac was reluctant at first to believe such a story, but eventually did.

"I looked up at Angel, and noticed for the first time his ‘scrumptiousness’ as you put it. Since I was only five, I just knew he was beautiful and he’d saved my life. He’d told us his name so I smiled and rather embarrassed him by giving him a bear hug and saying, ‘Thank you for saving me, guardian angel.’ Then, I turned and put my hand in Mac’s.

"Mac looked at Angel and said, ‘I am Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod. If it is ever within my power to help you in any way, just ask. I owe you a blood debt.’

"Angel smiled at me, and his brown eyes twinkled. ‘I guess I was just doing my job.’

"He walked away. Mac looked down at me and asked, ‘Are you all right? That thing didn’t bite you, did it?’

"I shook my head, but wouldn’t look at him because I was on the verge of tears, and didn’t want to cry in front of him. He raised my chin, looked me in the eyes, and asked, ‘What’s wrong?’

"Words started gushing out of me. ‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I couldn’t fight it; it was too strong. I’m sorry I moved, but it saw me and was chasing me...’

"He bent down until he was level with my eyes and told me, ‘It wasn’t your fault. I shouldn’t have left you alone. That vampire had supernatural powers; you are lucky to be alive. Were you scared?’

"I didn’t want to admit that I had been. He put his hands on either side of my face and said, "Mahleah, shame comes not in feeling fear but in not knowing how to control it. You managed very well. I’m proud of you, and, mhuirnin, there is nothing wrong in crying as long as you don’t let yourself cry at a moment when you should fight back instead. When the danger is over, tears are beneficial. They let you wash away all the pain and fear.’ He stroked my hair softly, and I could hold back no longer. Tears started streaming down my face and he held me to him and let me cry. Eventually, when my sobs started subsiding he picked me up and carried me to the hotel. When we got there, we saw my father sprawled out across his bed. It’s amazing the strange details you remember about horrible experiences. I can still picture the hideously gaudy shirt he was wearing. It had a huge orchid pattern on it, and made him look ridiculous. At the time, I was so glad to see that ugly flowered shirt that I could have kissed it.

"From that day to this, I’ve hated two things: vampires, except for my guardian angel, and The Sound of Music. Rightly or wrongly, that show will always be associated with being scared out of my wits and I can’t bear to watch it."

"You aren’t missing anything," Buffy muttered.

"Well, I believe that’s about enough for one night, " Mahleah declared.

"What, that’s all you’re going to tell me tonight? What happened later? Did you ever see Angel again? When did you become Immortal? What happened to Duncan? What does mhuirnin mean?" Buffy was brimful of questions.

"No, I never saw Angel again, but I always remembered the promise Mac made him and feel bound by it myself. Mhuirnin means ‘my darling’ in Gaelic. The answers to the other questions will have to wait until another time because that's all I’m going to tell you tonight." Mahleah rose. "I’m ready for bed."

Buffy did not think the Immortal was sleepy after telling such an exciting story, but realized that the woman wanted to be alone with her thoughts and memories. If Duncan MacLeod was dead even normally pleasant memories might cause Mahleah pain. Still, she couldn’t resist asking one more question: "Mahleah, do you have a picture of Duncan?"

Mahleah beckoned to follow her upstairs. Buffy walked behind her into what was obviously Mahleah’s bedroom. Mahleah picked up a framed photograph sitting on the nightstand by her bed and handed it to Buffy.

Buffy studied it carefully. The frame itself was not elaborate, but what Buffy saw in the picture made her decide that the subject needed no embellishment. The sitter appeared to be in his middle thirties. He had thick dark hair that fell to his shoulders, and dark eyes that seemed to look right through you. He was blessed with the kind of eyelashes that many women would kill for: long and silky. High cheekbones and tanned skin set off a sensuous mouth. The photograph didn’t show much of him from the neck down, but Buffy could detect broad shoulders. The overall effect made the impressionable girl catch her breath. "No wonder she didn’t notice Angel was gorgeous at first glance," she thought, "it took her a few minutes because she was accustomed to seeing physical perfection. I mean, this guy could easily pose for a Greek statue. This was her teacher, her ‘big brother?’"

Buffy noticed although Duncan was unquestionably handsome, it was his pose that made her heart pump faster. He stared out at the viewer with the warm, trusting gaze of someone with all barriers down. It spoke volumes about his feelings for the photographer.

"Who took this picture?" Buffy asked casually.

"I did," Mahleah answered. She grinned, "So, Buffy does he measure up to your expectations?"

"In spades," Buffy told her. "In spades. I’m surprised Hollywood didn’t come calling for him. Are you trying to tell me that you and he were only friends? He was just your ‘big brother’, ‘surrogate father’ figure? I find that hard to believe Mahleah. Come on, confess girl."

Mahleah took the picture back from Buffy and gazed at it with an inscrutable expression. "He was many things to me, and when I needed him to be, yes, he was my big brother. You’ll have to wait to find out any more Buffy. I’ll show you to your room, now."

Mahleah searched, and searched some more but still couldn't find him. Suddenly, she found herself walking into a pub and at the bar, she spotted a familiar face.

"You won't remember the specifics, no, but you're left with ideas. Well, if you'll forgive me for being vague, it seems that you're to have four great loves in your long lifetime: two mortal and two immortal. The two immortal are the most important and one you're already quite aware of, but you'll encounter the second soon."

"Well it has been, I mean it will be. This is all really awkward to explain."

"A stolen season," he repeated, and she woke up, repeating the phrase, "A stolen season."

In the guest bedroom, Buffy's dreams were not as pleasant. She'd returned to Giles' house to find the demon named Whistler waiting for her. When she confronted him about helping her with her problem he asked, "What are you prepared to do?"

A handcuff went around her right wrist. She struggled and actually freed herself. Running again, she left the school and went into the night, not slowing until she got home. Her mom was waiting on her.

Buffy woke up feeling edgy. She got out of bed, pulled on her borrowed robe and went downstairs. Walking into the kitchen, she found Mahleah in the middle of mixing batter for strawberry pancakes. "Mmm, that smells good," she told her hostess.

Mahleah winked at her; "I have to admit that one of my biggest weaknesses in life is a strawberry. I’m probably as addicted to strawberries as you are to chocolate."

"I hear you," Buffy replied. "So did you sleep well?"

"That’s supposed to be my line, isn’t it?" Mahleah asked as she poured the batter into a hot skillet.

"My dreams were rather freaky," Buffy admitted. "How about yours?"

"I don’t remember them."

"Well, do I get the next installment of the miniseries now, or do I have to wait until after class tonight?"

"Would you prefer to wait?"

"No!"

"I suppose I could tell you about my first trip to Paris."

"Paris is good," Buffy encouraged. "How old were you?"

"I was eight, nearly nine. After the vampire episode in New York, Mac concentrated for some time on training me to kill the undead. For three years I had worked with small weapons and my bare hands. Now, he started me on sword work."

"Is that when you started doing the ginsu number on vamp necks?"

"Cutting anything’s head off takes a great deal of power, Buffy. No, when it came to vamps I quickly learned to use a stake."

"So you were sort of a Slayer?"

"Oh, no. I never went looking for vampires. If one ever came after me though, it had a rude surprise awaiting it."

"So, how does Paris fit into the scenario?"

"I told you that Duncan believed travel was an important part of education. Well, Paris is one of Mac’s favorite cities, and when I was eight he decided to take me there for the summer. He had an ulterior motive as he wished to get me away from Dad for awhile. He’d arranged for Dad to be treated for alcoholism and didn’t want me to have to see it. So, I went to Paris."

"Was Paris as exciting as New York?"

"Did I see any vampires there? No. Was my summer in Paris exciting? Yes. Aside from the excitement of visiting one of the most beautiful cities in the world, I made some very special friends there."

"Immortals?"

"Some were Immortal; others were not. The first person Mac took me to meet when we got to Paris was his old friend Darius. Aside from Duncan himself, Darius was one of the largest influences on me. He was a very old Immortal and while he was a man of peace, he had once been a man of war. He could have conquered the world, but outside the gates of Paris, he encountered another Immortal. According to legend, this man was the oldest living Immortal at the time that they met. Tragically, Darius took his head, despite the fact that the other Immortal was a holy man. Yet after the Quickening, Darius changed. He disbanded his army and became a holy man himself. When I met him he was a Catholic priest and never left holy ground."

"Why?"

"He refused to participate in the Game and the only safe place for an Immortal who refuses to fight is holy ground as we are forbidden to fight there. It wasn’t that he was afraid to leave the safety of his church; in fact, Duncan first met him on the battlefield of Waterloo treating wounded soldiers regardless of their nationality. Yet by staying on holy ground, he was assured of not being pursued by ‘headhunters’ and had great influence on many politicians.

"At first it seemed strange to make friends with a priest who never went into the outside world, but I soon found that Darius was a fascinating man. Duncan taught me to play chess, but it was Darius who showed me the intricacies and beauty of the game. Whenever Mac was in Paris he would always make time for a chess match with Darius, but never managed to beat him. I used to sit and watch them for hours: two grand masters of the game enjoying each other’s skill. If I grew frustrated at Mac, I could always talk to Darius about it. That summer we were to have many heartfelt conversations that cemented our friendship."

"What was so special about that summer? It was your first summer in Paris, but I assume it wasn’t your last. Did something else happen to make Darius your favorite dear Abby?"

Mahleah smiled at Buffy’s choice of words and then responded, "Yes, something happened that changed both my life and Duncan’s: he fell in love."

"With who?" Buffy demanded.

Mahleah looked sad. "Her name was Tessa Noel, and she was the mortal love of Duncan’s life."

"What did she look like?"

"She was pretty and blonde, with beautiful blue eyes and a flawless complexion. Duncan thought she was the most wonderful woman he had ever met in his nearly four hundred years of existence."

Buffy groaned, "Oh, your basic nightmare/home-wrecker. Smart, too?"

"Yes, of course. She was also an extremely talented sculptress."

"Did she try to get rid of you?"

Mahleah laughed. "Not at all. In fact, she was nice to me from the moment we met."

"Of course she was; she knew that Duncan would ditch her if she was mean to you. So, how long did it take you to get rid of this perfect chick?"

"Thirteen years."

"Thirteen years! You must not have tried very hard. I bet you could have gotten rid of her in a week if you’d really wanted."

"No, I couldn’t. If you are smart, Buffy, you’ll never try to make someone choose between two people they love. It only ends up with broken hearts all around. Everyone gets hurt."

"That’s easy for you to say with all of your years of experience and all of this Immortal wisdom."

"Believe me Buffy, that wisdom was dearly bought. When I was eight years old, I thought along similar lines as you. I saw her as an intrusion; worse, I thought she would steal Mac away from me and I’d never see him again. It was fine when he first started dating her. Mac had spent years celibate as a monk, but those were rare periods in his long lifetime. I’d seen women come and go, but knew that I was the one he cared about, at least until he met her."

"Men! When they can get a beauty queen in their bed, they forget about the people who really care about them."

"That’s not fair, Buffy." Mahleah’s voice got sharp. "I was a child and Tessa was a woman. Duncan loved us both in very different ways. Tessa was not a scheming hussy bent on driving me away. On the contrary, as I said before, she was always good to me. I wish I could say the same."

"What did you do to her?"

"When I realized that she was going to become a permanent fixture in our lives, I threw fits. I was, by turns, both cold and mean to her. I spent hours crying and complaining to Darius that she was taking Mac away from me. Darius would listen patiently and then remind me that nothing in the world could take Mac from me but me. Actually, looking back I feel sorrier for Duncan than I do Tessa. Tessa wasn’t split in two, like poor Mac. He loved us both and desperately wanted us to get along. Tessa tried her best. She bought me books, took me to the movies and for walks. I got so tired of her. Every time, it seemed, that I wanted to be alone with Mac, she was there. The only private time that we had was during lessons. I should qualify that actually, and say during fighting time. She would often be there for my other studies, but since she didn't know about Immortals yet, Duncan never let her see our swordplay."

"So was this chick bad news or good news? In the end I mean?" Buffy asked.

"She was very good to me and for me. Sometimes she was like a mother, but most of the time she was like an older sister to me. She provided a stable female influence in my life; quite the opposite in many ways of another friend of Mac’s, Amanda, but she is another story altogether."

"So, when did you and Tessa become friends?"

"After she got hurt trying to save my life."

"Wow, when was this?"

"Near the end of the summer, Mac had promised to take me to the Cluny Museum, so I could see my favorite tapestries one last time before we left."

"Tapestries?"

Mahleah smiled, "Yes, the Cluny Museum holds one of the most priceless collections of medieval tapestries in the world. The one I was particularly fond of was called ‘La Dame à la licorne.’ Otherwise known as ‘The Lady and the Unicorn.’"

"I figured you’d want to see the Eiffel Tower, the Louvre, or Notre Dame, maybe. I’ve never heard of the Cluny Museum."

"Oh, I saw the Eiffel Tower many times and I went to the Louvre practically every week. The place where we were staying was very close to Notre Dame, so I literally saw it every day. The unicorn tapestry, though, was special. I’d only gotten to see it once and really wanted to see it again before we returned to the States. Duncan promised to take me, but the day that we had planned to go he decided to include Tessa. I was furious and felt betrayed. Why did he have to include her in our outing together? I…" Mahleah’s voice trailed off and her face flushed.

"You what?" Buffy asked.

"I’m embarrassed to remember the horrific tantrum that I indulged in. Until that moment, Duncan had always been tolerant with me. He knew under normal circumstances I would never dream of behaving so outrageously, but his patience ran out. I had pushed him too far and he let me know it. He informed me that if I was going to act like such a brat then I could stay at home by myself. He and Tessa would leave me and go have fun by themselves. I was outraged. How dare he pick her over me? They left, and I sat and fumed in jealous misery. The longer I sat there the more miserable I became. Finally, I decided that I would show them both. I was eight years old and Duncan had taught me how to protect myself so I would go without them. I was full of righteous indignation, and was not going to sit still one minute longer. Of course, it never entered my head that I was going to scare Duncan within an inch of his Immortal life. I was still young and the world revolved around little old me."
"Did you get into trouble?"

"Did I get into trouble? Well, let’s just say trouble found me. I made my way to the Cluny by the metro with no problems. I could have walked; it was not far away. The center of Paris is not large: every corner is within six miles of Notre Dame. I went in and around the museum with no problems, and spent a long time in the Rotunda where the unicorn tapestry was housed. I imagine it was around this time that Duncan and Tessa returned. Duncan felt guilty about the harsh things he had said to me, and Tessa felt badly for, inadvertently, provoking such a scene. They had decided to take me with them, and it astonished them to discover that I was gone. Duncan decided there were two logical places where I might choose to go: the Cluny or Darius. Darius’ church was very close to the small house we had rented for the summer and I was known to go there occasionally on my own. He hoped that I had gone there and not to the Cluny."

"Why?" Buffy wanted to know. "I mean he had been teaching you to fight for years. Why was it safer to go to Darius’ church than to go to the museum? You said the museum wasn't that far away."

"No, it wasn’t far, but it was much farther than Darius. Also, the Cluny was next to the Sorbonne and the College of France in the Latin Quarter and he was afraid of who I might run into in such places. I could handle myself with an average size person, but with a very large, very strong adult, I would still likely have problems.

"As I said before, things went fine at the Cluny, but unfortunately I decided to visit the Luxembourg Gardens before I went home. About this time, I was feeling much less defiant and rather sad that I had pushed Mac so far. His angry and accurate descriptions of my behavior burned in my ears. I was completely lost in thought, paying no attention to the people around me, and could not even appreciate the beauty of the Gardens, so when I realized that trouble had found me it was a little too late."

"Did Duncan and Tessa track you down?"

"Yes, but not immediately. They had separated; Duncan went to see if Darius knew where I was, and Tessa went to the Cluny. By the time she arrived, I had already left for the Gardens. It took her some time to go through the museum and see that I was not there. When Tessa started asking museum employees if they had seen me, one of the security guards at the entrance/exit helped her. He had spoken to me as I left, and I had mentioned where I was going. She was finally on the right trail, but unable to prevent trouble.

"What happened?"

"Apparently someone followed me from the Cluny. He was a very large, very powerful man and he loved little girls."

"A Humbert Humbert looking for a Lolita?"

"Sort of, Buffy, but not exactly. Humbert Humbert, while not exactly the sanest individual in the world, loved 'nymphets' because they reminded him of a girl he had loved when a boy, who had died extremely young. This man, on the other hand, loved dominating people. He was a bully and the more subservient someone was to him, the better he liked it. Young girls were his natural prey. Unfortunately for him, I was not the meek and mild type. I was walking down one of the tree-lined paths of the Garden since I had decided to go to the pond and join the children sailing toy boats when he approached me.

"Stopping me in the path, he said, ‘You shouldn’t wander around like this. You might get hurt.’

"I raised my chin, looked him in the eye and said, ‘I can take care of myself, excuse me, I need to be somewhere.’

"After speaking, I looked around for possible escape routes and/or weapons. I didn’t know if I was likely to do much damage to him without such a weapon; he was quite big.

" ‘Oh, I think I know where you need to go,’ he told me with a leer.

"I’d had enough. I started to go around him, but he blocked my path. He was beginning to make me angry, and scared as well. Five years of training took over and I reacted without thinking: dropkicking him between the legs, then running as fast as I could. When I turned my head, I could see that he was still on his knees and not looking to see where I went. I ran into the cover of the trees, quickly scampered up one and stayed there, quietly watching.

"Tessa finally tracked me down, but when she spotted me I had just kicked the big guy and ran away. She didn't know what was going on, and thought for a moment that I'd hurt the man for no reason. She should have known better. Even in a foul mood, I wouldn't have kicked someone in such a sensitive place unless they were dangerous. She ran over to him asking him if he was all right. Unfortunately, he was enraged and reached up to grab her, pulling her down towards him and cussing with every breath. Up in my tree, I said something very unladylike myself and jumped down. When I reached their position, he had hit her across the face. He was still on his knees, and when I arrived, I told him, ‘Leave her alone!’ Then kicked him again: this time in the head. He went down."

"You go girl!" Buffy crowed.

"I don’t think until that moment I’d realized just how much power my training had given me. Mac had always reinforced that I should never hurt someone unless they were seriously attempting to hurt me, but until that incident, it had never dawned on me that I could hurt someone substantially larger. I now knew.

"Just as things were getting truly interesting Mac and some security guards showed up at the same time. Actually, it was a good thing that they showed up at the same time because when Mac saw Tessa…"

"He ripped the guy apart?" said Buffy hopefully.

Mahleah looked at the Slayer with amusement. "No, he didn’t have the chance. The guards were intelligent enough to listen to my side of the story and call the police. It turned out that the guy had a history of abusing females of all ages. No one would ever press charges because they were afraid of him. The police were delighted that an eight-year-old child had clobbered a pedophile. So, he ended up in jail, and in France prisoners are about as fond of child molesters as they are in the States. I can’t recall his exact fate, but I remember it was rather ugly."

"Was Tessa hurt badly?"

"Well, let’s say that her face had seen better days, but otherwise she was fine, and healed reasonably fast. At first, I was upset with her. ‘Why would you think I’d hurt that guy for no reason?’ I asked her. Upon reflection though, I realized that Tessa had never seen me at my best. Every time I got around her, I acted like a spoiled brat. I also realized that it was my fault that she had gotten hurt. If I hadn’t gone off on my own, I’d never have been in a position for that man to hurt either one of us. She'd been looking for me, thinking that I might be in danger. I grudgingly started behaving myself as Darius’ words came back to haunt me: the only way I’d lose Duncan was if I drove him away myself. In my eyes, I’d nearly done that. Tessa and I didn’t become friends overnight, but after that day a foundation was laid."

"Did they get married? Did she go to the States with him?"

"Eventually, yes they got engaged, but that is several years ahead of the story."

During the time Mahleah had been talking to Buffy, they had finished making the pancakes and eaten them. Cleaning up the dishes, they heard a knock coming from outside.

"That’s Mom, no doubt," Buffy declared and went to answer the door.

She came back, leading her concerned parent into the kitchen. Joyce immediately spoke to Mahleah. "I appreciate your being so nice to Buffy and I hope having her here wasn’t an inconvenience, Ms. MacLeod."

"Not at all," Mahleah told her, "I’ve enjoyed her company very much. I hope I haven’t bored her with my old stories."

"Bored? I wish my teachers at high school had been one quarter as interesting as you, Mahleah. Will I see you tonight in class?"

Mahleah smiled. "Yes, but come a little later than usual. I want you to practice with the other students, but only as a warm-up. After they leave, class for you will begin. After all, we can’t have the Slayer getting out of fighting trim, now can we?"

Joyce looked astounded. "You know that Buffy’s the Slayer?"

"Yes. I’ve known others and hope that I can teach Buffy a few things that will ensure her survival to a ripe old age."

Joyce brightened. "Well, I’m all for that. She'll be there."

"Until tonight then Buffy."

"I wouldn’t miss it for the world, Mahleah."

As the Summers were leaving, Joyce could be heard saying to Buffy, "It took you how many years to tell me that you were the Slayer, and now you're informing total strangers that you've only known a few weeks?"

Buffy had promised to meet Willow for a shopping excursion after the redhead got out of school. She enjoyed having fun with her best friend, but longed to hear the rest of Mahleah MacLeod’s story. Willow sensed Buffy’s distraction and decided to call her on it.

"Hello, Buffy, do you remember me? I’m your best friend; the person you tell stuff to especially when you’re wigged out."

"I’m sorry, Will. I don’t mean to ignore you, I just have a lot on my mind."

"Is it the usual sort of Slayer angst, or something in particular? Tell me, you know I love playing doctor."

"I don’t know if I can, Will. It’s not my secret to share…" but Buffy couldn’t hold it in any longer. "You know how I said that Ms. Richards was weirding me out by asking all these questions? Well, you’re not going to believe what happened last night. First, you have to promise me that you won’t say a word to anyone about what you're going to hear. I’ll ask Mahleah tonight if I can tell anyone else, but I don’t think that she’ll mind if you know."

"Know what, Buff? So, is Mahleah Ms. MacLeod’s first name? I like it. It’s kind of romantic."

"Girl, you haven’t heard romantic yet, and I suspect I haven’t either. I’m dying to find out how this story ends."

Buffy spent the rest of the evening repeating Mahleah’s story to Willow. Willow was fascinated. "What do you think happened to Tessa?" she wanted to know. "I mean Mahleah said that it took her thirteen years to get rid of her. What happened to her? Do you think she really ran her off, or was she just responding to your question?"

"I don’t think she would have done anything to drive Tessa away. She seemed genuinely fond of the woman, and she definitely knew that Duncan cared for her. It’s odd though, Mahleah said that Tessa and MacLeod became engaged, but she never said they married."

"I predict a tragic ending. He was probably broken hearted and never loved again."

"I don’t know. I think something happened between Mahleah and Duncan. I mean, God, you should have seen his picture, Willow. It wasn’t just the fact that he made most men look pale and green with envy; it was the look on his face. Those two have quite a history together. And why is her last name MacLeod?"

"You’d better let me know what she tells you tonight."

"Tonight, oh my God! I’m going to be late!" Buffy hurried to the college campus and the dojo where her class was held.

Mahleah had given Buffy quite a workout after the other students left. Buffy grimaced; she was going to be sore in the morning. She hoped that she would get to hear another part of Mahleah’s story as a reward.

"So, teach, are you going to tell me what happened after Paris?"

"Well, Buffy, are you going to tell me what happened to you after you found out about Angel’s curse?"

"Oh, that’s not that interesting," Buffy mumbled.

"It is to me," Mahleah told her. "Why don’t we go for some ice cream and you can tell me all about it."

"All right," Buffy agreed.

As they started for the ice cream shop, Buffy told her companion, "Well, Angel and I thought at first that we should not get involved. Any relationship between a vampire and the Slayer would be doomed from the start. I guess we should have listened to our common sense. It was pretty miserable."

"I can imagine. You can control your actions, but you can’t control your emotions. Eventually a time will come when the emotions will try to push you into doing things that will cause pain in the future. It happens to all of us."

They had arrived at the ice cream parlor. They walked up to the counter and Buffy ordered a double chocolate chip sundae with hot fudge sauce and Mahleah stayed with simple strawberry. They took their desserts to a table far from the other people and sat down.

"You were saying that the two of you should never have gotten involved, but common sense did not rule the day." Mahleah prompted.

"We stayed apart for some time, but then Giles found a prophecy that said I would die. I wigged out when I heard Angel and Giles talking about it, but it did come true after a fashion. I died, but Xander managed to resuscitate me. After that, I had trouble for some time though, coping with the fact that I’d been dead. I was accused of acting like Joan Collins to all my friends and I did this hot dance with Xander just to make Angel jealous. It only halfway worked. He continued to keep his distance despite all I did, until I went to this fraternity party and was almost sacrificed to a giant snake. On Halloween after a little trouble with our costumes we actually got together and were a couple until my seventeenth birthday. So, enough about my sordid past, how about yours? Not that I think your past is sordid or anything I just..."

"That’s all right, Buffy. I know what you meant. So what exactly do you want to know?"

"Did Tessa move to the States to be with Mac or did he stay in Paris with her?"

"Tessa stayed in Paris, and Mac returned with me. For a time, they had a long distance relationship. He would fly over to be with her for a few days, and vice versa. He wasn’t sure about making it a serious relationship because he would need to tell her about his Immortality. Eventually, though he did tell her and she moved to the States to be with him."

"What did she think about the ‘there can be only one’ stuff?"

"Tessa was quite understanding, but it was still hard for her. It is difficult being in love with an Immortal. Every time they leave you wonder if they’ll ever come back."

"So, when did you find out that Duncan was an Immortal?"

"I told you before that I realized as a child that Duncan was different from other people without knowing exactly how or why. We were practicing once with knives and somehow, that amazes me to this day, I cut him. I didn’t really hurt him that badly, yet it scared me. I was very upset, but he told me to watch the wound and it healed right in front of me. He explained to me then what he was and how long he had lived. He left it at that for quite some time. Eventually he told me a little about the Game, but it wasn’t until I saw my first Quickening that I truly understood."

"That was when you were five, wasn’t it?"

"I saw part of a Quickening then, yes. Yet I didn’t see the fight leading up to it and I didn’t see Mac cut someone’s head off. That’s quite a different story."

"I’d say," Buffy responded. "So when was this?"

"I was twelve. It was on one of the rare occasions that Mac fought someone when I was a child. He tried his best to keep me away from the Game; he was afraid that an Immortal might kill me just to take my head. I didn’t realize that at the time, of course. We were back home in the mountains. As I said I was twelve, and at that time, Tessa had moved from France to be with Duncan. My Dad owned around thirty acres, which included an apple orchard. I was taking a walk in the orchard one autumn day when I heard a clanging noise. I walked to the edge of the orchard and looked out into a large field that lay nearby. What I saw that day changed my life forever."

* * * * * * * * * * * *

Mahleah stared out at the scene in front of her. The noise she had heard was the clash of swords. Duncan was fighting with another man. She stifled a gasp, afraid to make a sound. She could tell that this was not a friendly competition between friends; these two were trying to hurt each other. She desperately hoped that Mac didn’t get himself killed. He had told her that Immortals sometimes did bad things to each other because of that Game they all played. She wondered suddenly if he had told her everything about the Game. Most of the time Duncan told her the unvarnished truth about life, but there were a few times when she had found out later that he had refrained from telling her about something especially unpleasant. Exactly how bad were the things that Immortals did? Mahleah knew that Duncan healed extremely fast. He had even told her that if he were to die in front of her, she should not think he was gone forever; his healing powers were so great that he could recover even from death. So, what could two Immortals do to each other? She was about to learn the answer to that question.

The fight had ended. Duncan had gotten past his opponent’s guard and delivered a fatal blow to the chest. The man fell to his knees. Quickly, Duncan disarmed him. He had moved beside the man when he did so, and held his katana over the man’s head. As Mahleah held her breath, she could see Mac say something to the man, and the man responded but she could not make out either man’s words. To her shock, Duncan beheaded the man.

She stood frozen to the spot. She wanted to run away but she could not move. On the field, the body slumped to the ground. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from the headless trunk. Blood was gushing from it, and suddenly she saw something else as well: a faint shadow or something. It seemed to be rising from the body and moving toward Duncan who was just standing there holding his sword. When it reached him, Mahleah jumped because lightening seemed to be coming out of a clear sky and striking him. He seemed to be in pain; she could see him grimace with the strain to stay on his feet, and he screamed from the intensity of whatever he was feeling. The strange lightening stopped and he fell to his own knees.

Mahleah was going to be sick. She suddenly remembered the episode in New York when she was five. She had been attacked by a vampire because Mac had been off doing something else. When Angel had been fighting the other vampire, she had seen the same strange lightening. Duncan had cut off someone else’s head. He had left her alone so he could kill someone. She must have made a noise because Duncan saw her. He spoke her name and tried to move toward her. She regained the use of her legs in a rush of adrenaline and ran. Her eyes were so blurry from tears that she could barely see the trees, but she made it back to her house.

She ran to her room and locked the door. She stood there for a moment with her back against it, but then grabbed a nearby trashcan and threw up. After that she went to the wall and took down a wakazashi, and then a katana. Standing there holding a sword in each hand did not make her feel any better: Mac had given her the set of samurai blades when she was ten. She had always treasured them, but now she saw the wakazashi and the katana as more than treasured gifts; they were weapons and she might have to use them against her best friend.

Mahleah slumped to the floor, still clinging to the blades and started crying uncontrollably. If she could not trust Duncan, then she would never be able to trust anyone ever again. She had thought he was the most honest, gentle man in the world. It seemed strange to call an evident master at the sword gentle, but he always had been with her. He rarely lost his temper and remained calm and patient even when she was at her most difficult. He had taught her, from the time she could understand the concept, about honor. What honor could there be in this killing?

Suddenly she heard a knock at her door. "Mahleah, will you talk to me? I need to explain what you saw."

"There’s nothing to explain," she yelled at him. "You cut that man’s head off. I saw it. Then you drained the life from him or something, I don’t know. What are you anyway -- some kind of vampire? You’re definitely a monster!"

Duncan was quiet for a minute, and when he spoke again, Mahleah heard pain in his voice. "Mahleah, mhuirnin, I am not a monster, nor am I a vampire. I told you a long time ago: I am an Immortal."

"So who was that guy you killed?"

"He was an Immortal as well."

"But, I thought that Immortals couldn't die. You told me that."

"What I said to you that day was true, but I left something out: Immortals die if their heads are removed from their bodies." He explained to her all of the rules to the Game that he had left out before and what a Quickening was.

"So, now you’ve got all of this guy’s strength and power?"

"Yes."

"Is that the reason you cut off his head?"

"No."

"Why didn’t you tell me about all of this before?"

"Because the Game is not an easy thing to tell anyone about. I wanted to make sure that you were old enough to understand it."

"Have you told Tessa?"

"Yes. It wasn’t easy but it was only fair that I tell her and let her decide if she could be with me knowing what I am."

"Oh, it was only fair to her, and not to me?"

"No, you’re old enough now to understand and to make the choice for yourself; if you want, I’ll take Tessa and leave you and your father alone."

Mahleah pondered this. "If I asked you to, you’d leave?"

"Yes. I swear on my honor as a MacLeod, if you ask me to go I will. I’ll leave today and you’ll never see or hear from me again."

"Why did you kill that other Immortal: for his power?"

"No. I do not kill Immortals for their Quickening."

"So, I guess the question is why would you kill another Immortal?"

"Let me ask you a question, Mahleah. When we visited New York for the first time and you were attacked by a vampire did you get angry that Angel killed it?"

"No, of course not. It was trying to feed off me - to kill me. Angel saved my life."

"Up until this point in your life have you ever seen me do anything that would make you believe that I would kill a good person?"

"No."

"So, if I were to tell you that I killed that Immortal you saw today to save lives would you believe me?"

"I don’t know," Mahleah was confused. "Who did he want to hurt?"

"He had already hurt people in the past. His name was Paul Devlin. I met him during the American Civil War. You remember I told you that I used to smuggle slaves through the Underground Railroad?"

"Yes."
"Well, on one particular day I encountered a young drummer boy. His outfit had been slaughtered by enemy troops and the only reason he survived was that he was Immortal. Unfortunately, when one becomes Immortal as a child, one rarely has a chance to live very long. There are very ruthless individuals involved in the Game and they have no qualms about killing children. I had to make one of the hardest decisions of my life: leave the boy and continue with my mission or stay with the boy and risk the freedom and lives of the slaves I had sworn to help. I left him in the care of some friends of mine who I knew would look after him until I returned. As luck would have it, I rescued the slaves, but I lost the boy. My friends were mortal and no protection from Paul Devlin. He killed the drummer boy, and the entire family that was keeping him. At first, I didn’t know who was responsible, but apparently there was a witness to the murders. I never met the witness, but I read about the trial later in the newspaper, and saw a picture taken of Devlin before they hung him. Through the years, I heard other things about Devlin. He liked killing children and he didn’t care if they were Immortal or not. The drummer boy’s Quickening was just an added bonus."

"So, you took his head for revenge?"

"No, I took his head to prevent him from hurting other innocent people."

Mahleah turned this over in her head for a while and then said, "He would have killed me and Tessa, wouldn’t he?"

"Yes, he would have. In fact, I offered him the chance to live but he refused to leave, and there was absolutely no way that I would have allowed him to hurt anyone around here."

"You couldn’t even have called the cops, could you? I mean they wouldn’t have known what to do with him. If they took him to jail, he would just escape or wait until his time was up and then he’d be back out killing people again. He might have even killed the police, right?"

"There’s a good possibility. So, mhuirnin, are you going to unlock the door and come out, or do you want me to leave? Please think about this carefully because I wouldn’t want to stay if you didn’t trust me."

Mahleah leaned back against the bed and let her entire life flash before her eyes. She decided that if Duncan MacLeod could not be trusted there was no point to it. She would risk it. She loved him, he was family to her, and she didn’t want him to go. She slowly got up and unlocked the door.

Buffy let out a breath. What an incredible story! "So, were you uncomfortable around him?"

"I was for about a week, and then I realized something important: nothing in life is perfect, for every good thing there is a bad thing. Nobody is completely good or bad; everyone contains so much of each one. Duncan had taught me that killing someone was wrong; now he had taught me a new lesson: sometimes a person would do an outwardly evil thing in order, in the long run, to do the right thing. Later I discovered that this lesson was not as simple as it appeared on the surface. Deciding if and when to kill is a tricky question for a Slayer, I suspect, as much as an Immortal."

"I asked Giles once how you could tell good guys from bad guys. He asked me how he should answer such a question and I told him to lie to me. He said the bad guys could always be easily identified because they wear black hats and the good guys all wear white hats. Everything works out for the best and people always live happily every after. God, it would be so much simpler if that were all true."

"Wouldn’t it though," Mahleah agreed. "But then we would never appreciate our happiness because we would never know what it’s like to do without it. Disagreeable a philosophy it may be, but adversity builds character." She gave a wry smile. " After saying such a thing I must say that my character has been built quite enough for several lifetimes and I could use less adversity and more joy."

"I think that’s the most depressing thing I’ve ever heard you say," Buffy chided. "You are usually more optimistic than that. I have no idea how old you actually are but you seem rather young at heart."

"I’ve learned how to deal with my sorrows," Mahleah told her, "God knows I’ve had the time in which to do it. Yet, every once in a while they catch up with me. Don’t worry Buffy. I still have hope that I’ll see the end of them. One in particular," she added a little fiercely. In a more normal tone of voice she added, "But I think I’m allowed to have my blue moments as much as the next person. I try not to live in them because they will not get me any closer to my goals."

"What are your goals, Mahleah?" Buffy asked curiously.

Mahleah smiled at the Slayer. "Right now, one of my goals is to help bring you back to life. I hope I’m having some success."

Mahleah had decided to drive Buffy home -- thereby, hopefully, avoiding the supernatural confrontation they had experienced the night before. Buffy was the Slayer and needed to patrol, but Mahleah thought that a night off would do the girl good.

They drove on in companionable silence for a time, listening to a CD of Celtic music.

Buffy got so comfortable listening to the CD that she drifted off to sleep.

He pulled her close to him so suddenly that she gasped. In a grim tone, he told her, "This isn't some fairy tale. When I kiss you, you don't wake up from a deep sleep and live happily ever after."

"Buffy? Are you asleep?"

"Wh-what?"

"You fell asleep. You were mumbling something."

"Oh, was I?" Buffy felt her cheeks go red. "What did I say?"

"I couldn't make it out," Mahleah lied. The truth was Buffy had said, "I want to die."

Buffy, still embarrassed, changed the subject. "Mahleah, forgive me for asking, but surely you haven’t spent your entire life thinking of Duncan as a brother. I mean, the man’s as luscious as the sundae I just ate with more whipped cream and a strawberry on top. Tell me, when you went to high school weren’t you the envy of all the girls with Duncan in your house? I would think you would have lots and lots of unexpected company."

This got a chuckle from her companion. "At times yes, it became rather a nuisance. He was forbidden from ever going to my school unless I expressly asked him to come. The kids at school usually saw Tessa, which made the boys very happy until I told them that her boyfriend was over six feet tall, was a master in several forms of martial arts, kept a very big sword close at hand, and was not fond of unexpected visitors."

"But what about you? Didn’t you notice how gorgeous he was?"

"I knew he was good-looking but I didn’t really think about it much. He was just Duncan. As an Immortal he never appeared any older so I just grew accustomed to the way he looked."

"Always? I mean you never once looked at him and thought, ‘Oh my God, what a stud-muffin?"

Mahleah’s chuckle grew into a full-bellied laugh. Buffy continued to harass her into confessing that she had found Duncan irresistible. Finally, Mahleah threw in the towel, "All right, I honestly never really noticed until I was fourteen. I mean I’d noticed other guys, some my age and some not, but not Duncan. After all, I saw him every day. One day when I was around fourteen, though, all that comfort fled. Mac had built a small dojo onto our house for our training and I walked into it for one of our sessions together. Duncan was working out, running through katas, and to answer a question I know is coming: he was bare-chested and wearing a loose-fitting gai for ease of movement.

"Buffy, you’ve only seen him in a photograph, so I’ll have to tell you that photogenic as he is a still picture cannot do him justice. To truly appreciate Duncan you have to see him move. The phrase ‘poetry in action’ is a cliché but a perfect fit. I don’t think there are enough words to describe him accurately in such circumstances. On the day in question, at first I just admired how clean and smooth his moves were. It was more a question of envy than of lust. Gradually, the sheer aesthetic beauty of the whole picture swept over me. As he moved across the room, his concentration completely on the forms of his katas, I found myself watching the way his muscles moved under his skin, the sheen of sweat that gleamed on his body, and the way his hair fell over his shoulders. I felt a weird sensation in the pit of my stomach, and just then he finished his practice, looked over at me, and smiled. My heart turned over. I smiled weakly back at him, and he could tell that something was bothering me. He asked me what was wrong, and I couldn’t say. I snapped myself out of it, saying that it was just Mac; why on earth was I getting so worked up?"

"Did it make you feel weird around him?"

"Oh, definitely. It was rather analogous I guess of Adam and Eve biting the apple. Once it happened nothing could ever be completely the same again. I grew accustomed to my new-found feelings, after a period of adjustment, and life went on as usual, but deep inside I had a deeper appreciation for how special my teacher was, and how lucky I was to have him."

"So did you two ever…you know?"

"Buffy, at the time I’m describing to you, I was fourteen and Mac was nearly four hundred. That’s not even taking into account Tessa. One could say that Mac liked younger women, since ones his age were not easy to find, but he also believed in getting involved with women and not girls. He had lots of fun as I grew up, trying to convince himself that I was still a sweet, innocent child that needed to be protected."

"How did Tessa feel about you as you grew up? I mean you were becoming a beautiful young woman. Did she see you as a rival?"

"Yes and no. Tessa loved me. Immortals, you see, are not able to have children."

"Neither are vampires," Buffy added softly.

"So you can see that being there for me as I grew up was important to Tessa. I didn’t have a mother, and she would never be able to have a child as long as she stayed with Duncan. Since she never left him, it was her only taste of motherhood. Like you pointed out, though, I was growing up and Duncan was not my father or my brother. She could see that Mac still thought of me as a child, but how long would that last. If you were the cynical sort, you could say that we were always rivals because we each shared a bond with Duncan that the other couldn't touch. Yet, I never thought of her as competition after we became friends, and I don’t believe she ever seriously saw me that way. She just noticed things."

By this time, they had reached Buffy’s house. Mahleah stopped her car in front and let the girl out. "I’ll see you tomorrow, then." She told her.

"Tomorrow," Buffy agreed, and remembered something, "Oh, Mahleah, would you care if I were to tell Willow your story? Just Willow," she hastily added. "I think she’d really enjoy hearing it. Of course, if it would bother you…"

"That’s fine, Buffy," Mahleah told her. "I don’t usually like being the center of people’s conversations, but if Willow’s trustworthy enough to know that you are the Slayer then I guess that you can tell her about Immortals."

"One more thing," Buffy hesitated. "Would you teach me some Gaelic? You've used it often enough in your storytelling and I'd like to more."

"Is that the only reason?"

Buffy blushed. "Well, I know that Angel was originally from Ireland and I know he spoke Gaelic as well. It would give me a way of honoring his memory."

Mahleah frowned. She wasn't sure if she agreed with Buffy's reason but decided that she was not the proper person to lecture the girl about clinging to past memories. "He spoke Irish then. I've used it, as well as the Scottish variant, and a little Welsh. If you'd really like it, I'll teach you a bit of all three. I mainly use the Scottish Gaelic because my teacher was, of course, a Scot. For some reason, he liked to use phrases from the Irish and Welsh occasionally. So, mo nighean bhan, my fair-haired girl, we'll add it to your workouts."

Mahleah walked back to her office after her last class of the day. It was Friday, and much as she loved teaching, she welcomed the weekend's arrival to give her a break. She stopped because her office door was ajar. Cautiously, she swung the door completely open, and stared bemusedly at the occupant.

"Buffy, hasn’t anyone told you that it’s more polite to wait outside someone’s office?"

Buffy swung her legs off the top of Mahleah’s desk and got up out of her chair. Reaching down to the floor, she picked up a picnic basket. "I thought you might be hungry after a hard day of teaching. I don’t have anything to do these days, so I brought some lunch, hoping I’ll get another part of the story."

"For a girl who didn’t want to hear anything I had to say three days ago, you certainly are eager to hear me now."

"Well, three days ago I didn’t know that the story of your life was more interesting than the most soapy of soaps."

Mahleah raised an eyebrow, "Are you calling my life a soap opera?"

Buffy mimicked her gesture, "Hey, it sounds like you had studs good enough for the suds to me."

"That’s presumptuous," Mahleah chided. "I’ve only told you about one ‘stud’, as you put it, and you are assuming that he and I did things together deserving of the ‘suds’.

"Don’t turn into Giles on me." Buffy responded. "I don’t know what you did: that’s why I’m asking. I’ve got strawberries."

"Oh, all right. I suppose you even have a spot picked out for the picnic?"

"Of course."

"Well, let’s go."

Later after a delicious lunch, while Mahleah was still savoring the strawberries Buffy had brought for her, the Slayer began imploring to hear more of Mahleah’s life story.

"So, what do you want to know?"

"What happened to your Dad?"

Mahleah frowned, "What do you mean?"

"Well, you’ve not said a word about him since the story where you went to Paris for the first time and he spent the summer Betty Fording it. Did he ever stop drinking?"

"Yes, he did. It took a very long time for him to deal with his drinking and even after he stopped things did not always run smoothly. By being sober, he had to deal with the issues that had driven him to alcohol: mom’s death and his guilt. It could only complicate matters that he had a teenage daughter on his hands, a virtual stranger to him. Duncan had shielded me as much as possible from Dad’s binges, and I had grown used to his being gone all the time. When circumstances changed, we were forced to reevaluate our relationship."

"It wasn’t easy," Buffy guessed.

Mahleah smiled, "No, not by a long shot. For a long time, I refused to acknowledge his authority. I was young, and rebelliousness comes with the territory, but I didn’t rebel against Mac. I respected him too much. I went to war with my father because I felt that after years of neglect he had no right to tell me to do anything.

"The whole situation came to a head on my sixteenth birthday. It was to be one of the most important birthdays of my life. That morning I had a practice session with Mac. Each day it seemed he pressed me harder and harder. On this particular day, he drove me with a ferocity I had never seen from him before. At one point, I made a mistake and he cut me, which he had never allowed to happen before. If I got hurt in practice, it was always an accident, but that day, he did it deliberately. I tried to protest but he didn’t allow me the opportunity. He attacked repeatedly. I defended myself but I got scared. Suddenly, he disarmed me. I stood there for a split second and he grew angry, ‘Don’t just stand there, if you don’t want to be hurt. Is your sword your only weapon? God, have I wasted this many years of my life?’ he yelled at me.

"I grew angry myself. What was wrong with him? Was he trying to kill me? I found myself becoming a whirlwind of movement - striking out at him, dodging his blows and eventually regaining my sword. When I did, I went on the offensive. With every stroke, I felt my anger turning colder; I refused to let him win the fight because I lost my head. Looking back, I scarcely remember how it happened, I just know that it did: I won the fight. I disarmed him, blocked his attempts to take my own sword and eventually had him with his own sword at his throat. He conceded."

"What Sunnydale demon possessed him to do all that?" Buffy exclaimed.

"It was a final test. He wanted to make sure that I would be able to handle myself. Even if I was disarmed, I could improvise, and still fight. If my opponent taunted me, I would not allow emotion to cloud my judgment. It was a harsh test, true, but it was effective. Mac wanted to make perfectly sure of my skills before he left."

"Left? Where did he go? Why? After all of those years of teaching you, why did he desert you?"

"There were several reasons. At the time, it was hard for me to understand any of them. He had decided that leaving was the only way to be fair to all of the people in his life. Tessa had put her life on hold while he was training me, and now he decided that it was time to put her first. He was also thinking of my father and me. We needed time to straighten things out between us, and it needed to be by ourselves. It was awkward for Mac to be around - he felt he undermined my father’s efforts. Ultimately, he thought it was only fair to me as well. Eventually, the cord needed to be broken. He could not be my teacher forever. This was his most important birthday gift to me: the beginnings of independence. He knew that at my age the only amicable relationship my father could establish with me would have to be based on equality. Too much time had passed for him to try to be an overly controlling father. I’m glad to say that he didn’t try because I would probably have left home if he had."

"Before Mac left, he gave me one other present that has certainly withstood the test of time."

"What was that?"

Mahleah reached for the ever-present coat which lay next to her. From its folds she pulled out the sword Buffy remembered seeing two nights before. The hilt was ivory and a tiger in a low crouch was carved into it.

"He gave me this katana. Her name is Tora."

"Tora, huh? You gave your sword a name?"

"The name was given to it many years ago, I had nothing to do with it. Tora is Japanese for tiger and a tiger’s greatest virtue is its courage."

"I thought you already had a sword?"

"I had practice blades, but this is a sword made to last for generations. Of course, its creator had no idea how many generations it would pass through. This is a very special sword, Buffy. It has a history. I loved it at first glance because it was much like Mac’s own, but then he told me its story and I’ve treasured it ever since."

"Tell me."

"Well, this is the legend of Tora as it was passed on to Mac, and from him to me. Mac’s own katana was made by one of the greatest Japanese sword-makers who ever lived. His story is known, but only a handful of people has heard of his daughter.

"According to a little-known legend, her mother died giving birth to her. Her father had wanted a son who he could teach the secrets of his art but since he had no male heirs, he shared them with his daughter instead. From the time she was a very small child, she was exposed to his trade and grew up helping him.

"In working with steel, she lost the delicate flowerlike beauty so prized by her culture. Additionally, she was strong willed and fierce tempered, and so was shunned by most of society. Yet, one man thought her differences intriguing. He was a samurai, and unlike others of his sex, he did not fear a woman’s strength, whether it was physical or spiritual. She made this sword for him; she claimed it would be the sharpest, strongest sword ever forged, and I have found no reason to doubt her.

"She knew he would need such a weapon, for he had many enemies. As is often the case in life, people who are blessed with the gifts of intelligence, foresight, and compassion are often, strangely enough, most hated and feared. Unfortunately, she didn't finish it in time, and he was murdered. She completed the sword, and swore to never make another. Discovering she was pregnant, she put Tora away until her child, a girl, was old enough to be told about her father. The little girl took her legacy and taught herself enough about using it that a teacher of some stature accepted her. Fooled into thinking she was a boy, he made her into a warrior, who reeked vengeance upon her father’s enemies. She learned that women could possess skills considered the sole province of men, but they had to conceal them, or their identity because of their general unacceptability.

"Tora was secretly passed from mother to daughter until the last woman to own it was an Immortal who had been adopted into the family. She knew the secret history of the sword, and she told it to Duncan, who was a close friend, when she discovered the origin of his own katana.

"Six months before my momentous birthday, she was killed. Mac heard about her death, and discovered where she had lost Tora. Apparently the fight and subsequent light show had attracted attention and the Immortal who took her head didn’t collect the sword. I knew of none of this until Duncan gave it to me just before he left. He also informed me that if I had fought one iota below my ability in his last test, he would not have given it to me. I had to earn it; it was not just a birthday present."

"I’d say not," Buffy replied. "I mean, he was making sure you wouldn’t get whacked."

"He told me to make her into an extension of myself. The greatest warriors, he said, had a unique bond with their swords. So, I worked hard to develop that bond, and now..."

"You feel naked without it?" Buffy guessed. So much so, that you think of it as female, she thought, but didn’t say.

"Something like that," Mahleah said lightly. She rose to her feet. "So, did you have anything else planned for this evening, Buffy?"

"That’s all you’re going to tell me?" Buffy wailed in dismay.

"What more do you want to know?"

"You saw him again, right? He didn’t just leave and never come back?"

"Oh, I saw him as frequently as I could. He moved back to the West Coast with Tessa. They started an antique shop in a city called Seacouver. His leaving did not mean that we were no longer friends, but all relationships change with time and the first stage of ours was over."

"So what happened next?"

"Nothing that you would consider exciting for several years. I graduated from high school and went to college. My father and I learned to live together peacefully in time for us to be sorry when I left. With Duncan gone, I lived as you might say ‘adventure free.’"

"No Immortals came to mess with you?"

"No. I’m sorry to disappoint you, but no. Duncan had taken great care to hide his whereabouts for many years. He didn't want to lead anybody to me, so when he left and became more active in the Game they did not realize that I was one of his weak spots. Surely, now, I’ve answered enough questions for the day."

"Oh, no, you don’t!" Buffy exclaimed. "When did you become Immortal? You haven’t told me anything about that. How old are you? I mean, I thought you were really, really old but your story has to have taken place at the last part of this century. You talked about cars, and World War II. You can’t be very old, Mahleah. It doesn’t make sense."

"I told you at the beginning that parts of my story would seem to be paradoxical. Trust me, there are legitimate reasons for those contradictions. In time, they will make sense to you."

"Okay, then how about what happened to Tessa?"

"What do you mean?" Mahleah answered.

"You told me that you didn’t get rid of her for thirteen years. By that time, I assume you were such close friends that you wouldn’t want to run her off, so something happened. Did she and Duncan break up? You said that they were engaged, but you never said they got married."

Mahleah sighed and shook her head. "Must we talk about Tessa today?"

"Why not? A few days ago, you were dying to tell me this story and now you’re backing out. What’s the deal?"

"Buffy, I could count on the fingers of one hand the number of times I’ve told my life story to anyone. There are extremely important reasons for me not to tell it. I’ve made you an exception because, I think you need to hear it, but somehow, in the telling, I seem to be reliving the experiences. I think a long chapter of my life is hurtling to a close soon, and so my emotions are more volatile than they have been in ages."

"Something bad happened to Tessa, didn’t it?" Buffy hazarded. "That’s why you don’t want to talk about it."

"Yes." Mahleah stated simply.

"You don’t have to tell me today," Buffy told her. "When was the last time you did something fun, Mahleah?"

Mahleah laughed, "I do fun things all the time, Buffy. You might not think so, but I enjoy them."

"Like what?" Buffy was skeptical. "Read?"

"What’s wrong with that?"

"Nothing, but there’s more to life than books."

"Believe me, Buffy, I’m aware of that."

"So, when was the last time you had a date?"

"I couldn’t tell you…years ago."

"Wow, are you in serious need of some cuddle time. Hmm, who do I know?"

"Buffy, I do not require your assistance in procuring male attention."

"You sound like a woman from one of Giles’ fantasies. Procuring? Who says that?"

"I’m sorry to sound stuffy, but you drew it out of me with your matchmaking schemes."

"Okay, no matchmaking. Tell me this, when was the last time you went to see a movie? Before you answer, let me clarify something: by movie, I don’t mean a film. You know, nothing with corsets, English accents, or subtitles."

"I suspect that most of the pictures I’ve been to see recently would fall into your definition of a film. It has been a while, I admit, since I went to see a flick."

"Flick is a good word. Let’s stay in the nineties, now. How would you like to go with me and the gang to see an actual flick tonight?"

"What flick?"

Buffy got an impish gleam in her eye. " ‘The Mask of Zorro’ is playing," she said.

"Doesn’t that have Anthony Hopkins in it? He’s Welsh, so wouldn’t that violate your accent rule?"

"Yes, but it’s a fun role, not a I’m-stretching-please-win-me-another-Oscar kind of role. Plus, it has Antonio Banderas. He has an accent too, but who cares? He’s completely babelicious."

"Not the way I would have phrased it, but since I agree, I won't quibble over terminology. Very well, Buffy, I’ll come with you to see Zorro."

"You can check out the competition." Buffy suggested. "Well, they’re actors, so I guess they wouldn’t really be much competition, but you know what I mean. Sword fights on the big screen, and in real life, no one loses a head. Well, I need to get ready. I’ll call and let you know what time the movie starts."

They started to part ways when Mahleah thought of something. "Buffy, you better not be setting me up. I meant what I said about no matchmaking. Please, don’t arrive with an extra man in tow, or I will leave."

She walked off leaving the Slayer grumbling, "Okay, okay, I wanted you to have a date. Shoot me. I guess I won’t now."

Buffy walked out of the theatre, Mahleah beside her and her friends behind her. "Well, I obeyed instructions," she told her teacher. "As you can see we are the only two here without a date." She gestured behind her where Oz and Willow, Cordelia and Xander strolled together. "Behold the bliss of coupledom."

"I had no objection to your having a date, Buffy. I just had no desire for a matchmaking scheme tonight. Why didn’t you come with a potential partner for yourself?"

"I’m not ready," Buffy said softly.

"Neither am I," Mahleah responded. "Right now I have unfinished business to complete, and romance will have to wait."

"That’s the second time today you’ve hinted at an unfinished chapter of your life. What’s your big quest?"

"You wouldn’t understand."

"Try me."

"No, you won’t be able to understand until I finish telling you my story."

"So give already," Xander interrupted.

"Excuse me," Mahleah asked in surprise.

"Tell us what happened next in this adventure story to end all adventure stories."

Mahleah stopped walking. "Who has been telling you an adventure story?" she inquired, so politely it almost hurt.

Xander put his hands up in mock surrender, "Okay, okay, maybe she shouldn’t have told, but she did, so…"

Mahleah whirled toward Buffy, who shook her head.

"It was me," Willow admitted sheepishly.

"The Willster could never keep a secret from me," Xander told them. "I can always tell when she’s trying, and then it’s all over with."

"Yes, and you told Oz, and me" Cordelia interjected. "Big deal. What happened next? You can’t just keep us dangling with this to-be-continued cliff-hanger setup."

Oz looked at Mahleah. "If it’s any comfort we all know what Buffy is, and we keep that secret from the outside world."

Mahleah’s voice was steady and deadly. "Knowing about Immortals can be very hazardous to your health."

"So can knowing the Slayer," Willow pointed out.

Mahleah thought about that statement.

"Well, we all know, and we’re all dying to know more, so how about us all going to the Bronze and you can thousand-and-one-night us again." Xander suggested.

Buffy looked at Mahleah imploringly, "I’m sorry this happened, but they are a big help, and who knows maybe you’ll need us to complete your big 'the-truth-is-out-there’ deal."

"I have to finish my task alone," Mahleah said almost mechanically, but she was visibly relaxing. "All right, we’ll go to the Bronze."

"Will you be comfortable there?" Buffy wondered aloud.

Mahleah smiled, "You were the one encouraging me to have fun. Do you think I don’t like music?"

"Giles told me that you had one of the best voices he’s ever heard," Willow said tentatively.

They had all started walking in the direction of the Bronze. Mahleah walked by Willow and Buffy. "When Giles and I first met I was playing Eponine in a production of Les Miserables. I’m not sure how he found me; for obvious reasons, I avoid publicity. I don’t even remember the name of the town. It certainly wasn't Broadway in New York City. I had an irresistible urge to return to the stage and managed to snag my favorite role in Les Mis." Her voice trailed off.

"So go on, how did you meet Giles?" Buffy asked.

"He came backstage after the show. That’s all I’m going to say because it’s really Giles’ story more than mine. Before all your imaginations go into overdrive, though, I’ll go ahead and tell you that Giles and I were never romantically involved."

"Too bad for the stuffy guy in tweed," Xander remarked. "If he had managed to snag a gorgeous woman like you, Ms. MacLeod, my estimate of Giles’ studliness would have drastically increased."

Willow interrupted before Mahleah could make a caustic response, "Would you sing something for us, Ms. MacLeod?"

"First of all, if you all know who and what I am, so you should just call me Mahleah like Buffy. Secondly, what kind of song would you like to hear?"

"Something funny," Xander suggested.

"Something Scottish," said Buffy.

"Something from a show, maybe," hazarded Willow.

Mahleah looked at Cordelia. "Oh, I don’t really care," Cordelia told her. "Everyone thinks that I wouldn’t know Mozart from a mariachi band."

"Well, I could come up with several funny Scottish songs, but to accommodate Willow’s request I’ll sing a song from Brigadoon. The show is set mostly in Scotland and is about a little town that vanished into the mists over two hundred years ago. Every hundred years it wakes up and the people go about their business as normal. When the day ends, however, they go to bed and sleep for a hundred years."

"A Sleeping Beauty kind of thing?" Xander asked.

"Sort of, but Brigadoon needs no kiss to wake it up. Meg, a lonely lass who desperately wants a husband, sings this song. It’s the story of her unsuccessful quest to find true love." She started singing the rollicking tune.

Mahleah sang in a clear, strong alto and was not afraid to use a Scottish accent. The teenagers almost fell to the ground laughing at Meg’s bawdy tale of lost loves. As she finished singing, they reached the Bronze. Walking in, they found a couple of tables in a corner near the back and pushed them together.

Willow was sitting down when a thought struck her, "Mahleah, we’re giving Giles a surprise birthday party next week. Would you be willing to sing for him? Maybe do some pieces from Les Mis, since that’s what you were in when the two of you met?"

"Yeah," Buffy exclaimed. "That’s a great idea."

They could see Mahleah pondering the notion for a minute and then she said, "Fine, I’ll do it, although some of the best songs from that particular show are tear-jerkers. I’ll try to work on some other pieces, so that we won’t feel like we’re at a funeral."

"So, how about getting on with the story?" Cordelia blurted out. "I mean there are things we are just dying to know."

"Please look over Miss Tactful here, but she has a point," Xander said. "Like how many people have you killed?"

"Xander!" Willow said shocked. "I’m sure Mahleah would rather not talk about things like that. What I would like to know is about the people you’ve met, and the things you’ve seen. I’m sure you’ve seen history in the making many times."

"If you knew it was history at the time," Oz added.

"Above all," Xander added, "we’re all just dying to know: did you and Duncan ever get horizontal? Do the wild thing? Discover new ways for a couple of Immortals to have a Quickening without cutting off any heads?"

"Xander, you’re a menace," Buffy scolded her friend. "She still hasn’t told us what happened to Tessa, and I know that there would have been no funny business between Mahleah and Duncan while she was in the picture. Am I right?"

"You are right," Mahleah told her. "I’d hoped to avoid the subject today, but I suppose I need to start telling you about when my life started to change drastically. It all started during my senior year at college. A new friend entered Mac and Tessa’s lives. His name was Richie Ryan and while trying to rob their store, he saw much more than he should have."

"This guy was a friend?"

"Not at first, but eventually yes, he was a very close friend. Richie was an orphan who had been passed around from foster home to foster home. At heart, he was a decent kid and Mac and Tessa recognized that. They gave him a job and a home. Although I wouldn’t learn this until much later, Duncan also wanted to keep an eye on him because Richie was a pre-Immortal. He joined our ‘family’ in the fall of my senior year, but I didn’t meet him until Christmas. I took an instant dislike to him. He was cocky, and I thought, ignorant. He thought himself to be very charming, and quite the ladies’ man."

"And you told him he wasn’t?" asked Willow.

"Oh, I told him a lot more than that, I’m afraid. By the time I went back to school, I think he hated the sight of me. During the spring of the next year, Duncan sent Tessa and Richie to Paris for safety. An old enemy of Darius’ by the name of Grayson who wanted to kill all of Darius’ students appeared on the scene. Duncan wasn’t sure he could defeat Grayson because the man was extremely old and powerful. Fortunately, he did beat him, and joined Tessa and Richie in Paris. During my spring break, I joined them for two weeks and believe me it was memorable. Richie and I hated each other for a few days. Mac pulled me aside and asked me when I had become an intellectual snob. That stung and I took another look at my behavior, ultimately deciding I’d been very unfair. Richie and I became friends during the rest of my stay. I also remember those two weeks because they were the last I ever spent with Darius."

"Someone killed Darius?" Buffy said appalled. "I thought you said that he never left his church and killing someone on holy ground was strictly against the rules."

"It's very much against the rules. The most evil Immortals who bend all the other rules don’t dare to break that one. I heard a rumor that two Immortals were fighting on holy ground in Pompeii in 79 AD and you know what happened there."

"Hot lava boys," Xander declared.

"Hot ashes more than lava, but you get the idea."

"So, who would kill Darius?" asked Willow.

"A mortal, or rather a group of mortals, beheaded Darius."

"Mortals?" Oz exclaimed. "Who’d be stupid enough to do something like that?"

"A man named Peter Horton," Mahleah said grimly. "He lead a group of renegade Watchers, a splinter group who believed they should keep track of Immortals only to kill them. They killed Darius and nearly killed Duncan and his old friend Hugh Fitzcairn. I had finished my bachelor’s degree and was visiting my father before starting graduate school when I got the call from Duncan. I literally could not believe it. I’d known Darius most of my childhood. It was inconceivable to me that a man who was at least two thousand years old was suddenly gone forever. My own mother was dead, so I expected mortals to die, but I’d thought that was the gift of Immortal friendships: they would always be there. In the next few years, I was to learn the painful reality that Immortals died just like everyone else."

"What did you do?" Buffy asked softly.

"I flew to Paris immediately. Duncan had bought a barge that was anchored on the Seine across from Notre Dame. He had waited until he thought it was safe before he called me. Darius had been cremated and Duncan sprinkled his ashes into the river. I know that Tessa had to feel miserable herself, but she and Fitz left Mac and me alone to console each other. He was choked up, but controlled his sorrow. I, on the other hand, sobbed my heart out, and he held me to him whispering soft words for the longest time. I cannot recall what he said -- mostly Celtic endearments, I think. After a time I was so exhausted that I just fell asleep."

"Then what happened?" Xander demanded.

"I went back to the States," Mahleah told him, "and started graduate school on schedule. Mac, Tessa, and Richie returned to the States as well. Mac tracked down Horton and in the process made a new friend, Joe Dawson, his own Watcher. I was about a month into the first semester of my new school when I got the call."

"The call?"

"Actually, I didn’t take it. I was in class, and my roommate met me with a long face when I returned to our apartment. Tessa had been killed in a mugging."

"Oh, God!" Buffy exclaimed.

"Not the way you expected her to go, I suppose? Living with an Immortal for a dozen years or so, you would have thought she’d have died in a more dramatic fashion. No, she and Richie were getting in Mac’s car when a young punk walked up to them and shot them both because they didn’t have any money on them. He was a junkie, I believe, and his behavior was hardly rational."

"Where was MacLeod when all this shooting was going on?" Xander inquired.

"He was inside. He heard the shots and ran out, but by the time he reached them, it was too late: Richie would revive to become an Immortal, but Tessa was dead. I was devastated. Tessa was the closest thing I had to a sister. My roommate drove me to the airport. Tessa had died in Seacouver, but Duncan buried her in Paris. I cried my heart out all the way."

"How did Mac take it?" Buffy asked.

"Exactly the way you’d expect, at first. I think that the thing I remember most clearly about that trip to Paris was the fact that circumstances had reversed themselves. This time, I was the one providing comfort. By the time I arrived, the initial outburst of my grief was under control, and when I saw Duncan, I knew that I would need to be the strong one. Fitzcairn, had only met Tessa during the Darius crisis, but really liked her, and came to the funeral to offer comfort as well. After the burial, Mac collapsed. This time I held him through the racking sobs, offering caresses and soft words. It was a turning point for me: in that instance, I was the adult and he was like a heartbroken child."

"How did things work out after that?" Willow asked. "I mean wasn’t it weird after she died with just the two of you? Oh, and Richie, of course."

Mahleah gave Willow an appreciative glance. "Very good, Willow, you’re right. With Tessa gone, things were very uncomfortable between Mac and me for some time. The three of us had achieved stability, but with one leg of the tripod gone, we began toppling."

"But, you had known each other for years before Tessa ever came into the picture," Buffy objected.

"True, but new variables entered the equation."

"Yeah," Xander interjected. "She was a babe now, not a kid. I bet it wasn’t so easy for old Duncan to keep his hands off you after Tessa went bye-bye."

"Xander," a chorus of voices reproached him.

Mahleah grimaced at first, but then laughed. "Succinctly put, Xander. You’re right up to a point. Duncan now had to deal with an adult, not a child. We were not living under the same roof anymore, but since my graduate school was in California, I flew up to Seacouver frequently to check up on Mac and to help him train Richie. He couldn’t bear the antique store without Tessa, so he sold it, and bought a dojo with a loft apartment. He lived there for several years."

"So that’s what you meant when you said Ben's place made you feel nostalgic?" Buffy exclaimed.

"Yes, I spent a lot of time in that dojo and that loft."

"How much time?" Cordelia wanted to know. "After all, Buffy raved to Willow about how stud-worthy Duncan was, and while Buffy’s taste in men is not the brightest when it comes to their sanity, if she says he’s as good-looking as Angel, I believe her."

"If you’re asking if I spent the night, Cordelia, then the answer is yes. However when I did either Mac or I spent the night on the couch. I suppose I should tell you about Annie now."

"Who was Annie?" asked Buffy.

"Annie Devlin," Mahleah said crisply. She shook herself and went on, "After all this time I shouldn't react to her the same way I did then. I can appreciate, now, what Mac was going through. To be blunt, it takes an Immortal who has lost a mortal love to fully empathize with an another going through the same heartbreak. Duncan had met Annie in the early part of the Twentieth Century. She was an Irish Rebel who tried to get him to join her fight, but he refused. Unfortunately, when they met again, tragedy ensued. Annie and a group of Irish freedom fighters attempted to assassinate an English diplomat. Mac and Richie foiled the plot, but Richie accidentally killed Annie’s mortal husband. Annie vowed revenge. Duncan began Richie’s training then, and he went to Annie to try to talk her out of trying to take Richie’s head. The two of them got drunk, began reminiscing and spent the night together on a boat. Richie ultimately faced her anyway. He got lucky, disarmed her, but didn’t take her head. I didn’t find out about this episode until it was all over."

"He had sex with this chick?" Buffy was appalled.

"Yes."

"And this was how long after girlfriend number one had croaked?" Cordelia asked. "Good grief, her corpse was barely cold."

"Gee, Cordy, thanks for pointing out that fact," Xander said sarcastically. "I guess Mahleah never thought of that. And they call me the insensitive one! On the other hand, how could he, that dirty dog? How many times did you break his head?"

Mahleah was quiet, and they could see her thinking, reliving the whole episode.

Mahleah and Richie had just put their swords down for a break.

"I think Mac keeps some water in here," Richie said walking into MacLeod’s office. He opened a small refrigerator and pulled out a couple of bottles of water. He drank from one and handed the other to Mahleah.

"So Rich, had anybody after your head yet?"

Richie winced.

"Oh, it looks like they have. I’m sorry, I was just joking. I’d hoped no one had found you this quickly."

"Well, I sort of found her," Richie admitted.

"Wow, are you lucky. Remind me in the future never to take a plane trip with you."

He gave a short laugh, "You may have a point. Mac and I ran across some terrorists who were trying to kill this guy. I tackled one of them who had a machine gun. Unfortunately, while struggling over the gun I accidentally shot him. The lucky part is that he was married to an Immortal named Annie Devlin."

"Annie Devlin?" Mahleah frowned, remembering. "I’ve heard that name before. Isn’t she an old friend of Mac’s that can’t seem to let the troubles in Ireland go, or vice versa?"

"That’s the lady." Richie told her. "Man, she wanted my head something fierce. Mac even went to her and tried to talk her out of trying to whack me, but she wouldn’t listen. I did have one stroke of luck, though, Mac taught me Annie’s favorite move, as well as the counter. When I actually faced her she used the move and I disarmed her."

"So did you take her head?" Mahleah asked distractedly.

"No, I couldn’t do it. She wasn’t evil; she was just hurting. Mac got her to call off her vendetta, and that was that."

"She wouldn’t listen to him, huh?"

"No, he talked to her all night, but when I saw him the next day he said that she insisted on fighting me." He broke off. "What’s wrong, Mahleah? You're as pale as a ghost."

MacLeod walked into the dojo, and Mahleah whirled upon him. "How dare you?"

He was taken aback. "How dare I what? What’s wrong, mo nighean?"

"Don’t you dare call me that!" Mahleah was incensed.

"Mahleah, what’s wrong? What have I done?" Duncan was confused.

She strode toward him her face red with fury. "You couldn’t wait, could you? She’s barely been dead a month, and you’re already screwing around! God, why don’t you go to Paris and do it on her grave? It’s no biggie, she won’t know. She’s dead!"

"Mahleah, whoa, calm down. What are you talking about?" Richie asked.

She kept her eyes on MacLeod. "Annie Devlin, that’s the slut I’m talking about."

"Mahleah, you don’t understand," Duncan tried to say with a pained expression on his face.

"Understand? Oh, I understand a lot more than you think. You went to her, right, and tried to talk her out of killing Richie? Well, when she refused, did you fight her yourself?"

"No."

"No, you didn’t. Richie said he saw you the next day, and that you couldn’t stop her. He had to fight her. Well, you could have killed her. But, no, you wouldn’t do that, would you? You would never want to hurt someone you slept with…. Unless she were already dead. Then it’s okay. Yeah, good old loyal, honorable Duncan MacLeod of the clan MacLeod. He’d never cheat on a woman. He’d just wait a few weeks until after they died, and then it’s cool. No worries, no regrets. Back to the swinging bachelor life!"

Duncan tried to talk to her, but in walking toward him, she had seen her katana. Suddenly it was in her hand and she lunged toward him blind with rage. Duncan saw no reason to prolong the fight. He blocked her stroke from the left with his arm, sweeping her own arms up and knocking her off-balance. She could have landed on the sword and seriously injured herself, but Duncan pulled Tora out of her hand just before she fell.

She quickly rebounded and tried to attack him with her bare hands, but Richie tackled her from behind. "Mahleah, chill. You know you don’t want to hurt Mac."

"No!" she screamed. "I want to kill him!"

She tried to get free, but Richie had been working out quite a bit, and he held on to her. She was too mad to think straight or she would still have been able to break loose.

"Why would you kill him? He’s your best friend."

"No, my best friend is dead and he obviously doesn’t care!" She directed her wrath at MacLeod. "You never loved her the way she did you. I could kill you for dishonoring her memory; it’s not like it would really hurt you. You’d just come back again, unlike her. She can’t come back!"

"No," he said. His eyes were full of pain. "She can’t come back, and whether we like it or not life has to go on. As for killing me, I can recover from that a lot easier than I can the idea that you would want me dead for even a minute. If that is what it would take to make you feel better, though, go ahead. I won’t stop you."

He gestured to Richie to let go of her. Richie looked at him questioningly, and Mac nodded. Richie reluctantly released Mahleah. She stood there quivering for a second, and then walked up to him slowly. She looked him dead in the eye and told him, "I hate you." She then turned and walked out of the dojo.

Richie stood there and asked, "How did you know she wouldn’t go for the other sword, and get lucky this time?"

"She wouldn’t have gone for my head."

"She might have killed you though."

"Like she said, I’d survive."

He walked slowly toward the elevator that would take him to his loft apartment.

"You’d have lived, yeah," Richie thought. "But how are you going to survive losing both of the women you love? One's dead, and the other hates your guts."

"If you leave the story like that, I think we’ll kill you!" Xander exclaimed. "After all, you will survive. Obviously Duncan did too, right?"

"Well, you didn't actually kill him, did you, Mahleah?" worried Willow.

"No, Willow, I didn’t kill him, but he didn’t recover quickly from my words."

Buffy had been quiet, but she spoke now, "I wouldn't think that you'd bounce back from that little scene immediately either."

"No," Mahleah admitted. "I didn’t. I waited until I saw him leave -looking for me - then went, got my things and headed back to school. I didn’t speak to Mac for several weeks: several of the longest, most miserable weeks of my life."

"Did you stay mad at him the whole time?" asked Willow.

"No. After a few days, I was still hurt, but rationality was starting to kick in. People who are grieving do things that are completely uncharacteristic, an idea that began to dawn on me after a great deal of brooding. Later, pride and shame kept me from saying anything. I don’t know how long things would have continued, but fate conspired to bring us together again."

"How?" they all wanted to know.

The Bronze was close to Mahleah’s house, so she invited the teenagers to walk her home. During the short trip, she told them, "You remember that when I was five I was attacked by a vampire?"

"Yeah," Buffy remembered this story well. "Angel saved you, because Mac was off fighting an Immortal."

"Correct, well as you might imagine it was a very traumatic experience for a young child. It left me with deep emotional scars that haunted me for many years. In my dreams, I faced the monster repeatedly, but without any help from either Angel or Duncan. I would wake up in a cold sweat, if I were lucky. Often I had trouble waking up. The dream would go on and on. I might manage to become fully conscious for a split second, but then the dream would suck me in again and seemingly never end. Occasionally, I would wake up on my own, or find myself being shaken awake by Duncan. I never wanted to talk about the dreams, and he never asked. He would just stroke my hair and whisper that I was awake while I sobbed uncontrollably until my fear subsided.

"I’m telling you about this because it lets you know about my deepest secret fears and how one day I had to confront them. I hadn't told Mac about the new love in my life: his name was Kenneth, and he was a professor at my graduate school."

"What did he look like?" chorused Buffy and Willow.

"He was tall with thick blonde hair and pale blue eyes. He had beautiful alabaster skin and a smile that came out rarely, but lit up the whole room. His personality reminded me of Lord Byron, one of my favorite poets, and he was an English professor actually. I was studying History, so there was no conflict of interest. I met him in the stacks of the library, and he swept me off my feet. He seemed to know so much that I often wondered if he was Immortal, but wasn’t sure how to ask him. I’d mentioned Duncan’s name, but they had never met, which I thought was a good sign. After the fight with Mac, I returned to school, and threw myself into Kenneth’s arms."

"So did Kenny-boy help out with your extracurricular activities?"

"Yes, Xander, he did, but I hadn't slept with him, though it was not from a lack of trying on his part. He was one of the most seductive men I’ve ever met. His voice was hypnotic. When I listened to it, and looked into his eyes I was lost. Somehow, I always managed to bring myself back from the brink though, until the night I decided to take our relationship to the next level."

Mahleah looked at herself in the mirror. Her long hair cascaded across her shoulders in loose ringlets. She had visited Victoria’s Secret and found a beautiful dark blue, floor-length gown that laced up the back. This evening had been planned in intimate detail. She had labored for hours over their candle-lit dinner, making certain that everything was perfect. She supposed that she should be upset that Kenneth had only played with his food, but he had seemed more focused on her than on eating. They had slow danced to romantic music and everything else had gone just as planned.

Most of the dates Mahleah had ever had were with what she considered boys. Kenneth was her first "serious" relationship, and more than any other man in her life he knew how to please her. He instinctively seemed to find all of her secret erogenous zones, and the hairs on her arms stood up if she even thought about his lips on her neck.

"What are you waiting for?" she chided herself. "Behind that door waits the man of your dreams."

Part of her psyche wasn’t completely convinced. "You’ve only known him a couple of weeks," it pointed out. "You’ve never went this far this fast before. You’re just doing this because you are in pain."

"In pain nothing," she told herself firmly. "Kenneth gives me nothing but pleasure."

Glancing once more in the bathroom mirror, she raised her chin and opened the door. He stood waiting for her, in the bedroom. He smiled at her and she felt her heart skip a beat. She stepped toward him, "I hope I didn’t take too long?"

"A few seconds is too long, but I don’t mind seeing the result," he told her charmingly. "Come here."

She held off for another minute pirouetting around him, "So, you like it then?"

"It’s lovely, but not as lovely, I’m sure, as the parts it conceals. Come here."

She gave in and went to his open arms. He kissed her hungrily, exploring her mouth with a voracious tongue. His hands tangled in her long hair, his fingers inching their way to the very delicate place on the back of her neck. His mouth left her lips and began traveling down the side of her jaw to her neck.

She wasn’t ready to give into the bliss he could create on her throat yet, so she pulled away and began undoing his shirt. When it finally opened, she ran her hands over his pale, cool flesh. Lowering her mouth, she did a little exploring of her own. When her lips brushed one of his nipples, he jerked and pulled her head up rather roughly for another deep kiss.

She was aware that he was backing her into the bed, but that was fine. When they landed with a crash, she nearly had the wind knocked out of her, and she didn’t know if she would ever get it back for he had found her neck again. Suddenly, she cried out in pain because his soft nibbles had turned harsher. He pulled away for a moment and stared at her with his large, blue eyes. "Look at me," he commanded. She couldn’t help but obey. She felt herself falling into pale blue pools of color. He returned to her neck and bit again, but this time she barely felt it.

She heard him murmur, "God, she’s like wine." She stifled the urge to giggle and say, ‘Well, drink me up then." Giggle? That wasn’t like her. She was having trouble concentrating on what she was like however. She felt lethargic with pleasure coursing through every vein.

She felt him shift position and the satin covering her legs began slowly sliding as his hand teased the inside of her leg. He lowered his head and she felt his lips travel up her leg from her knee to her inner thigh. He nibbled gently and she gasped. This seemed to satisfy him, and he paid closer attention to that spot. His teeth exerted more pressure, and when she made a small whimper of protest, his teeth were gone and his mouth was suckling the wound as if in apology.

Again, she felt herself drowning in wave after wave of ecstasy. Her eyes had tightly clenched innumerable minutes ago. She tried to open them and felt the strongest vertigo she had ever experienced. The room was spinning crazily. No, she decided, the room couldn’t possibly be moving; it was her head careening out of control. She felt him moving back up, heard him say, "I must have more."

Possessed of an overwhelming need to see the face of this man who was draining her of every ounce of feeling she could own -- she concentrated as hard as she could, and met his eyes. She felt shock, for something was very wrong. Instead of finding love or warmth there, she saw cold lust. There was something else wrong as well. Kenneth’s clear forehead was now ridged making him look barely human. In fact, it dawned on her; she had seen a face like that when she was five - on a vampire. Her eyes went lower, to his mouth, and there was the incontrovertible proof: blood was smeared all over his face and running from his lips: her blood. A pair of wickedly sharp fangs attested to his complete transformation.

He saw her recognition and smiled cruelly. "I don’t know what you are, my dear, but you are the most entrancing thing I’ve ever tasted. No wine I've ever drunk possesses the headiness and potency of your blood. This is what ambrosia must be like for the gods. You don’t believe me? Oh, but have a taste." With that, he kissed her harshly, his fangs biting into her lip. She could taste her own blood pouring into her mouth and she started to gag.

He removed his mouth. "Not to your taste, hmm? Too bad, before you die, I want you to know that you’ve brought me more pleasure in one night than I’ve had in hundreds of years, so you shouldn't feel your life’s been in vain. Ah, I’ve promised myself one final delicacy. I think you might even enjoy it, if you allow yourself. Just relax and give into the sensations. It’s not a bad way to go."

His hands found the bodice of her gown, and ripped it open. "He’s going to suck me dry from my breast!" she realized. He was not lying to her about how it was going to feel. When his lips found the curve of her breast, her back arched involuntarily, and her arms, of their own accord flew over her head. She lay there trying not to give in, even as the vampire’s lips and tongue did lazy circles around her breast, constantly moving inward. Her fingers convulsed, and she felt them brush something. What was that? Then she remembered: a wooden dagger Duncan had carved for her years ago. She had found it when unpacking her things in her new apartment, and sentimentally had put it on the shelf at the head of her bed.

Slowly, her fingers grasped it. Now, if she could only summon enough strength. At that moment, Kenneth sank his fangs into her nipple. The resulting rush of pain and pleasure gave her just the adrenaline boost she needed. Her hands clenched the small dagger and she came down with all of her rapidly diminishing strength and a small battle cry, plunging it into his back and through his heart. He stiffened for a second, raising his head in astonishment before he exploded into ashes all over her and the bed.

Help. She needed help badly, or she would die anyway. Her roommate, Diana should be home by now. She probably had music on, though. Diana knew of Mahleah’s plans for the evening and would not want to be accused of eavesdropping.

Mahleah managed to crawl out of bed. She hit the floor on all fours and dragged herself to the door. She tried to raise her arm to open it. Her arm felt so heavy. It would be so much easier to just let it drop and lie there on the soft carpet.

"If you lie here long, you’ll never get back up," she told herself and gritted her teeth. Her hand found the doorknob and turned it. She pushed against the door, knocking it open.

She started pulling herself across the floor of the living room toward her roommate’s door. She tried to call out Diana’s name, but a whisper was all she could manage. She slowly moved forward again, but it was getting harder and harder.

"I can’t die!" she told herself. "If I do, it means that smug bastard wins. Well, he’s in hell now where he belongs, and if I can only get to Diana I can live."

She reached the table she had prepared with such care hours before. Spots swam in front of her eyes. "I’m not going to make it!" she thought. She grasped the edge of the tablecloth and pulled with all the strength left in her. The resulting crash finally brought her the attention she desperately needed.

Diana came bounding into the room. "Mahleah, you two had better not be breaking my good china! Mahleah, oh my God!" Then Mahleah sank into a warm, velvety blackness.

She would not drown; she would not drown. She would fight this darkness. She couldn’t let it have her, or he would win. "Do not go gentle into that good night," she heard a familiar voice say, "Rage, rage against the dying of the light." Was that Duncan, her saighdear-bàrd? No, it wasn’t him. He wasn’t here. He wouldn’t come because she’d hurt him. She had exploited all of his most vulnerable areas, hurt him as much as she knew how. He wouldn’t come to her. He thought she hated him.

"Duncan, I must tell Duncan that I don’t hate him. I don’t hate him. Oh, I need him, where is he? Duncan, I’m sorry! I don’t hate you."

Duncan MacLeod sat by Mahleah’s hospital bed. As soon as Diana had dialed 911, and known an ambulance was on its way, her fingers had, without hesitation, hit MacLeod’s number on the speed dial. He had arrived with Richie in tow, faster than she could have imagined. She explained to him everything she knew about Mahleah’s condition, and how she came to be in it. Since Diana knew nothing about vampires or Immortals all she could do was describe the way she’d found Mahleah slumped in a pool of her own blood, tangled in the tablecloth she had managed to pull from the table. Her neck was deeply lacerated and the front of her new gown was ripped open. Diana had been shocked to find that someone had bitten her roommate’s breast so hard that blood was still flowing from the ugly wound. She had torn the bottom of the gown and used it as a bandage to try to stop the blood. In doing so, she had found the wound on Mahleah’s inner thigh. The tablecloth had been sacrificed and Diana could only pray as she looked at the bloody trail leading from Mahleah’s bedroom, that her friend would hang on long enough for the paramedics to give her blood.

She had never been so glad to see anyone, aside from those paramedics, when Duncan walked into the hospital. When asked if Mahleah would be all right, she had to tell him that she didn’t know yet. Mahleah had lost so much blood that the doctors weren’t sure. They had hemmed and hawed about a touch and go situation, and then admitted that they didn’t know. They thought she would pull through, but ultimately it was up to her. If she wanted to live strongly enough, then she probably would.

They had not been able to pry Duncan out of his seat by her bed ever since the nurses reported that Mahleah had fought a couple of bouts with consciousness. She had always lost, but one name always fell from her lips, though so faintly that a nurse had to bend her head down to Mahleah’s mouth to hear it: Duncan.

He didn’t know if Mahleah could hear him, but he talked to her anyway. He talked to her of good times in the past, and good friends they had shared. He’d recounted endless stories of when Tessa had done this, or Darius had said that. He retold to her all the stories she had loved to hear when she was a child, and added new ones. He told her of his first meeting with Amanda, the Immortal thief, who’d recently returned to his life, and his bed. Amanda could never replace Tessa, but she always made him laugh. He nearly wanted to kill her sometimes with her crazy schemes, and the trouble she caused him, but whenever she was around, he never felt empty inside.

Mahleah had always liked Amanda; in fact, the two of them had become close friends despite the fact that MacLeod had reservations about Amanda hanging around. He realized now he had dreaded her meeting Tessa. Tessa, at heart, was never truly comfortable with other Immortals. They were a constant reminder of how different her lover was, and how, chances were that he would outlive her by a considerable amount of time. When Amanda and Tessa actually met, his worries were justified in the way the two women reacted to each other. Now, Tessa was dead and Amanda had returned. Oh, she was gone right now. She never stayed for long periods - they’d probably kill each other - but he knew he would see her again, and part of him looked forward to it.

He explained all of this to Mahleah, telling her that he hoped she would approve. He told her of Annie Devlin and the grief they had shared. He talked to her until his throat was raw and his voice raspy.

Before he shut up completely, though, he took her hand and told her fervently, "Remember nighean, remember when you were a little girl and I was introducing you to the great poets, your favorite poem by Dylan Thomas said, ‘Do not go gentle into that good night.’" He recited the poem to her, concluding in a fierce voice, "Rage, rage against the dying of the light.’"

He squeezed her hand and then brought it to his lips. Unbidden, a tear fell on it.

"Hey," he heard a voice gently say. "She’s going to be okay, Mac. She’s a fighter. She’ll pull through, but if she doesn’t, it’s no big deal. She’s Immortal. Well, she will be. So, don’t take it so hard."

MacLeod looked up to see Richie standing next to him. He had felt the young Immortal’s presence, but had not wanted to move from his post.

"I’m sure she will be fine," he told his student, "but she should have the chance to experience mortal life before she has to say goodbye to it forever. You didn’t have a choice, Richie, but I hope she gets another chance at living a normal life." His voice creaked in protest. Then, he realized with a start that the fingers in his hand had moved. It had not been a big movement, but it had happened. He looked at Mahleah.

Her lips were moving. He and Richie hurriedly bent down to hear what she was trying to say.

"Duncan…tell Duncan…hate him…must tell him…hate him."

MacLeod's heart froze in his chest. She was still angry with him? He couldn’t stand to hear more and started to pull away when Richie stopped him.

"No, Mac, listen. It’s not what you think."

His mind in a whirl, he leaned in again, just in time to hear her say," need him…where is he…sorry Duncan…don’t hate…need you…Duncan…"

His eyes misted over when he realized that she was trying to apologize to him.

"I’m here," he told her, "It’s all right, mhuirnin, I’m here. You’re safe. I know. I know you don’t hate me, and you never did. It was your grief speaking, not you. Ssh, relax nighean, I’m here."

Suddenly her eyes popped open. She tried to focus on the figure looming over her, "Duncan?" she moaned.

"Yes, I’m here, Mahleah. You’re safe."

"Don’t go," she pleaded, her eyes already beginning to close.

"I won’t, mhuirnin," he promised her, kissing her hand again.

She settled back down. MacLeod looked at Richie, triumph in his eyes, "She’ll make it."

"She lost consciousness again," Richie protested.

"No, she’s just in a deep sleep now. She’ll need plenty of rest after what she’s been through." He leaned forward and kissed her forehead lightly. "I knew you could do it, cariad," he croaked softly.

After being around MacLeod and company for some time now, Richie was reminded of an observation that he had made some months before Tessa had been killed. When Duncan used a term of endearment with Tessa, it was usually in English or her native French. Often, when he spoke to Mahleah, though, he used terms that Richie had been unfamiliar with until he looked up their meaning. "Mhuirnin" meant "my darling" in Scots Gaelic. The other phrase "mo nighean" was from the same tongue and meant "my lass." "Cariad" was Welsh, and was the strongest word in that language for love. Applied to a person it meant roughly "beloved."

Richie supposed there was a psychological reason for the fact that Duncan MacLeod of the clan MacLeod spoke to his former lover in her native tongue, and to his former student in his own native tongue and its variants. He didn’t ponder it too long, though. It gave him a headache.

The worry about Mahleah continued. Her physical health rapidly improved, but now they were concerned about the emotional scars she bore which were even uglier than the ones the vampire had left on her body. She flinched anytime a man made a sudden move in her direction. She thrashed in her sleep so much that the nurses put her in restraints, afraid she would reopen her wounds by accident. The restraints did not ease her troubled subconscious. Every night over and again, she fought vampires in her dreams. After a week, the doctors felt confident enough with her physical condition to discharge her, but privately they conveyed their concerns to Diana and MacLeod.

MacLeod found himself maintaining his vigil at her bedside. Only now, instead of sitting up in a chair all night he made himself a bed on the floor. When she had protested, he’d laughed and reminded her that he had slept in situations that were far more unpleasant in his life. He told himself he was there to reassure her that everything was fine, and she was safe. A little nagging voice inside his head told him that he was actually there to reassure himself of the same thing.

Every night she would cry out in fear, and her body would jerk like she was trying to fight off an invisible assailant. Sometimes she would wake up, but sometimes she would not. He had seen her this way before, but never in such a drastic state, never so frantic. He repeated the treatment he’d given her as a child, held her close and whispered soft, safe words to her shaking body until it finally stopped shuddering and rested peacefully.

When she was a child, though, she would only go through one episode a night and those nights became farther and farther apart. Now, she would wake him up several times a night - if he’d managed to go to sleep - every night. Frequently, just trying to soothe her didn’t work. He had to shake her awake, and fight off as gently as he could the frantic blows that would inevitably rain down upon him. She’d told him about Kenneth, who he was, and that she’d killed him. He was glad she had managed to kill her attacker, because he thought that ultimately that would only help her healing process: she had successfully defended herself. Yet, there were times when he looked at this beautiful, courageous young woman and her wounds, and raged inwardly. He thought a staking was too quick, and too merciful a death for a creature that could do such an evil thing.

One night he shook her awake, avoiding her defensive moves until she finally opened her eyes. "Duncan," she looked at him, and her eyes filled with tears. "He’s there in my dreams every night. He always comes, and this time he wins. He kills me, or even worse, he makes me like him. Are you sure that making me taste that blood won’t turn me into a vampire?"

"No, mhuirnin," he hastened to allay her worst fears. "That was your blood, not his, and it had no power to change you."

His mind added what he could not let himself say, "you have Immortal blood, and vampires can’t change us. We are the ultimate feed for them, because of the power in our blood, but they can’t make us into them."

"I’m afraid, Duncan," she told him. "What if they never go away? You can’t sleep beside my bed every night for the rest of my life. Daytime isn’t a lot better. I hate to see the look in Richie’s eyes when I pull away from him, but I can’t help myself. Mac, what if I can’t stand to be touched by a man ever again?"

"You’re overreacting, Mahleah," he told her softly. "It’s just going to take time. You’re already making progress. You don’t flinch anymore when I touch you, and in case you had forgotten I'm a man."

"I hadn’t forgotten," she told him and gently caressed his face. "That’s something I could never forget. You’re right, I feel safe around you. In fact, there's no person on earth that I trust more than you and no place that I feel more protected than in your arms. I guess it goes back to when I was a little girl; when I needed security, you always provided it. I’m not a little girl any more though."

"Something I could never forget," he agreed, quite suddenly aware of the soft body in his arms.

She looked him in the eyes. "Sleep with me tonight, Mac."

He looked startled, and she laughed.

"No, I’m not asking you to make love to me. I’m hardly up to such a feat, and I suspect you would, rightly, have some qualms about doing so. No, all I’m asking is that you sleep with me, not on the floor. Maybe if I know you’re so close that I can reach out and touch you I’ll feel safe in my dreams."

"Okay," he said both touched and disturbed by her trust in him.

They settled down together beneath the covers and she wrapped herself in his embrace. "Goodnight, mo saighdear-bàrd." She told him.

He chuckled; amused that she remembered the pet name she had given him when she was a child. "Good night, Mahleah, mhuirnin, ‘Sleep dwell upon thine eyes, peace in thy breast.’"

She smiled at the allusion, and allowed herself to slip back into slumber. This arrangement went on for several days, and seemed more successful every night. Mahleah’s nightmares became scarcer, and when she did have one she would instinctively reach out find MacLeod’s arms around her, and relax.

He was glad that she was getting better, but felt a little troubled as well. As she herself had pointed out this could only be a stopgap measure. He could not be there every night of her life. She needed to break away from having him as a security blanket. Otherwise, she was making progress in regaining her life. She had returned to her classes, and was training with Richie.

Another problem existed that he was reluctant to dwell on. Despite the sleeping arrangements, he and Mahleah were not lovers. Unfortunately, just as his mind rebelled from sexual thoughts about this woman that he had known from an infant, his body ignored his brain and reacted to the stimulating presence of a nubile body pressed up against his every night.

One morning he awoke from a painfully realistic dream of Tessa to find himself in the process of kissing Mahleah. As soon as he realized what he was doing he stopped and drew back.

"Great move, MacLeod," he thought to himself, "You spend weeks trying to convince the girl that she’s safe around men again, and then you ruin it all by attacking her in her sleep."

"Mahleah, I’m sorry," he started to say, but she put a hand across his mouth.

"It’s all right, Mac," she told him. "You didn’t hurt me. I heard you say Tessa’s name, and when you kissed me I thought I could help you as you’ve helped me."

"It’s hardly the same thing," he protested.

"Mac, for over a dozen years you’d grown accustomed to sleeping beside the same woman. I’m sure you’ve woken her up many a time in just this way, to her delight. Your conscious mind knows that mine is not the same body, but your subconscious is confused. It’s all right. In fact, I think you can go home today."

"Are you sure?" he started to ask, startled.

"Yes," she told him firmly. "I’m making it through the nights much better now, and it’s time to sleep on my own. You have your own life to lead and I’ve kept you from it long enough. Go home. I can make it by myself."

"I don’t know, Mahleah."

"I do," she said. "Don’t get me wrong. It’s going to be tough, but it’s my fight. You’ve loaned me your strength for a while, until I could find my own again. Well, I’ve not found it all, but I know now, that it’s there. I haven’t lost it. You could do me one favor, though," she added shyly, "before you go."

"What’s that?"

"Kiss me again."

"Mahleah, I don’t…"

"Mac, shut up and listen to me. Kenneth used me and he hurt me. I know now that he never cared for me; that, in the end, all I was to him was a plaything and a meal. When I first woke up I didn’t think I could stand to even be kissed again because every time I closed my eyes I felt him bite my lip and I could taste blood pouring in my mouth. Those are not good memories, Mac. This morning when you kissed me, I didn’t flinch. I didn’t turn away. I want good memories - memories of someone that I love someone that I trust touching me, so that I can always remember that kissing is a good thing. Please."

MacLeod felt his heart beat faster as he debated her request. She was asking for salve for her wounds, and just as he could not deny her actual, physical medicine, he could not refuse a chance to heal her mental wounds. "Just don’t push her," he told himself. "Be gentle."

He obeyed his inner instructions. Her lips were soft and pliant and the kiss was sweet and undemanding. He knew that she didn’t need passion; she needed to regain her trust. He was also aware of her mostly-but-not-quite healed bottom lip. So, he kissed her thoroughly, but delicately. They broke apart and she smiled at him, "Thank you, Duncan."

Mahleah smiled at Xander. "Well, does that answer any of your questions, Xander? Yes, Mac and I’ve slept together, and yes, we’ve kissed."

"That still doesn’t tell me if you two did the dirty deed," he growled.

"Oh, give it a rest," Cordelia told him. "She’ll tell us in her own sweet time. I don’t know why you’re complaining so much, you like being teased."

The others wisely ignored this little exchange.

"What a horrible thing to happen," Willow shuddered. "Although the last part was rather romantic."

Buffy shook her head at her friend’s idealism. "I guess you were hard-core serious about hating vampires and helping Slayers."

"Yes."

"Was it harder than you thought? Recovering from the embrace of Professor Gruesome, I mean?"

 "Actually, it was, but in the end I realized how much strength I actually had when I needed it. That experience and its aftermath were touchstones in my life. I learned to never give up hope, and to never give up fighting. Giving up meant that he won, which was unacceptable. If I allowed fear to dominate me then I gave him another way to control me from the other side of the grave. I refused to give him that much power over me. The fight wasn’t an easy one, but I had to win. I have to admit I cheated a little. I’d stolen one of Mac’s shirts, and if I felt scared at night, I buried my head in it and remembered that there were trustworthy men in the world. I’d thought I’d confronted my worst fears come to life, but fate had a few more surprises for me, and I faced situations later that truly terrified and horrified me beyond anything I could have imagined. The only way I got through them was to draw on the strength I knew I had from past experiences."

"Fears worse than becoming the vintage of the century for a vampire, huh?" Xander commented. "They must have been pretty bad fears."

"Thinking that Duncan was dead?" guessed Willow.

Buffy hesitated and then said, "I think your worst nightmare coming true would be Duncan betraying you."

"But he wouldn’t do that, right?" Oz added.

"I think I’ve told you kids plenty for the night. It’s time you went home."

Her statement was met with groans from all the teenagers, but Mahleah was adamant. "Go home and go to bed," she told them. "It’s late."

"Can I come by tomorrow for some training?" Buffy asked.

"Yes."

"Immortal’s pet," grumbled Xander.

Mahleah invited the others, but they all, unfortunately, had other plans.

"Which means," Xander whispered in Buffy’s ear, "That you’d better get lots of details tomorrow and give us the scoop as soon as possible."

Someone was coming into her bedroom, someone with an extended lifeline. In the blink of an eye her hand found her katana and swung out as she sat up. In the moonlight she saw a familiar face and stopped the blade just before it could cut through his neck. Her left hand found the switch on the lamp. She blinked as she looked at the man sitting on her bed.

"I trust you," he said mildly. "I'm well aware of how quick your reflexes are. Besides, this is just a dream."

"Dream, huh?" she lifted the sword from his throat, got out of bed and walked to the other side of the room. "Yours or mine?"

"The girl--the Slayer. Betsy or Bessie, or whatever her name is. You're beginning to sound like her."

When Buffy arrived at Mahleah’s house the next day, she found that the Immortal had already begun working out. Watching her instructor for a moment before joining in, Buffy noticed that Mahleah was performing pliés.

Mahleah noticed the look of surprise on the girl’s face and smiled, "You didn’t expect me to know ballet?"

"No," Buffy admitted. "I thought your work outs would be all about fighting."

"Life should be about more than combat, Buffy. Even an Immortal or a Slayer can have beauty in her life."

Buffy followed Mahleah’s example and began stretching her muscles. After a lengthy warm up session, they began training in earnest. An hour passed with Buffy trying to attack Mahleah and usually landing on her rear. She was a fast learner though, and managed to sneak a few moves past the Immortal. They stopped for a break, and Buffy quickly tackled Mahleah about finishing her story.

"C’mon, Mahleah," she pleaded. "You have to tell me how this thing ends. What happened with you and Duncan? When did you become Immortal, and how did you die? What’s your Holy Grail? What are you waiting to complete?"

Mahleah sighed. "It’s strange, Buffy. I decided some time ago that I should tell you my story, but I find it gets harder and harder to proceed. I’m reliving emotions I experienced so very long ago - it’s odd."

"Finishing the story might give you a sense of closure," Buffy suggested.

Mahleah agreed and sat down on the floor, and Buffy followed suit. "Did I tell you about Richie’s first Quickening?"

"No," Buffy prompted, "Who’d he whack?"

Mahleah groaned at Buffy’s choice of words, but continued with her story. "Richie met a girl in trouble with an Immortal bounty hunter named Mako. Mako believed in a very narrow definition of justice, and had encountered Mac in the past. Richie didn’t believe that the girl deserved the punishment she would most likely receive should Mako take her back, so they fought. Richie hadn't thought past protecting the girl, and when he took Mako’s head he looked up to see Duncan standing there. Duncan just walked away. When Richie showed up later at Mac’s loft, Duncan told Richie that he would have to leave."

"He threw him out?" Buffy was shocked.

"Richie came to see me. He was sad and confused. I listened to him, and somehow knew why Mac had told him to leave. When Richie took his first head, he performed a rite of passage: he was now a "mature" Immortal. He had learned as much as he could from Mac and now it was time for him to live his life. I told this to Richie, and pointed out that with his actions he had become, in a sense, a rival to Mac. They would always be friends, but someday they could possibly face each other in a fight to the death. Duncan would never want to kill Richie, but time and circumstances can change people. The student-teacher bond had to be broken, and that was why Duncan told Richie to find his own way."

"That’s sad," Buffy said wistfully.

"Yes, but it is the way life goes - and not just for Immortals. Looking back on our conversation, I know that Richie was thinking that it would happen to me someday as well since I would be an Immortal. He was right in thinking that way up to a point, but the relationship between Duncan and me was different from the one he had with Richie. Duncan had, in effect, done the same thing to me when I was sixteen. It would take many years, though, before I was truly independent."

"Going to college helped, I bet. You were tough enough to send him away after you got attacked."

"Oh, that was only the beginning of the road I had to travel to find true independence. After Richie left Mac found his way back to Paris and stayed there until the next fall. I visited him there during the summer and spent some idyllic days with him, Amanda, Fitzcairn, and Richie."

"Richie?"

"Yes, Richie. He had wandered around several countries and many states before he made his way back to Mac. He told me later that I had been right in my assessment: Mac had not rejected their friendship. Their relationship had changed not disappeared. Actually, it was one of the most peaceful summers I had for quite some time. We all enjoyed the peace and the chance to let our souls heal. Amanda helped tremendously in improving Mac’s spirits. She was free-spirited, lively, and beautiful. She could drive Mac insane. They could never spend too much time together; their relationship was far too combustible.

"After I left Paris, an old enemy tried to destroy Mac by hitting him in his Achilles' heel. He hired an assassin and used plastic surgery to make her look just like Tessa. She succeeded in reopening his wounds, but didn’t manage to kill him. She ended up being destroyed by the man who had created her, who was, in turn, killed by Duncan. After this fiasco, Duncan decided he had mourned Tessa for too long, and he and Richie returned to the States. That fall a new woman entered his life: Dr. Anne Lindsay."

"A doctor, huh? Did you like her?"

"Yes, I did, very much. She, like most of the women Mac loved, was independent and strong-willed. She was a skilled surgeon who was absolutely dedicated to saving lives. I met her at Christmas when I paid Duncan a visit. I knew she was a bit cloudy at first about my relationship with Mac, but we soon became friends."

"Well, that’s good, I guess," Buffy said doubtfully.

"Trust me, it was. Unfortunately, Mac refused to tell Anne about his Immortality and it caused many conflicts between them. They broke up once, but got back together with Anne promising not to push him for answers."

"Why wouldn’t he tell her?"

"He thought it would put her in danger. He was still thinking about Tessa, and the life she'd lived, knowing that Duncan could be gone at any minute. Anne asked me, once, what he was hiding from her, but I told her that it wasn’t for me to reveal his secrets. She respected that and we remained close. I owe one of the biggest frights of my life to Anne though. She called me one day out of the blue and told me that Duncan was dead."

"Dead?"

"Yes, dead. At first, I was just a little concerned. I asked her what happened. She said he had died right in front of her. I didn’t panic until she said that he had been in a fight with a man with a sword. That was all I heard before my mind started spinning. I felt like the world had crashed down around me."

"He wasn’t really dead? I mean no one had taken his head?" Buffy was worried.

"No, his head was fine. As I said, Anne did not know about Immortals and what she had seen was Duncan falling from a catwalk. She had looked up and seen the other Immortal still holding a sword. I hadn’t listened to the details. When she used the key words ‘fight,’ and ‘sword,’ I panicked."

Mahleah stared out the taxi window, but did not see anything. Her mind was still in a whirl from Anne’s news. Duncan was dead. It was impossible, surely! She couldn’t imagine a world without Duncan MacLeod.

"Miss, are you okay?" the cabdriver asked. Trying to make a joke he added, "You look like you’re going to a funeral."

"I am," she told him. "I've lost my best friend."

"Oh, I’m sorry," the man was chagrinned. "What happened?"

"I'm not exactly sure. His girlfriend called to let me know, and she was upset. It was hard to make out the details."

He nodded, "Yeah, that's understandable. Did she say…"

"If you don’t mind," Mahleah interrupted him, "I’m really not up to talking about this right now."

"Sure," the cabby responded, "but we’re here, by the way."

She hadn’t noticed, but now she looked out at the building MacLeod had made into a new home for himself. The sign on the door still said "DeSalvo’s," yet it belonged to Duncan.

Mahleah paid the cabby, silently accepted his condolences, picked up her hurriedly packed overnight bag and walked to the door, trying to summon enough courage to open it. At last she succeeded and stepped inside. It was strange to think that Mac had only lived here a little over a year; the place seemed to scream his name from every corner.

"Why do I feel so numb?" she thought to herself. "I should be crying. I guess this is shock."

She saw Anne and Richie and moved toward them. Suddenly the grief and the weariness on Anne’s face made it all too real. Anne approached her and gave her a hug.

"I can’t believe he’s gone," she said softly.

The dam of emotions within Mahleah broke and tears began to roll down her cheeks. Anne saw them and stroked Mahleah’s hair. "Let it out. I know how much you loved him. He was your best friend. It’s okay to cry."

This unintentional echo made the tears flow faster and faster. She was sobbing now, but it wasn’t helping the pain to go away. Instead, it seemed to be growing. She was overwhelmed by the incredible unfairness of it all: first her mother, then Darius, Tessa, and now Duncan. All the people she cared about were leaving her.

"Why?" she whispered, and then pulling away from Anne, she screamed the question, "Why?"

She was angry - no, angry was not strong enough to express how she felt. She felt rage building inside her and desperately wanted to hit something. She lashed out with her foot at a nearby punching bag.

Turning to Richie, she demanded, "Who did it?"

Richie was taken aback. He came toward her warily, "Mahleah, he was in a fight and he fell from a catwalk."

"Yes, and who was he fighting?" she needed to know. She had to know so she could kill whoever it was. She would cut them into a thousand pieces, and make them beg before she cut their head off. But, the thought occurred to her, she wasn’t Immortal, so she wouldn’t receive the Quickening. All of Duncan’s strength and knowledge would be lost forever. Richie would come with her, she decided, but he would not get the pleasure of taking this Immortal’s head. That was reserved for her, and her alone. She owed Mac that much.

That thought sent another wave of pain through her. She fell to her knees. "Who was it, Richie? Where can I find him? Or was it a woman?"

Anne knelt beside her, "Don’t start thinking of revenge, Mahleah. Do you think that Duncan would want you to get yourself killed trying to avenge him?"

"If someone managed to kill Duncan, then he’s dangerous. He wouldn’t hesitate to kill any one of us. Besides, if someone had killed one of us, Duncan would have seen that justice was done."

"Justice, not revenge," Anne told her.

Richie got down on his knees beside her. "He fell off a catwalk."

"I know," she said confused, not realizing the importance of what he was saying.

"Listen to me, Mahleah. Mac died when he fell off a catwalk."

"That’s right," Anne added. "I don’t know for a fact that the other man was fighting with him. Maybe Duncan slipped."

"Slipped?" Mahleah looked at Richie. He was trying to tell her something.

"That’s right," Richie nodded. "That’s how Mac died."

"Then he didn’t lose…" she began and he quickly interrupted, "No, he didn’t lose a fight."

Looking into Richie’s eyes, she got it now. He was telling her that Duncan was alive, and Anne didn’t know.

Relief washed through Mahleah and she collapsed onto the floor. Her eyes asked Richie, "He doesn’t want her to know?" His eyes responded with the answer, "No."

"Are you all right?" Anne asked her anxiously.

"Yeah," Mahleah told her. "I’ll be okay, eventually. I think I just need to be alone for a little while, if you don’t mind, Anne."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, I think I’m just going to go upstairs. Mac has...Mac had many albums full of pictures and I’d like to look at them. They are upstairs, aren’t they, Richie? I mean he hasn’t moved them anywhere?"

"No," Richie reassured her. "The pictures are all upstairs as big as life."

Mahleah headed for the elevator and Richie started edging Anne toward the door. "Don’t worry," she heard him tell the worried woman. "I’ll keep an eye on her. She’ll be fine."

She hit the elevator button and headed up, her heart pounding loudly in her chest. It soon stopped and she raised the gate, stepping into the room beyond.

There he stood: Duncan MacLeod of the clan MacLeod with his head still attached to his neck. She was frozen for a moment, staring at him, drinking him in from head to toe. Then she rushed toward him and kissed him on his cheeks, his chin, his nose, his forehead, his lips, and anyplace else she found.

He started to say something, but she stopped, and without a word of warning, punched him forcefully in the jaw. He fell backwards, stumbling into the couch.

"Mahleah..." he tried to say, but neither she nor his sore jaw would let him.

"How dare you let me think for even a moment you were dead, you selfish, ungrateful, sorry excuse for a human being? Why don't you let Anne know you're alive? I never dreamed you were a sadist, Mac. It’s unforgivable."

He raised his hand. "Can I speak now?"

She shut up, but crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow.

"I didn’t realize she had called you until too late. I swear I never meant to scare you like that. When Richie told me, we both thought you’d figure out that no one took my head. I’m sorry that you had to go through all this, but I won't apologize for not telling Anne."

"Why not?" Mahleah demanded.

"For many reasons, most of which we’ve discussed before when you demanded that I explain to her about my Immortality. The most important reason, though, is that I don’t want her anywhere around me right now, and I want you on the next available flight out of here. Before you interrupt me, as you’re getting ready to do, you should know that Kalas orchestrated this whole farce."

"Kalas," Mahleah’s face turned white.

"Yes, Kalas, and so I think it'll be much better if you go on pretending to Anne that I’m dead and go back to school. I don’t want to have to worry about him using either of you to get to me. Understood?"

"Understood," she told him. "What will you do?"

"I’m going to Paris and hopefully draw Kalas after me. When he comes, I’ll face him."

"Be careful," she hugged him fiercely, "Kalas has every reason to hate you, and he’s as good as, or better, with a sword, than you are."

"Thanks for your vote of confidence," he chuckled, ruffling her hair.

"I’m just repeating what you told me a long time ago."

"I’ll be careful," he promised, "but the time has come to end this."

Buffy was excited and full of questions. "Who was Kalas and what kind of grudge did he have against Duncan? Did Duncan ever let Anne know he was Immortal? Did he face Kalas?"

"Whoa girl," Mahleah exclaimed. "One question at a time. Duncan met Kalas in a monastery in 1658. Duncan came looking for a friend, another Immortal, whom he was told had already left. The monastery was a refuge for Immortals tired of the outside world. Kalas was one of the monks, but abused his position by catching Immortals off holy ground and taking their heads. Duncan reported this to Brother Paul, the founder of the cloister. He banished Kalas, and was never forgiven for it. Kalas had the most beautiful voice, and lived for music and Quickenings. They encountered each other again in 1923. Kalas had become a famous opera singer, and outwardly seemed to hold no grudges. He told Mac that if he had not exposed Kalas, he would have stayed in the monastery, and thus owed his success to the Highlander's disclosure. Inwardly, however, he wanted revenge, and tried to use a young opera singer who was a friend of Mac’s to do it. That’s how Kalas worked: he delighted in destroying the lives of those you loved as much as in destroying you. He didn’t succeed in hurting her, but in the fight that ensued, Mac picked up a piece of glass and slashed Kalas’ throat. As you know, Buffy, that’s an Immortal’s vulnerable area, and Kalas was left with a disfiguring scar and much worse: a raspy voice. He could no longer sing, and he hated Mac for it."

"So what happened? Mac faced him, right?"

"Yes, he did, but before I tell you about the fate of Kalas, I want to tell you about Anne."

"Oh, yeah, what happened with her?"

"For reasons, I’ll get to later, Duncan thought that Kalas would be out of the way for a time. He missed Anne terribly and contacted her through Joe Dawson. She came to Paris, he told her everything, and for a little while they thought their relationship would work, but Anne had a secret: she was pregnant."

"Pregnant?" Buffy frowned. "I thought you said that Immortals could never have children? I mean, I totally believe that Duncan looks super-studly, but…"

Mahleah laughed heartily. "You’re absolutely right, Buffy. Immortals are incapable of having children, so, Duncan was not the father of Anne’s baby."

"God, she was a fast worker, wasn’t she?" Buffy was indignant. "Duncan dies, and she hops in bed with someone else that quickly? How fickle!"

"As I’ve said before and I’ll say again, grief makes you do strange things. Anne was hurting and spent the night with an old boyfriend. He wasn’t someone she loved, and she didn’t plan to have the baby with him. Duncan understood. I won’t say it didn’t hurt him, but he understood."

"He didn’t want to be a father?"

"On the contrary, he welcomed the chance. Unfortunately, another Immortal stepped in and changed the picture."

"She didn’t get killed?" the Slayer protested.

"No, but he killed an old man in front of her, and knocked her down so roughly she almost lost the baby. Mac started to help her, but she told him to kill the guy. She saw the fight from beginning to Quickening, and afterwards, told Duncan that they had no future together."

"She couldn’t handle the man she loved chopping people’s heads off?"

"No, it wasn’t that, although Mac thought that at first. She told him she had wanted to see that Immortal dead, and therein lay the problem; she was a doctor. She shouldn't want to see anyone dead; her job was to save lives. She was afraid of what she would become if she stayed with him."

"How sad!"

"Yes, it was. Not long after she returned to the States, Anne came to see me."

"What did she say?"

Mahleah looked rueful. "She forced me to realize some things that I had been repressing."

"Like what?"

"That I was in love with Duncan. I protested for a time, telling her that of course I loved him. I always had. She made me face the fact that I didn’t just love him, I was in love with him, and that was an entirely different proposition."

"Was she awful about it?"

"Not at all. I told you we were friends, and it was in her role as a friend that she made me look at things honestly for the first time. She cared about the two of us, and didn’t like seeing either of us lonely. She was an extraordinary lady."

"She sounds like it," Buffy agreed. "What happened to her?"

"Duncan restored a house from top to bottom and gave it to her and her baby. He wasn’t in love with her by then, but still cared for her, and in doing this he ensured that they would always have a little piece of him."

"How sweet!"

"Some of the news she brought me hit hard and a lot more unpleasantly. Kalas had killed Fitzcairn."

"Not Fitz!"

"I’m afraid so."

"Why was Kalas out of the picture before?"

"Kalas had found out about the Watchers and used one poor man to find out about Methos. Methos was a legend - a man 5,000 or more years old - the oldest living Immortal. With Joe’s help, Mac tracked down a Watcher named Adam Pierson who specialized in the Methos chronicles. When Mac found him, he discovered the truth: Adam was Methos. He had found the perfect hiding place where he could fade into myth and keep track of any Immortals who might be looking for him. Methos’ solution to the problem was for Duncan to take his head and use that power to defeat Kalas. As you can imagine, Duncan was not too keen on that idea. When he encountered Kalas again, he allowed the other man to think that he had killed Methos. It made Kalas uncertain and Duncan might have ended the whole conflict there, but Methos sent cops to arrest Kalas."

"Why?"

"He was afraid that without his strength, Duncan wouldn’t be able to beat Kalas, and he was unwilling to take a chance on Kalas being the one to take his own head. He figured that with Kalas in prison for murders he had committed, he would have time to disappear again."

"Why would Methos want Duncan to kill him?"

"From his point of view, it was better if Mac had his Quickening than Kalas. He’d known of Duncan MacLeod from his time as a Watcher, and he felt that Duncan was a prime candidate to be the last Immortal."

"I can understand that, but why did he want to die?"

"Every Immortal goes through periods when they are tired of life. Everyone and everything around you grows old and dies except for the others who want to kill you."

"But not all of them want to kill you, some of them are friends."

"Yes, and Methos had forgotten that fact. He had isolated himself for so long from his own kind that he actually welcomed death. Yet, he refused to allow someone like Kalas to have his power."

"So after Kalas was put in jail did Methos and Mac become friends?"

"Yes, they did."

"Did you get to meet him?"

"Yes, under very strange and tragic circumstances, but before I tell you about that I should finish telling you about Kalas, and Fitzcairn."

"Why did Kalas kill Fitzcairn?"

"Because Fitz was one of Duncan’s oldest and dearest friends. I think before I deal with Kalas' demise I'll tell you a funny story about the first time I got drunk."

"You? I thought you didn’t drink?"

"I don’t normally, and you know my reasons. When Fitz died, however, I went to Paris to pay my last respects, and decided that the best way to honor Fitz’s memory was to have a wild night out on the town with music, dancing and lots of wine."

"Dancing, huh?" Buffy’s eyes were twinkling. "Did Duncan accompany you on these drunken revels?"

"Yes."

* * * * * * * * * * * *

Mahleah stared at the back of Notre Dame. Normally this spot brought her peace, but it wasn’t working today. She couldn’t believe that yet another of her friends was gone. She wasn’t aware that one of the many artists working outside the famous cathedral was surreptitiously drawing her instead.

The man, afraid his accidental model would leave, sketched her in fast, vigorous strokes and then walked up to her saying, "Pardon, mademoiselle."

She had to laugh at his atrocious accent. "Don’t worry, I speak English."

Relief spread across his face. He was young, probably in his mid-twenties.

"American?" she guessed.

"That’s right," he told her, his brown eyes sparkling with interest.

"Is this your first time in Paris?" she asked.

"Yes."

She saw the sketchbook in his hand. "You’re an artist, then?"

"I try to be," he joked.

"Well, there are plenty of beautiful things in Paris to draw."

"But I’m looking at the most beautiful thing I’ve seen since I arrived."

She was quiet, and he added, "Also the saddest. Tell me, why is such a beautiful woman sitting all alone in front of one of the loveliest sights in Paris? Why are you so unhappy?"

"I’m mourning a friend," she said at last.

"Oh," he said, sounding awkward, "A boyfriend?"

 "No, a friend."

"What was your friend like?"

"He was funny and full of life. His favorite things in life were wine, women, and song."

"The Epicurean type? ‘Eat, drink, and be merry for tomorrow we die’?"

"He understood more than most people that life was precious and unpredictable, and so he enjoyed every second of it."

"Well then, would he really want you to sit here all sad and gloomy? It seems to me that the best way to celebrate your friend’s life is to emulate it."

"Emulate it?" she was thoughtful.

"Go out and party; have some fun. Tell me, when was the last time you did something wild and impulsive?"

"I couldn’t tell you. I’m not exactly the wild and crazy type."

"Maybe you should be: for at least one night."

"And you’re offering to assist me?"

"I never could refuse aid to a pretty girl. If you prefer, think of it as helping me out. I’m new to the country and you can show me all the hot spots. What do you say?"

"What’s your name?"

"Tim, Tim Roberts."

"Pleased to meet you, Tim. My name’s Mahleah." She stretched a hand out to shake his, but in the process somehow managed to break a tiny bottle of water. "Oh, I’m so sorry," she exclaimed. "Are you okay?"

"Oh, that’s all right," he told her, "it’s just a little water. See, no harm done."

"But you’re bleeding," she protested.

"It’s just a little cut. I’ll be fine."

"I must have broken a bottle in my pocket. I’m sorry."

He reassured her that he would live, and she nodded contentedly since he had passed both the holy water test and the healing too quickly test as well. Her instincts had told her that he was just what he claimed to be, and she was glad to see that they were still working.

"Well, Fitz," she thought to herself, "Tonight I plan to have lots of music, lots of wine, and we’ll see how it goes with this handsome young man."

She took Tim to the barge where she changed into a seldom-used classic "little black dress." It was short, tight, and backless with only a bit of cloth around the neck holding up the front.

"Wow," was all Tim could manage when he saw her.

They went clubbing, plunging themselves into Paris’ nightlife with a passion. Mahleah had never had a taste of alcohol before, but she was now on her way to becoming well and truly drunk. They traveled from place to place drinking wine, and, at one place, champagne.

Finally, the inevitable happened. At one club she was spotted by a friend, Amanda to be exact, who took one look at her and called MacLeod. She came over and talked to the couple until MacLeod arrived, fifteen minutes later.

He walked up to Mahleah and asked, "May I have this dance?" Without waiting for a response, he pulled her out onto the floor.

Tim started to follow in protest, but Amanda stopped him. "I think," she told him, "it’s better to let nature take its course."

"Nature?"

"Yes, you know that barge she lives on?"

"Yeah, what about it?"

"He lives there too."

He blanched. "Mahleah never told me she had a boyfriend."

"Oh, yes," Amanda nodded wisely. "They’ve been together a long time. Can’t you tell by the way they’re dancing?"

As she pointed out, Mac and Mahleah danced well together, which was inevitable since he had been the one to teach her. The looks on their faces indicated that they were exchanging rather heated words, but their bodies were on easy terms with each other.

"You should see them dance when she’s not drunk," Amanda said a bit jealously.

Tim shook his head. "I don’t think so. Tell Mahleah, I’m sorry I talked her into this. She just looked so sad that I wanted her to have some fun."

"You’re not sticking around then?"

He looked out at the dancing couple, still quarreling and never missing a beat of the music. "No. If I do, I might end up starting something with that guy, and I have just enough sense left in me right now to realize I’d get my butt kicked."

"Wise man," Amanda smiled as he left. She watched as Mac and Mahleah returned to the table. Mahleah reached defiantly for her glass of wine.

MacLeod took her arm.

"Let go of me," she told him hotly. "I’m not your daughter, and you’re not my teacher any more. I’m an adult, and if I want to get drunk, I will."

"That’s fine," he told her. He ordered an expensive bottle of champagne. "Do you mind if I join you? He was my friend, too."

She stared at him with her mouth open and her eyes big. "Sure."

"I think I have some catching up to do. Amanda, weren’t you leaving?"

Amanda started to protest that she wanted to stay, but one look at MacLeod’s face convinced her otherwise. She rose and told them, "Bye-bye, kids. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do."

"Wow, that gives us some latitude," Mahleah laughed.

Several hours later found Mac and Mahleah back at the barge finishing off yet another bottle and gazing at the stars.

"I think Fitz would be rather proud of me tonight," Mahleah said.

"I suppose so," Mac said noncommittally.

"Fitz... Darius... I seem to be losing all of my old friends. Do you know that I beat Darius at a game of chess once?"

MacLeod sat up. "You didn’t!"

"I surely did. It was the year he died. I don’t know if he felt sorry for me, and let me win, or if he was distracted by all that Watcher business, but I won."

"Darius was not the sort to let you win, and even if he was distracted, if you beat him you did better than I ever did. Why didn’t you tell me?"

"I didn’t want you to feel bad. I knew you’d been trying to win a game for hundreds of years. Besides it just seemed like a nice little secret between the two of us."

"Well, at least you're a good winner."

"Speaking of secrets between friends, Fitz made a pass at me once."

"What?"

"Oh, he joked and teased me most of the time, but once he actually made a serious play for me."

"Why that dirty, conniving..."

She interrupted him, "I think he surprised himself, but wouldn’t back down until I told him no. Honestly, he was relieved because he said that if you ever found out you’d use his guts for garters."

"How old were you?"

"About eighteen, I think."

"Then, that’s the least I’d have done to him."

"Fitz said he could never quite figure out our relationship. Were you supposed to be my father? I said, no, I already had a father. The last time I saw him, he said that you were either my big brother, or my future lover, and the reason that he wasn’t sure which one, was because you weren’t sure either."

He was speechless.

"He must have been wrong, though," she continued. "Look at tonight, for example. Some men would have been trying to get this little black dress off of me, and most men would have enjoyed seeing me in it, but what do you do? You cover me up with your coat."

"I thought you were getting cold."

"Haven’t you ever heard of body heat? God, Duncan, do you find me that repugnant? Look at me," she threw off his coat. "Do you realize that the last time you told me I was pretty was when I was thirteen years old?"

He stared at her silhouetted against the stars with the moonlight reflecting off her hair and skin giving them a warm glow. "That’s because after the age of thirteen you weren’t pretty anymore."

Her face looked like he’d slapped her, and she started to walk away until she heard his next words. "You were beautiful and you’ve only grown more so with every year, mo nighean mhaiseach."

She turned back to him, and demanded, "Show me."

He was confused. "What do you mean?"

"You know the song from ‘My Fair Lady’ that Eliza Doolittle sings to Freddie, the beau who sings pretty things but never makes a move? That’s you. You’ve kissed me twice. The first time you were dreaming of someone else and the second time I practically coerced you. I’m telling you, as Eliza did, ‘show me now.’ I’d sing it, but I’d never hit those notes right now."

"Mahleah..."

She knelt down in front of him. "Do you want the truth, Mac? The truth is that Fitz wasn’t the only reason I got drunk tonight. Oh, he was the main reason, but there was an interior no, ulterior motive. Since that night with Kenneth, I’ve not been able to make love to a man. All he has to do is touch my thigh and I break out in a cold sweat: from fear not desire. I screamed and pulled away from a guy that tried to kiss my breasts through my clothes, and I hurt a guy who nibbled on my neck. The only person who has been able to successfully touch me in any kind of intimate way is you."

His mind was reeling from her words and the wine. "That’s just because you trust me, Mahleah. You know I’d never hurt you, that’s all."

She shook her head. "I tried to delude myself into believing that, too, but it’s only a partial truth. Anne made me face reality; I’m in love with you Duncan, and after my brush with death, my mind and body reject anything casual or unreal. They only want one man: you."

He was still trying to get a handle on the situation. "So why did you go out with this Tim guy?"

"Because he seemed nice enough, and I thought if I drank enough I’d be able to do it."

"Have sex with him?"

"Yes, but I know now it wouldn’t have worked. Duncan, I may be drunk, but I’m no longer a child, and I know exactly what I want. Maybe being smashed is the only way for me to have enough courage."

"Courage? To tell me that you love me? You’ve been telling me that since you were a very little girl."

"I told you that I loved you, not that I was in love with you. You can’t tell me that you’re completely repelled by me; we both know you’d be lying - your body proved that on those nights we slept together."

She took his hands in her own. "There’s nothing to stop us, Mac. Maybe I'm younger than you, but get real. That’s nothing new, and I’ve grown up in the world of Immortals. I know all your secrets; I know the realities of your life. Don’t fight it anymore. It was meant to be."

She raised one of his hands to her lips, and kissed it. The other she brought to her breast. He closed his eyes, and she leaned in and kissed him softly. He shuddered and his hand left her face going around her and encountering lots of bare skin in this back-less dress. As she leaned in to kiss him again, that hand ran lightly up and down her spine.

Now she shivered, and her lips opened. He could taste the wine she’d been drinking as he explored her mouth with his tongue. The taste reminded him of why they should not be doing this. She’d had far too much to drink and he wasn’t entirely steady himself. Such a drastic decision should be made when they were both sober. He’d feel like he’d taken advantage of her, and in the morning, she might too.

As if she sensed his thoughts, she pulled one of his hands downward and ran it up her thigh. She caressed herself with his fingers, and then placed them on the small scar left from her encounter with Kenneth.

He could feel her doing something else, but didn’t know what, until she broke the kiss and he opened his eyes. She had unfastened the neck of her dress, and let it fall.

He gazed at her full breasts amazed at the trust she placed in him. Her nipples had hardened from the night air, his gaze, or both. He also saw the other scar Kenneth had left on her body. It was larger than the one on her thigh and uglier as well. He couldn’t stand the idea that anyone could have looked at her lovely body and then done such horrible things to it.

She saw him looking at the scar and colored. She knew that the vampire’s mark marred her appearance, but hoped that Duncan wouldn’t mind.

He saw the embarrassment and shame in her eyes. "You’re still beautiful," he told her.

She smiled radiantly. "Show me," she whispered.

He pulled her to him, and kissed her passionately. This time when his lips left her mouth, they began to roam. From across her face, they traveled down her jaw line and touched her neck. She grew perfectly still and stopped breathing. He made sure that his teeth never touched her, just his lips and occasionally his tongue. He also talked to her, so she could remember that he was kissing her and not Kenneth. He used the occasional Celtic endearment, some familiar to her, and others not. He had made his way down her neck, raised his head far enough to murmur, "mhuirnin," and flicked his tongue at the hollow at the base of her throat, when she quivered. He heard her making soft, incoherent noises, and she’d thrown her head back, allowing him easier access.

He smiled in triumph and made his way down to increasingly greener pastures. Slowly but surely, he moved across the formerly wounded breast until he was at the source of the injury. He barely touched it with his tongue and her body convulsed under him. Glancing quickly up at her face, he saw her eyes were tightly closed, and her breathing was erratic. He traced her mouth with his thumb and she kissed it and pulled it between her lips.

Satisfied by her blissful expression that she was feeling pleasure, not pain, he continued his teasing of her nipple. When his mouth closed on it, and pulled it as taut as it would go, he could feel her fingernails clutch his back through his shirt.

He decided that it was time to take this little adventure below deck where a night-prowling Parisian would not get an eyeful. He slipped his arms beneath her and carried her to his bed. She pushed the rest of her dress off her body, and laid back against the pillows, dark eyes glowing, clad in only panties, stockings, and garter belt: all black.

"You did go all out tonight," he said softly, looking at the stockings and belt. "Too bad Tim didn’t get to see this."

"Tim, who?" she asked dreamily, and he chuckled.

"Nobody important, cariad." His hands were caressing her legs through her stockings and he unsnapped one from its garter. As his fingers pushed the silk down, his mouth followed the trail. He was rewarded for his pains by a small laugh and a sigh. He made his way to the other leg, caressing it through the stocking with fingers and lips until they reached bare flesh. Then his tongue darted out as he repeated the same maneuver as before. This time though there was no sound of breathless delight. He looked up and saw that Mahleah had finally had too much excitement for the night and passed out.

"Passed out?" Buffy was flabbergasted. "Possibly the most delicious night of your life, and you passed out?!"

"I’m afraid so," Mahleah told her calmly. "When I woke up the next morning, I felt terrible. All of the old clichés about having a hangover descended upon me like a ton of bricks. I was miserable and Mac didn’t make things any better. Just about anything he could do to make the situation worse, he did. It was a lesson I learned well: I do not mix with alcohol."

"Did you remember everything?"

"Most of it, with a few hazy spots. Neither of us mentioned how or why I woke up nearly naked in his bed."

"So you didn’t talk about it? Why?"

"I think we were too embarrassed. We both felt like we should have shown more self-control. He thought he’d taken advantage of me, and I thought I’d thrown myself at his head. We were both worried about how it would affect our friendship, and didn’t talk about it. I went back to finish my last semester of graduate school, and he stayed in Paris."

"So did you two ever finish getting it on? I’m dying to know."

"I thought you wanted to know what happened to Kalas?"

"I do. That’s the trouble with your story. For every question that gets answered three more pop up in its place."

"Well, Buffy, I promise, I’ll try to answer some of those questions today."

Both Mahleah and Buffy were tired of sitting in the floor, and getting rather hungry, so they moved to the kitchen where Mahleah fixed them some lunch. They sat down to eat at the kitchen table and Buffy prompted, "So, what about some of those answers you promised me. What happened to Kalas?"

"Well, as you may recall, Kalas was in prison."

"Yeah, Methos had him arrested."

"Well, with a little help from Amanda, he broke out."

"Amanda? Okay, please don’t tell me that Amanda was secretly Kalas’ love slave or something equally repulsive."

"Not at all. Amanda thought if she got Kalas out of jail and took his head she would be repaying Mac for all the things he’d done for her."

"Well, the thought was good but getting herself killed was not the way to go."

"He didn’t kill her, but he took her sword away from her, and she barely got away with her head intact."

"So he got away?"

"He got away. Duncan immediately began to look for him, but when the final confrontation came, it had a bit of a twist."

"What was that?"

"I’ll try to simplify a very complicated story by saying that Kalas came into possession of a disk that contained a complete dossier on Immortals: files and files of information - Watcher files, in fact. He told Duncan he would put the disk on the Internet if he weren’t allowed to take Mac's head. If something happened to him the information would still go out."

"Talk about a rock and a hard place. What did Mac do?"

"He fought Kalas on the top of the Eiffel Tower. Thankfully, Mac won, and as luck would have it, a thunderstorm came up. The Eiffel Tower is a giant lightening rod, and Kalas’ Quickening sent an enormous electrical surge throughout Paris. The surge blew up Kalas’ computer and destroyed the file."

"Wow, was Mac kissed by a leprechaun or something?" Buffy asked.

"It seemed like it that night."

"Were you there?"

"No. Amanda called to tell me that Mac was facing Kalas and might not come back. I spent many hours pacing the floor before I finally got the call that he was okay."

"Did it take that long?"

"Not exactly. After the fight, Amanda forgot she had called me. She, Mac, Methos, and Joe had a small celebration and then Methos and Joe left and Mac and Amanda had a small victory party of their own."

"Why that little witch! So, while she was reminding Duncan how it feels to be alive, you were left wondering if he was dead. That’s just wrong!"

"Duncan wasn’t too pleased with her. Apparently during some pillow chat, she finally remembered me and mentioned the telephone call to him. He immediately called to end my suspense."

"So, what happened next?"

"Nothing terribly exciting for a while. Duncan had adventures, but they’re not very important for this story. I graduated and found that although I had a degree in history what I really wanted to do was be on the stage. The acting bug had bitten hard, and so I tried my luck. I was luckier than most. Years before, Mac had set up a trust fund for me, so unlike many struggling artists, I had a very comfortable safety net."

"Did you ever do a movie?"

"No. I stuck to the stage and after I became Immortal, I was glad that I hadn’t been ‘discovered.’ For the time that I spent pursuing that life, I was rather successful. I managed to snag a few good parts, but all that was about to change. I was finishing a run as Eliza Doolittle in My Fair Lady when I got a call that changed my life."

"What happened?"

"This is where the story gets very serious, Buffy. Mac had encountered an old friend-an old Immortal friend -- who had been possessed by a dark Quickening. Mac had always believed that dark Quickenings were myths, but I had often wondered. Darius changed from a warrior general intent on conquering the world, into a man of peace by the Quickening of an immensely powerful good Immortal. It made sense to me, that if that powerful a Quickening could make an Immortal good, then a similarly powerful evil one could make an Immortal bad."

"Make an Immortal bad? How, if they weren’t leaning that way to begin with?"

"The theory goes that every soul can only handle so much evil before the good inside them is overwhelmed. Mac tried to help his friend, but to no avail. He was forced, reluctantly, to take his head, and that is when my own nightmare began. Joe called to tell me that Mac had walked into the dojo, fought with Richie, disarmed him, and was about to take his head when Joe shot him."

"He did what to who?"

"The evil had been passed on to Duncan. Joe told me that I would not have believed the change in him. I just wanted to know his location. Joe didn’t know and said that when the Watchers discovered anything, he would tell me. It took them a few weeks, but they eventually found him. He had made his way to Paris. He ran into trouble there, too, but I’m going to concentrate on my efforts to get him back. I took the first available flight to Paris with one small detour on the way, and met Methos for the first time…"

Joe had explained who Methos was, and under ordinary circumstances, Mahleah might have been uncomfortable around the ancient Immortal, but these were not ordinary times.

She could hardly trust her eyes when she saw Duncan. Methos had left her at a small church and went out to find the Highlander. When he brought him into the church, MacLeod was dead. Methos had not explained what happened except to say that he had not been the one to kill him.

She wanted to be right there with him when he revived, but Methos wouldn’t allow it. He sat her down in a shadowy nook and told her to watch. With horror she saw "Duncan MacLeod" arise and threaten to take Methos’ head although they were on holy ground. All Methos’ arguments were in vain. Unable to hide any longer, she stepped out saying, "Mac?"

MacLeod froze for a second and then turned to her with a grin. "Mahleah, sweetheart, what a surprise. What brings you to Paris?"

"I wanted to see you," she told him.

"Isn’t that sweet. Well, here I am, and I have to say that you look good enough to eat. Maybe I’ll just take a bite." He stepped toward her.

"Mac!" Her voice was nervous, and she stepped backwards.

"What, all this way without even a friendly kiss hello," he scolded, "Shame on you."

Bending forward, he grabbed her and bestowed a bruising kiss. She pulled away.

"You’re not Duncan," she gasped.

"Oh, but I am Duncan," he told her, "the new and improved version."

"I don’t find anything about you improved," she spat at him.

"Oh, now you’re lying. In the past, Duncan MacLeod was too chicken to lay a finger on you," he drew his fingers lightly up her arm. "Now, take me on the other hand, I’d like to screw you into next week."

She gasped with shock.

"Oh, don’t act like the innocent young virgin with me. We both know who stripped for whom this time last year. You wanted to seduce me, well, baby, I have no objections."

He started to bend his head to her again, but quickly raised it when she pushed a knifepoint under his chin. "Don’t touch me," she told him.

"Fine," he said, backing up, "I was just trying to give you what you’ve always wanted." He turned and walked out the church door.

There was a commotion outside, and she later learned that he had stolen a young man’s car, but now she didn’t care. Her brain was still trying to process what it had just witnessed. She sank down into a nearby chair. Methos had chased MacLeod outside, but he now returned and sat beside her. He was expecting tears, and told her so, but she surprised him.

"Mac taught me a long time ago that the time to cry is after the crisis is over. This is the time to act. There is a way to turn him back?" she demanded fiercely.

"I think so," he said.

"Tell me. I’ll do whatever it takes to get the real Duncan back. There’s no way I’m letting this fiend walking around with his face keep his body."

Methos looked at her appreciatively. "Joe said that you might be the only one able to get close to him--that no matter how evil he has become, he would implicitly trust you."

"Yeah, and we saw how well that theory worked in action."

"Yes, we did. He didn’t actually hurt you, and he didn’t even threaten to kill you like he’s done to all his other friends. Mahleah, you may be his last hope."

She sat for a moment letting that sink in. "Well, one way or another," she said finally, "evil can’t have him."

They waited until they heard from a Watcher where MacLeod was going, and they quickly followed. Mahleah was hopeful: the old friend that Mac was going to see was Sean Burns, who had been a psychiatrist for a very long time. If MacLeod was going to see him, he might be seeking help. Deep down in her heart she refused to accept that MacLeod could kill a friend. She was very wrong.

When she and Methos arrived, they could see MacLeod and Burns talking. Sean was trying to reason with the other Immortal, who seemed to be listening less and less. Suddenly, MacLeod pulled his sword. Mahleah gasped and jumped out of the car before it had completely stopped. Behind her she heard Methos cry out, "Mahleah, no!"

She went to him anyway. "Mac, don’t do this," she pleaded. "You know you don’t want to do this. There must be at least some small part of the old Duncan in you. Listen to him. This is wrong. Please put the sword down."

The katana wavered for a moment and MacLeod rubbed his temple. "Get away from here, Mahleah, if you don’t like what you see."

She moved in closer to him, her voice soft and pleading. "Duncan, please. This is Sean, your friend. You would never want to hurt him. Please, put down the sword."

The confusion in his face increased and the sword started to drop when he raised himself with a fury. There was a look of panic in his eyes. "I told you to get out of here," he snarled and his arm lashed out at her. She saw it coming too late and couldn’t prepare for it. The blow sent her flying backwards until her body impacted with something hard. A tree, she thought through a haze of pain. She thought she heard people screaming and then everything went black.

She opened her eyes, disoriented. Where was she? A wave of vertigo washed over her and every nerve in her body seemed to be tingling. What was wrong?

"It’s okay, Mahleah," she heard a familiar voice say. "You’re one of us now."

"Methos? What’s wrong with me? I feel so strange."

"There’s nothing wrong. You died and now you’re Immortal. What you’re feeling is the sense that another Immortal is nearby. You’ll get used to it in time."

"I’m Immortal?"

"Yes. Haven’t you ever wondered why MacLeod trained you for all those years? Surely it must have crossed your mind."

"Yeah, I’d thought about it, but in the end I decided that there wasn’t much point in dwelling on it. I had my life to live, mortal or Immortal, and taking unnecessary risks was stupid for either. Besides, I thought Duncan may have been training me because his very presence around me tended to attract danger, and he was trying to counterbalance the effect."

"Smart girl," he told her approvingly.

She looked at him sadly. "Then Duncan killed me?"

Methos nodded. "If it makes you feel any better, I don’t think he intended to do so. He seemed as shocked as the rest of us when you hit that tree."

"Sean?"

He avoided her eyes. "Dead, I’m afraid."

"No," her voice contained a sob.

"I think when he killed you, it made him angry and he retaliated against Sean. Mahleah, I’d understand if you wanted to go back to the States and let me try to handle this. You have a lot to lose by staying. He might take your head."

"He might," she said steadily. "How many times, though, could he have lost his head by doing something for me? I owe it to him to try to put things right, and if that’s impossible to end it."

"End it? Do you think you could kill him?"

"If I had to…yes."

"I’m not sure whether you’re extremely noble or extremely ruthless."

"I’m neither. I’m just repaying a debt."

"By killing the person you owe the debt to? That’s an interesting method of payment. Remind me not to loan you any money."

She scowled at him, "You know as well as I do, that Duncan would never want to live like this. He’d rather be dead than living an existence in which he could kill a friend."

"Are you sure you don’t want revenge?"

"Revenge for what, his knocking me into a tree?"

"He killed you, Mahleah."

"Not really, Methos. He made me Immortal, which is not the same thing. You said yourself that you don’t think he intended to do it, and realistically he didn’t. It wasn’t Duncan that killed me but all of the evil he has ever fought. So, I don’t blame him."

"You might feel differently later."

"I might," she admitted, "but right now what is important is trying to save Duncan’s soul."

When they next heard news it was hopeful: Duncan had gone to Darius’ chapel. They were also told that before proceeding there, he had gone to the barge and, from the commotion the Watchers had overheard, he had apparently trashed the place. When they got to the chapel, Methos went in first to determine MacLeod’s mood. Mahleah waited as long as she could, and then she followed.

They, of course, sensed her coming in. She wondered if she would ever get used to that feeling. When she walked up to him, MacLeod visibly recoiled.

"Haven’t you had enough of me?" he demanded. "Or are your pretty little girl ideals blocking you from seeing that I could kill you?"

"You could," she said calmly. "But you won’t."

"Don’t be too sure," he told her. "Would you have ever thought that I could kill you, or take Sean Burns’ head? I don’t think so."

"I don’t think that the part of you that did those things is in complete control. When you hit me, it was because the real you, the good side of you, was afraid that your bad side would hurt me. So, you put a little more force into the blow than you intended. When you realized what you had done, the good side was so horrified that it lost its meager grip on the evil and the evil killed Sean."

"Romantic fantasy," he scoffed, but she could see uncertainty in his eyes.

"It’s not a fantasy. Why did you come here? This is Darius’ place. You’ve always trusted him to show you the way. Maybe you haven’t always followed his path, but you respected it, and you know he would never tell you something evil. There is still good inside you Duncan, you just have to trust it and let us help you."

Duncan had already given his sword to Methos, which was a good sign that he was listening. "Tell me, Duncan, cariad, how long do you think you can live like this? Every moment would be a nightmare where you relive the moment you killed two of your closest friends and wonder what new evil you’re capable of committing. What do you have to lose? Come with us."

She held out her hand to him, and slowly, hesitatingly he took it. She grasped it firmly in her own and told him, "We’ll help you, Duncan, I swear it."

"One way or another," he told her. "One way or another this has to end."

They went to Methos’ car and drove away. Methos drove them to a place where a holy spring was hidden. When they arrived and Methos explained to MacLeod why they were there, the evil tried to take over again. He threatened Methos one last time and Methos beckoned Mahleah to pull out an object from the back seat of the car. He told MacLeod to take it-Duncan’s father’s claymore, that Mahleah had convinced a young woman by the name of Rachel MacLeod would save Duncan’s life if she brought it to Paris from Glenfinnan, Scotland.

They both reminded the confused Immortal of who he really was: Duncan MacLeod of the clan MacLeod -- a man raised to be the leader of his people, a good man who never fled from his responsibilities and always did his duty, a man of honor and integrity from a time when those words meant everything.

Mahleah looked at him, "Remember, mo saighdear-bàrd, remember who you are. Remember why we love you so much, and why I, at least, will fight with my last breath for the chance to restore the man I know you to be."

He visibly softened listening to her and then a look of determination grew in his eyes. Mahleah sighed with relief. He would try the cure.

They lowered him down to the spring still clutching the claymore. He walked to meet his destiny and didn’t realize that Mahleah had followed him. She clutched his katana in her hands knowing that if the spring did not work she would have to use the sword to kill him. Methos had told her that her newborn status as an Immortal might offer her some protection from the dark Quickening since she had yet to absorb any evil. But, he also pointed out, she might also, for the same reason, be powerless to resist such overwhelming evil. They hoped she wouldn’t have to find out.

Mac waded into the spring and she thought that she could hear Sean Burns’ voice speaking to him… telling him that he was stronger than all the evil he had fought and he should summon his strength and the strength of all those who had loved him. As she stood there, she was suddenly seeing two frames of existence: one where Duncan stood in the water and another in which he fragmented into two separate beings. One was the Duncan she knew and loved, the other was the thing that had taunted her and killed Sean. Her Duncan carried the MacLeod claymore and the other his katana. They fought and Mahleah’s trained eye could see how difficult it was going to be for the good side to win. Tactically speaking, he had a great disadvantage with the claymore. It was a much larger weapon, and nearly impossible to wield next to the lighter, faster katana in the hands of someone who was expert in its use, but also knew in intimate detail the way his opponent fought.

The evil MacLeod taunted him at every step, and made references to the havoc he had created. Duncan groaned with sorrow and called out to both Sean and Mahleah, apologizing to them.

She heard Sean’s voice reassuring his friend that he was not responsible for his death, and she added her own voice, "You didn’t hurt me, Duncan, you made me stronger. Use that strength now, it’s yours, take it."

The evil MacLeod increased his verbal torments telling Duncan in obscene detail what he planned to do to Mahleah when Duncan was gone forever. He described Duncan as nothing, and Duncan seemed to find strength from that. "I am Duncan MacLeod of the clan MacLeod," he declared, and fought back viciously.

It seemed to Mahleah that she could see faces in the air watching the fight: faces of people she knew and people she didn’t, but that she could put a name to Tessa; Darius; Fitzcairn; Joe; Richie; Amanda; Mary MacLeod, his mother; Debra Campbell, his first love; May-ling Soon, a teacher and lover. She wondered if she was imagining them, but decided it didn’t matter. Literally or figuratively, all these people’s love was here for this man.

In a moment, it was over; Duncan disarmed his opponent and delivered the fatal blow. Mahleah blinked. She was back to seeing one reality and Duncan was receiving a Quickening of healing rain.

She realized that her own eyes were wet and wiped her face hastily on her sleeve. She realized that Methos was behind her. They stepped toward their friend. Mahleah gave Methos the katana and reached a hand out to Mac. He slowly took it and she helped him out of the spring. Methos returned his katana to him and without another word, they left.

When they reached the barge, Mahleah stared in amazement. It looked as though a cyclone had swept through. Shelves were turned over, pictures were thrown across the room, and glass crunched under her feet. She looked at Mac questioningly.

"I told you I wasn’t myself," he said sheepishly. "I looked around at all this stuff and it meant nothing to me."

"So you trashed it," Methos said, stating the obvious.

As the men began picking up the shelves, Mahleah got a broom and began sweeping up the glass. When she finished that, she began returning objects to their proper places, and checking them for damage. She found a picture lying face down and picked it up. It was a photograph of her and Mac taken when she was sixteen. She remembered the occasion plainly. It was the first time they had seen each other since he’d left on her birthday, and her face plainly showed the joy she felt in seeing him again.

She ran her fingers across it absently, lost in the past, and didn’t notice that a corner of the glass was broken. When her hand touched it, the broken glass moved, and cut one of her fingers deeply.

Duncan heard her exclamation of surprise and pain, and came over. "Let me see," he told her.

She wordlessly held out her hand to him. Blood had fallen on the picture.

"Don’t panic," they heard Methos laugh. "It’s not like she’s going to have a scar."

Startled, Mahleah looked at her finger and watched as the wound disappeared. She looked up and saw grief etched deeply into Duncan’s eyes. She took her free hand and caressed his face. "It’s not your fault, Mac. Besides I’m not dead, I’m Immortal. I’m in the Game now, but I’m ready for it, thanks to you. You have nothing to reproach yourself with."

"I’d hoped you’d at least have a few more years before it was your time," he told her.

Methos rolled his eyes. "I sense I’m in the way." No one responded, so he added, "Right, well, I’m going now."

Neither Mahleah nor MacLeod noticed that he had left. MacLeod still had her right hand, "Mahleah, I…"

"Shut up," she told him. "Don’t say another word." She kissed him gently at first, just tasting his lips, but heat blazed up quickly between them, and the softness of her touch was lost in something wilder and more demanding. His tongue plundered her mouth fiercely, but she wasn’t pulling away. The kiss continued until she was breathless. The part of her mind that was still thinking was amazed. Duncan had never touched her like this before – he’d always been gentle, even tentative on the few occasions he’d responded to her romantically, but now she was experiencing something more passionate, almost primal. She moaned.

His hair was loose around his face and she buried her fingers in its softness, forcing him into her as he tugged her own hair free from the clasp she had hastily pulled it back with earlier in the day. It tumbled down her shoulders and back and he lost himself in its clean scent and silky texture, nuzzling her neck and ears.

"God," he thought, "how does she always manage to smell like peaches?"

Her hands were busily unbuttoning his shirt and roaming across his chest. She lightly licked his throat. He tasted different. She paused, a little puzzled. She experimented again. Yes, there was definitely a change in the way he tasted. It wasn’t sweat. It wasn’t soap, but she couldn’t think of anything really to compare it to. She continued her explorations, fascinated. It was like the essence of the man was right there on his skin and all the strength, passion, stubbornness, loyalty, and humor that made up Duncan MacLeod was tantalizing her tongue. It was incredibly erotic. It must be the holy spring, she decided ironically and then lost rational thought.

His hands had found the bottom of her light sweater and ran underneath it, caressing her bare skin. She stopped her activities and raised her arms so that he could remove the sweater. Taking no chances that he might want to stop, her fingers were unbuttoning his pants, while his skillfully did away with her bra. Her skin was now perfect, clear with no scars. He gave a groan at this further evidence of her Immortality, but even that didn’t slow him down as he lost himself in her body.

His lips were tracing the outlines of her breasts and found her nipple just as her fingers pushed their way down the front of his trousers. They both drew in their breath. She pushed his pants off his hips and his briefs with them. She stepped in closer to him to kiss his mouth again while her jeans rubbed against his lower body, and her breasts pressed against his chest. He shuddered and quickly returned the favor of ridding her of unwanted articles of clothing. Then, his lips never leaving hers, he picked her up one arm around her back and one firmly on her rear. Her legs wrapped themselves around his body and he stumbled toward the bed.

Mahleah fell asleep with her head on his chest, listening to the steady sound of his heartbeat. At that moment, she had felt like she had everything that she could possibly want in the world.

When she awoke, Duncan was already up and dressed. She smiled and reached out for him, but he evaded her embrace and handed her a steaming cup of liquid.

"Hot chocolate," he told her.

"You know I can’t have chocolate," she started to say, and then she realized.

"You can now," he confirmed.

She grinned in anticipation and took a sip. When she looked at him again though, her heart sank. "What’s wrong, Mac?"

He avoided her eyes. "Mahleah, mhuirnin, please don’t take this the wrong way, but last night…"

"Was wonderful," she interrupted, but he went on, determined to have his say.

"It was a mistake," he told her plainly, but gently.

"What?" She couldn’t believe her ears.

"I’m sorry, it was a mistake. It should never have happened. Sometimes after experiencing life-shattering events, you do things you would never do under normal circumstances. I took advantage of you, which is unforgivable."

"Took advantage? Mac, are you remembering things the way they actually happened? If anything I took advantage of you, or," seeing the look on his face, "we took advantage of each other, but in case you’d forgotten, I was willing. There was no force or coercion involved. I wanted to make love to you."

"Maybe, but it’s not the point. Last night was the wrong time for us to take such a drastic step. The events of the past few days have been dramatic enough without completely redefining our relationship."

"Mac, what are you talking about? I told you a year ago that I love you. What’s the big deal? We just took the next logical step forward."

"Mahleah," he said as gently as he could, "last night was about life choosing life. After the experiences we’ve had, we wanted to be reminded that we were alive. There’s nothing wrong with that, but it doesn’t have any deep meaning to it. That’s why I say it was a mistake. You deserve better than that, and more from me. Unfortunately, I don’t know if I’m capable of it at the moment."

She stared at him with such a hurt expression that he mentally kicked himself for being so clumsy with words.

"After what we’ve been through, we need to rediscover who we are." He started to say, but she had heard enough.

While he was talking, she had been pulling on her clothes from the day before. She began blocking out his words, grabbed her coat, and ran for the door. He tried to stop her, but she was too fast. He stood on the deck of the barge with a heavy heart, cursing himself for a fool, as she ran away as fast as she could.

"Oh my God!" Buffy exclaimed. "That’s terrible. Why did he do that?"

Mahleah gave a little, wistful sigh. It was strange how such an old memory was still so bittersweet. "Because he was right in many ways. He knew how I felt about him, but he also knew that he was more than a little confused about who he was. Was he still the same person? He had killed me and taken Sean’s head. He had to deal with the consequences of those actions, and until he had, and I had dealt with the fact that my life would never be the same again, we did not need to begin a romantic relationship. From that point of view, the night before had been a mistake. Ironically, in trying to save our friendship, he almost ended it."

"Do you think it was a mistake?"

"In hindsight, actually, I don’t. I think that spending the night with Duncan was what I needed to feel like the world was still semi-normal. As he said, we needed to reestablish the fact that we were among the living and so, no, I don’t regret that night. With the clarity of many years' experience I can also say that I don’t regret the morning after."

"What did you do?"

"As you might imagine, I didn’t see things that way then. I felt hurt and betrayed in a way I’d never felt before. When I left the barge, I went to the hotel room I had gotten for myself before Mac was cured and left France as soon as possible. Actually, I went back home to the mountains for a time to recover my strength, and as he put it ‘rediscover’ who I was."

"As I’m rediscovering who I am," Buffy said softly.

Privately, Mahleah guessed that Buffy was, in truth, just discovering whom she was when her world turned upside down. She kept the thought to herself though, not wanting to seem condescending, recognizing the emotions the troubled girl was confronting. She let Buffy talk, and the words poured out of her in a flood.

"I’m not the same person that I used to be. There's nothing like killing your lover to make sure of that. You know I once told Angel that I never thought about the future; it didn’t concern me because he was all I wanted. Now all I see is the future, and without Angel, it looks cold. I mean, I fight and fight and fight; where does it get me--to a future where I can fight some more. It’s an endless, vicious circle. At least when I was with Angel I had something else in my life than fighting. I had a reason to win. After he lost his soul, though…" her voice quivered.

Mahleah remained silent and looked steadily at Buffy with comforting, judgment-free eyes.

Buffy drew a breath and went on. "It was the night of my seventeenth birthday. The gang had arranged a surprise party for me, but it turned out that the surprise was on them. Spike and Drusilla, the local head vamps, were trying to put a demon called the Judge back together again. It was said that no weapon forged could destroy him, so people in the past had chopped him into bits. Spike and Drusilla were putting Humpty Dumpty together again. We found the last piece, but Spike’s minions stole it from us, and when Angel and I went to investigate, we found that the Judge was back in one piece and eager to burn people. We barely escaped."

Buffy began to pace, as she became lost in her memories. "We made it to Angel’s place, drenched to the skin. He gave me some of his things to change into. He turned his back to give me some privacy, and I was pulling off my wet shirt when I felt the sting of a fresh cut. He heard my little hiss of pain and asked if he could see it. The cut had closed already, but at that point, it was unimportant. We were majorly wigged because we’d nearly lost each other. I remember he hesitated for a moment, saying maybe we shouldn’t, but I told him to shut up and kiss me. Famous last words," she chuckled with disgust. "Isn’t it amazing, Mahleah, how the day after the most wonderful night of your life is absolutely nothing like you’d thought it would be?"

"Yes," Mahleah quietly agreed.

"We both expected to wake up in the arms of the men we loved. Instead, yours was dressed and telling you what a mistake the two of you made the night before, and mine … well, I wish that had been all I’d had to deal with. At least you don’t have the guilt of knowing that having sex with Mac made him lose his soul. When I woke up, Angel was gone without a word or a note, nothing. When I finally found him again … I can never forget the horrible things he said."

"What?"

Buffy looked at her and shrugged, "I guess you can appreciate them more than most considering what Mac said to you during the Dark Quickening deal. He asked me if I’d thought he really wanted to stick around afterwards. He said that I had a lot to learn about men, and had proven that the night before. I asked him I was the problem, if I wasn’t good, and he chuckled and told me that sure I’d acted like a real pro. When I acted hurt, he said that it wasn’t a big deal. I protested that it was and he informed me it wasn’t like he’d never been there before. I pulled away from him and he said that he should have known that I couldn’t handle it. He told me he’d call me and walked out. The next time I saw him he was trying to kill Willow."

Mahleah sat still in empathetic silence, her eyes wet at the pain this girl had been through.

"So I know exactly what you felt like, Mahleah: facing the love of your life and seeing nothing but pure evil in his eyes. The only trace left of the man that you knew is his body, and you stand there wondering if you have enough guts to kill him. Only, I did, you see. But not before he killed one of my classmates and turned her into a vampire, terrified my mother and all of my friends, and made Giles’ life a living hell by first killing the woman he loved and then by physically torturing him. Giles has never gone into details about what Angelus did to him, but he doesn’t have to, the signs are all over him.

"You know, I think it took Jenny’s death, the teacher Giles was in love with, to make me realize just how truly depraved Angelus was, and that Angel was truly gone. Did Giles ever tell you how he found Jenny?"

Mahleah shook her head.

"He arrived home to find the lights dim and candles lit, romantic opera playing and a bottle of champagne on ice next to a note that read ‘upstairs.’ He took off his glasses, picked up the champagne and two wineglasses, and made his way up stairs covered in rose petals. He got to the door of his bedroom and could see Jenny lying on his bed - dead."

"Oh, Rupert," Mahleah exclaimed sadly.

"Yeah," Buffy went on heartlessly. "My lover killed her - broke her neck-because she had discovered the curse that could have restored his soul. He murdered her, rather than return to being the man he was before."

Mahleah went to Buffy with a face wet with tears, and enveloped the girl in a warm protective hug. Buffy herself broke down and began sobbing quietly at first, but then with great racking sobs of pain, guilt, and loss.

When the Slayer’s tears seemed to be slowing, Mahleah stroked her hair and said, "Enough. We’ve dwelt too long in the past lately. It’s time to move forward. The future may be frightening, Buffy, but it also holds the promise of hope. Never allow yourself to lose your hope, mo nighean bhan, because it will see you through many a desolate situation."

"How do you do it, Mahleah?" Buffy sniffed. "How do you keep going? Somehow, I know you’ve been through a lot more pain than you’ve told me. How do you stand it?"

"I fight for a better future," Mahleah said simply. "It’s the true Game I’m playing. On the day that I have no more hope, and I stop fighting for a better tomorrow, I’ve lost. I don’t know about you, but I don’t like losing."

"No," Buffy smiled briefly. "I don’t either."

"I didn’t think so. You see, Buffy, like me you’re strong and you’re a fighter. And like me, at least after Kenneth attacked me, you’ve misplaced your strength. Trust me, it’s still there. It will always be there when you need it, and I’m going to help you find it again."

She gave the girl a fierce squeeze and then asked, "Do you know how to use a sword?"

Buffy swallowed and stepping back began wiping her face. "Yes, Giles and I have practiced some, and that’s how I killed Ang-"

"Never mind him," Mahleah quickly interrupted, "and with no disrespect intended toward Rupert, I think I can teach you a bit more than he can about sword fighting. Would you like to learn?"

Buffy stared at her, lost in thought for a moment. Mahleah knew she was remembering Angel’s death, so she spoke quickly, "I'm asking because I want to be sure that if you ever come up against an evil Immortal you’ll be prepared. The sword’s not a bad weapon for slaying, either. It will kill a vampire just as well as anything else and handily dispatches those pesky monsters that are impervious to stakes. What do you say?"

"Okay," Buffy had pulled herself together again. "When do we start?"

"There’s no time like the present," Mahleah said cheerfully and led Buffy back into the large room they had worked out in previously. Going to the wall where an entire set of samurai swords hung, she began by introducing Buffy to every one of the weapons.

After Buffy left, Mahleah walked into her bedroom and picked up the picture of MacLeod. Talking to the girl had reminded the Immortal of that extremely painful time in her own life when she was extremely unsure of herself and it showed in her relationships with other people.

"How did you ever put up with me?" she asked the photograph. Even after all the time that had passed, she could still picture herself in a confused state of pain and anger. Her emotions had lashed out at all the people closest to her with a bitterness she winced to recall.

When Mahleah walked into Joe’s, he grinned widely.

"Merry Christmas!" he greeted warmly, then drew back. "This is a new look for you."

She nervously fingered her new chin-length bob. "Yeah, a new look for a new me."

"I like it," he pronounced. "It’ll take some getting used to, but it suits you." He paused, "You know, I thought you might be headed this way."

"Why?" She asked him, puzzled.

He gestured to the man sitting in front of him. "Meet Vernon, your Watcher."

"Joe," the man protested, revealing a refined English accent. Vernon was middle aged with thick, graying hair and light blue eyes. He looked at his fellow Watcher disapprovingly.

"It’s okay, Vernon. Mahleah knows about the Watchers and has known about us since before she became Immortal. You of all people should see that she’s no threat. I promised Mahleah that she would be introduced to whoever got her assignment. Besides, Vernon, Mahleah should have a treat for us historians. Isn’t that right?"

She looked at him confused.

"You said you’d let me see Tora the next time we met. After all, you have to keep it nearby these days. You do have it on you, don’t you?" he demanded.

"Relax, Joe," she told him. "Of course I have her." Reaching into her coat she pulled it out and handed it to him.

He took it gingerly, and held it out to Vernon, who gazed at it reverently.

"Okay, why do you guys look like you’ve seen the Holy Grail?" she asked.

Joe chuckled. "Did Mac ever tell you the history of this blade?"

"Yes, and I can understand wanting to see her under those circumstances but why do I get the feeling that there’s something I don’t know?"

"Because you’re wise beyond your years," he responded. "Do you want to explain to her, or shall I?"

Vernon frowned. "You’re better at telling stories, you do it."

"Well, you know more about it than I do."

"Gentlemen, gentlemen, please…Joe can tell me and Vernon you can fill in the blanks. Now, what’s the big deal?"

"Has MacLeod ever told you anything about The Actor?"

"Which actor?"

"I guess not. The Actor is the name that has been affectionately bestowed upon a mysterious Immortal that no one seems to know very much about. He or she…"

"He or she?" she questioned bemusedly. "You don’t even know if it’s a man or a woman? I thought the Watchers were a little more resourceful than that."

"He or she," Joe repeated firmly, "has been popping up in our records since the Bronze Age. As the nickname implies, many reports place him or her at a theater. In fact, one of the most interesting rumors says that The Actor performed at The Globe in many of Shakespeare’s finest plays. I have to admit that's one of my favorite myths, but it also perfectly demonstrates the gender problem. As you already know, during the Renaissance, female roles were played by male performers, so this particular Immortal grew proficient at disguising his identity as a woman."

"So you think The Actor was a man?"

"Not necessarily. It could have been a woman pretending to be a man in order to be permitted on the stage."

"Not likely," Vernon snorted.

"What, you don’t think a woman could pull it off?" Mahleah inquired with a fiery spark in her eye.

"I didn’t say that," Vernon hastily amended. "I know the time period well and if a woman had been caught doing such a thing, she would probably have ended up in jail and the theatre would have been closed."

"I don’t know," Mahleah argued, her Feminist nature and the weight of her new Master’s degree impelling her to fight. "That’s presuming she was caught. Besides, I think Elizabeth would have been amused."

"Perhaps," Vernon agreed. "But she would not have challenged the norms of her society by allowing such a scandal. No, I fear that particular theory would make a fascinating play on its own, but real life would have been quite different."

"But look at the plays themselves," Joe pointed out. "How many times does Shakespeare have a female character pretend to be male. It’s a recurring theme."

"Brought about," his opponent agreed, "by the fact that men were cross-dressing in the plays and Shakespeare, no doubt, found reversing the role in the context of the plays intriguing."

"But just suppose he wrote those parts knowing they would actually be played by a woman. Think about it. Surely, Shakespeare of all people would be the most likely to accept such a thing. It would even have inspired him."

"No," the steadfast Vernon disagreed, "as I said, a great play or even a movie but not likely to happen in the real world. I’m afraid The Actor is, or was, a man."

"There are other Watchers who agree with you," Joe told Mahleah, "as well as some who believe as Vernon does."

"Why is there such a big mystery?" Mahleah demanded.

"Because The Actor pops up again and again, one time as a man and the next as a woman."

"Maybe it wasn’t the same person."

"Each Incarnation possessed a few qualities in common with the others: extraordinary acting ability, strong singing voice, the same height, and one other thing: a tiger headed katana."

"Tiger headed katana?" Mahleah was eager to hear more.

"Yes, all of the chronicles mention it - a katana with an ivory handle carved into the shape of a crouching tiger."

"Tora?" she gestured to the weapon lying on the bar.

"No, your sword’s history has been well documented in the chronicles. It’s not old enough to be The Actor’s katana; also, reports say that there are stones set in the handle for eyes. There is some disagreement on what kind of stones. Some have said onyx, others tiger-eyes. Still others swear to have seen rubies. It’s possible, I suppose that they could have been replaced during the years."

He gestured to the weapon on the bar. "No stones."

The telephone rang and Bill, the assistant bar keeper answered it. "Hey Joe," he called. "It’s for you - Amanda."

Mahleah froze. Joe went to the phone, and spoke for a minute and then returned. She inquired about the Immortal thief.

"She’s in Paris," he informed her. He looked at her grim face and after a brief hesitation asked, "So, you and Duncan aren’t speaking yet?"

"Yes and no. We’ve spoken through an intermediary - my father. He’s been talking to Dad, who relays all his messages and reports back that I have nothing to say."

"Yet you’re here," Joe pointed out.

She scowled. "I had to leave. I didn’t want to drag Dad into the Game, and besides I couldn’t take anymore of that simpering, overdressed baby-doll he married."

"Belinda?"

"Belinda?" she mockingly echoed. "Of course, Belinda. How many new child brides does my father have?"

"How can you call her a child when she’d older than you?"

"Barely," she muttered. "Anyway, I couldn’t stand the thought of spending Christmas with her. So, I headed west." She shrugged. "My old roommate Diana invited me to spend the holidays with her, but I thought I’d drop by and see you first."

"I’m glad you did," Joe said. "Still, you should stick around. It’s been a while since you’ve sung for me. Please, give me two nights."

"Two?"

"Yeah, we need some rehearsal time, and then you can blow the house away. I’ll even let you sing rock instead of blues."

"You’re setting me up, aren’t you?" she was suspicious. "You’re going to have Mac here."

He conceded the point with grace, "I intend to tell him, yes. It will be up to him to come and you to talk. C’mon, do it, if for no other reason than to blow off some steam. You can do some angry woman songs and vent a little frustration."

"Okay," she finally, reluctantly, agreed.

Ironically, when MacLeod walked into the bar the following evening, Mahleah wasn’t performing one of the more strident songs she’d opened with. Instead, she was in the middle of the bittersweet U2 ballad, "One." Just before she sang the line, "Have you come here for forgiveness/Have you come to raise the dead," she felt him enter the room.

Richie had arrived earlier and Mahleah had been surprised that the Highlander wasn’t with him. Duncan’s presence made the song even more poignant than she had anticipated. She felt very vulnerable and so, decided to go on the offensive.

When "One" ended, she sat down at the piano and began playing the opening chords to the Tori Amos song, "Precious Things." Inwardly, she gloated when Duncan winced at her vicious rendering of the line, "So you can make me come, that doesn’t make you Jesus." She ran straight from that song to another Amos tune, "Girl." That one was meant as much for her as for him since she felt that, "she’s been everybody else’s girl, maybe someday she’ll be her own."

To drive the point home, she stood up and signaled the band, for its last song to play Alanis Morisette’s "You Oughta Know." Joe sighed. He hadn’t wanted to do this one, but he went along with her request.

She belted out the song with feral intensity, her eyes gleaming. She had long ago discarded her jacket, and stood under the lights in a tank top, her bare arms gleaming. When she hit the line, "Every time I scratch my nails down someone else’s back, I hope you feel it, oh can you feel it," she ran her fingernails roughly down her arms, drawing blood. The audience murmured a little and she smiled inwardly in triumph. Finished, she left the small stage and pulled on her jacket so that no one would see how quickly her arms would heal.

MacLeod walked up to her. "Great show," he said and then added, "Interesting finale."

"What, didn’t you like it?" she inquired mockingly. "A little too angry for your taste?"

"No," he answered evenly. "You were allowing yourself to express a bit of the rage you’ve been keeping inside you. I like that a great deal."

"Rage?" she shot back. "Why would I be feeling any rage?"

He kept silent and waited for the inevitable outpouring. "My father finally manages to quit drinking himself into oblivion over the death of my mother just in time to marry a woman literally half his age and little more than a year older than I am. His new bride is overly anxious to become my new best friend. My old best friend is racked with guilt because he threw me into a tree, making me Immortal, and then, horror of horrors, he slept with me, the monster! Not being able to live with the knowledge of this horrible act, he immediately disavowed any emotional involvement, which of course wiped away all the guilt. On top of it all, I now have people coming out of nowhere wanting to cut my head off. Now, why should any of this make me feel any rage?"

"Unfortunately, the Immortals will keep appearing. You’re in The Game now, and even though I don’t like it either, we’re both just going to have to accept it."

"Accept it, huh? Is that all you have to say about any of this mess?"

He sighed. "Well, Mahleah, don’t you think that you’re the last person that should find fault with Belinda for falling in love with a man twice her age? After all, I’m over sixteen times older than you are. How close to my age should the women I date be? Five years, ten years…there aren’t many around that old. Well, how about a century, that would still make her 300. Are you starting to see my point? I’ve found that within limits, age is immaterial to two people who are in love and well suited in other ways."

"Which brings things back to us," she countered.

"It does," he agreed. "So, should we go through the past pointing out where we both messed up? It would be rather pointless don’t you think? We both overreacted. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry I hurt you. It was the last thing I wanted to do, but unfortunately I was rather confused at that moment myself."

"It was a big step," she stated. "It changed everything forever."

"Did it? Am I no longer your best friend, then?"

She hesitated, "Yes."

"Well, then, not everything is eternally altered is it?"

"I guess not if you look at it that way."

"Good," he approved with a twinkle in his eye. "So, we’ll close this incident for now, by saying that I’m sorry for hurting you and I owe you one. I promise someday I’ll make it up to you."

"Make it up to me how?" she inquired.

"I’m sure you’ll think of something."

"Oh, indeed, I will. I think I’ll teach you to say thank you properly for my forgiving you."

"I know how to say thank you now."

"Ah, you haven’t seen Desperado have you? You’ve got a surprise in store for you."

"A pleasant surprise?"

"Very pleasant," she informed him. "One could even say pleasurable."

"I look forward to it," he said seriously and pulled her into a hug.

Mahleah stared at the picture clutching the frame so tightly it was leaving indentations on her skin.

"Maybe someday, mo chride, my heart," she promised. "Someday."

Buffy was excited. The last four days had flown by. Between her lessons with Mahleah, preparations for Giles’ birthday party and her Slayer duties, she had kept herself busy. There hadn’t been time to fume at Principal Snyder’s continued refusal to readmit her to school or any of her other problems, including mourning for Angel. Even her dreams had been Angel-free -- a blessing she hoped would continue.

Giles had hinted to Buffy that while spending so much time with Mahleah, the Slayer should try to absorb more than battle techniques. Buffy had seen the wisdom in such advice and confided in the Immortal her fear that she would be return to school, and find herself so far behind her classmates that she would fail her senior year. Mahleah was sympathetic and so, after their workouts every evening, she worked with Buffy in various academic subjects as well. Buffy rapidly found that Mahleah was an excellent teacher. Concepts that Buffy had struggled to make sense of under other instructors’ tutelage made sense after Mahleah explained them. Even history, a subject that Buffy had almost given up on was, suddenly and incredibly, made interesting.

Mahleah merely shrugged if Buffy made a comment upon her skills, and dismissed them by saying that she had lived longer and seen more than Buffy’s previous teachers had. Buffy knew there was truth in that idea - history became much more intriguing when you could talk to someone who had been there, done that, and known famous people from then - but she suspected that Mahleah was a natural teacher.

Right now Mahleah was making her read Macbeth. She knew that her senior English class was reading it, too, but doubted that at Sunnydale High the play had been half as exciting.

Thinking of Mahleah’s extraordinary acting talents made Buffy remember with a shiver of anticipation that her new teacher had agreed to sing at the party tonight, which definitely held the promise to be memorable.

Listening to Mahleah’s stories of the past, as well as snatches of conversations between the Immortal and Giles whenever they played chess made Buffy think that there was much more to Mahleah’s story than she had been told. For now, Buffy was content to wait until her friend was ready to tell her more.

She sighed and looked over her party decorations. She hoped that everything would appeal to the conservative Englishman. She heard the doorbell ring and knew her guests were arriving. She had kept the party simple: herself, her mother, Willow, Oz, Xander, Cordelia, Mahleah, and the guest of honor.

Mahleah was the first to arrive, and looked stunning. Buffy had always seen the Immortal dressed either casually or professionally. Now the older woman had attired herself for dramatic impact. Her long hair was swept up in an elaborate coiffure, involving a large braid at the back of her head. Pearl and diamond earrings dangled from her ears. She wore a long, black velvet cloak with a silver satin lining. When Buffy offered to hang it up, she was warned to be careful and after feeling the heavy katana-shaped bulge inside, she knew why.

"Don’t you ever go anywhere without this thing, Mahleah?" she asked.

"An Immortal without a sword, quickly becomes an Immortal without a head," Mahleah responded.

Under the cloak she wore more black velvet - a full-length evening gown that plunged into a v both in the front and behind, revealing more back than cleavage. Buffy liked it.

"Simple, elegant, and dramatic," she pronounced.

Mahleah smiled, "I’m so glad you approve." She adjusted the folds of her skirt, making sure that the ride had not crushed it when Buffy gave a low, appreciative whistle.

"Wow, where did you pick that up?"

"That" was a multi-stranded pearl bracelet with a diamond clasp that Mahleah was wearing on her left wrist.

"Oh, this is just something I acquired from an admirer of my theatrical talents," Mahleah laughed. "It’s Victorian."

"It’s gorgeous," Buffy stated flatly.

"I’ve always thought so."

The doorbell rang again and Buffy left Mahleah to admit first her friends and then a few minutes later, her mother, delivering the birthday boy. They yelled, "surprise," sang Happy Birthday and the party proceeded.

Buffy noticed that Mahleah was extremely meticulous about what she was eating. She’d warned her mother that Mahleah would be careful not to eat or drink anything that could cut off her wind as she was singing. Joyce had made hot tea flavored with lemon, just for the singer and while Giles opened his gifts, she sipped it.

Buffy was proud that though Giles protested that he liked all of his gifts, he kept returning to the chess set she and her mom had bought him. She was glad that her mom had not only helped her look for the set, but had helped her pay for it because the set that had pleased them the most was antique and expensive.

With the packages unwrapped, the guests and hosts cut themselves another slice of Birthday cake and retired to the living room to hear Mahleah. She had, apologetically, left them a little earlier, to finish warming up her throat and they had heard the sounds of scales being practiced.

She began by once more singing "The Love of My Life", and followed it with the other piece sung by the same character in Brigadoon, "My Mother’s Wedding Day." She sang actual Celtic ballads as well, some in English and others not. Most of them were sad, but some were bawdy. She proceeded with more show tunes - making Buffy remember that Mahleah was playing Eliza Doolittle just before she became Immortal.

Finally, Mahleah looked at them and told them she was going to finish off with some selections from Les Miserables. She announced they were the most famous songs from the show and one of them was very funny but the others were heart wrenching.

She explained that Fantine, a young woman with an illegitimate child, sang the song. Abandoned by her lover, and fired from her job, she had been forced to sell her hair and then to become a prostitute in order to pay a couple to take care of her baby. "Don’t say I didn’t warn you," she cautioned and then began singing "The Dream I Dreamed."

Buffy’s eyes filled with tears when she heard the lines, "He slept a summer by my side/He filled my days with endless wonder/He took my childhood in his stride/But he was gone when autumn came."

Mahleah sang with deeply felt emotions and when they looked at her, they no longer saw a strong, richly dressed woman. She seemed tortured, despairing, still proud, but about to be beaten.

When the song ended, they caught their breath and began clapping. She smiled at them and said, "I told you it would be rough going. Before I sing any more sad songs, I’m going to perform ‘Master of the House.’ The lyrics of the song are self-explanatory, but I should explain that there are two parts to the song: one part sung by Monsieur Thenardier and the other by his wife. I don’t think you’ll have any problem telling who’s speaking."

Indeed they did not, and laughed heartily at the scheming innkeeper and his wife. When Mahleah finished that selection, she took a drink of water and then unpinned her hair so that the long, thick braid fell over her shoulder.

The next song, she announced, was the one she had sung that had caught Giles’ attention years ago when she was playing Eponine. She explained that Eponine was in love with Marius -- a man who saw her only as a friend, someone to confide in about his hopes for a life with Cosette, the woman he loved. With that introduction, she started into "On My Own," and again they were transported. She was no longer Mahleah; she was Eponine. She started matter-of-factly:

Buffy felt a shiver of recognition. This was exactly the way she felt after Angel died. She had lost everything, so she had run away. Yet he stayed with her, haunting her dreams and like Eponine, sometimes when night fell, she would pretend that he was with her.

Buffy’s misery increased. This song was describing her. She used to wander the streets every night thinking of him. The only time she was ever happy was when she was sleeping, dreaming happy dreams of him, and wanting to stay locked up in that dream world forever.

Mahleah/Eponine started painting them a bright picture with her words,

They watched her and believed when she wrapped herself in her own arms, it was her lover’s she felt, and when she closed her eyes tightly, her look of joy made them feel his breath upon her face. She opened her eyes and went on dreamily, casting a magical spell over them. They were watching Eponine and they were Eponine.

The dreaminess started to fade from her eyes. She looked at them and they could see her slowly returning to reality.

"And I know it’s only in my mind

She looked a little defiant as she sang,

Her voice was swiftly losing its girlish innocence and becoming mature and heart-breaking.

No longer defiant, she became more than a little bitter and her voice soared as she declared,
"I love him, but everyday I’m learning

Her climax reached, her voice grew soft and sad.

She stopped, for the song was finished, but they sat frozen for a long moment, hardly daring to breathe. Then they burst into applause.

Giles exclaimed, "I’d forgotten just how poignant that song is, and how excellently you perform it, Mahleah. Thank you for that extraordinary performance."

She smiled at him, "Thank you, Rupert. I’m going to finish with two other songs from the show. The first is one of the most famous and I warn you now to have your tissues ready. It’s called "Empty Chairs at Empty Tables" and is sung by a male character. Marius is the romantic lead, whom two of the female characters love, but this is the song people usually remember him singing. It is about his friends who all died in a skirmish that they believed would bring freedom to France. From that song I’m going to go directly into "Do You Hear the People Sing" which you can consider to be the last words of his friends - as Marius says, ‘their last communion.’ This is dedicated to many friends of my own who have passed on and left me. So, to ease my sins, I give you "Empty Chairs at Empty Tables."

While listening to this song, Buffy thought, "For her sins indeed. How many friends has she buried? What wars has she fought in? How would it feel to always be the one who lives?" She didn’t feel that she was watching another character that Mahleah was creating, as she had during the other performances. This song seemed to scream from Mahleah’s very soul.

Buffy looked over at Giles and saw a tear falling down his cheek. "I wonder whom he’s crying for?" she thought. "He's lost several friends lately, and then there's Jenny."

Mahleah’s voice rang out itself very passionately. When she’d started out, she had been very still and very quiet, holding herself rather rigidly. While pain had been present in her voice, she had been as nonchalant as she could be. Her eyes looked dead. When she sang about her friends’ revolutionary dreams of freedom, however, her eyes started glittering. Her pale face flushed and her fists clinched.

Her eyes fell and her voice softened.

She covered her face with her hands for a moment and when she lowered them a tear rolled down her face.

The agony of being a survivor poured from Mahleah. Always living, always there to see more pain, more death, and more great wars that were supposed to change the world and create goodness.

She sank suddenly to her knees. Buffy would have suspected it was a clever dramatic device, but the misery on Mahleah’s face was all too real. She thought if the move had been planned, it would have been more graceful.

With perfect clarity, Mahleah remembered:

With her last note, Mahleah fell forward to the floor. Giles started to go to her, but Buffy restrained him.

"Give her a second to recover," she whispered softly.

Slowly, Mahleah pulled herself back to her knees, singing

Tears streamed down her face, but she kept singing, her voice getting stronger and stronger. This was her tribute to the fallen -- her pledge that as long as she lived, they would never be forgotten. She rose suddenly to her feet asking,

This time when she sang the chorus, they all sang it with her. When the last notes had died away her appreciative audience applauded, whistled and shouted for more.

Mahleah smiled at them, "I’m sorry," she said, "I’m afraid that last one drained me. I don’t think I can sing anymore tonight."

Buffy came up and gave her a hug and Joyce reassured her, "Ms. MacLeod, please, you don’t need to sing another note. I don’t think I’ve ever been so moved by a song. Your gifts are incredible. Why aren’t your concerts on a stage somewhere? You should be sharing this with the world. Understand I’m glad I’ve had my chance to hear you. I’m sure if you were famous there’d be no chance for ordinary people like us to get tickets to a performance. We’d have to settle for a CD."

"You’re too kind, Mrs. Summers," Mahleah told her.

"No," Giles said. "You’ve outdone yourself tonight. I would never have thought that possible, at least, not to the extent that you’ve just demonstrated. It’s incredible how much your voice keeps improving. I’d say we’ve heard an angel sing, but this performance was definitely rooted on earth. No angel could have demonstrated the heights and depths of passion and pain that you’ve shown us."

"Maybe one," Buffy said softly.

He frowned, "Yes, well, while I’ll believe he knows about passion and pain, I refuse to believe he sings, and I think the least said about him tonight of all nights, the better."

Buffy winced. "I’m sorry, Giles."

He softened. "It’s alright, Buffy. Let’s just forget about him for tonight, okay?"

"Okay," she smiled.

The others had been standing quietly across the room, but now they came over to rave.

"Mahleah," Willow exclaimed. "That was incredible."

"Yeah," Oz added, "You really outclassed the material."

The Immortal grinned at him, "I take it Oz, that Broadway is not your scene?"

"Well, not really," he admitted, "but I enjoyed this evening."

"I appreciate a fellow musician’s approval," she told him warmly.

"Yeah, well, speaking for us non-musicians, I have to say: Mahleah, you rock!" Xander told her firmly.

"Thank you, Xander."

"I agree with Buffy’s mom," Cordelia added. "Before you sing people should pay you a lot of money."

"Money isn’t everything, Cordelia."

"Yeah, well, it can help buy everything it’s not," the younger girl asserted.

Mahleah looked at her indulgently. "I hope you never find out exactly how wrong you are," she responded.

The night after the party, Buffy was still in a good mood. She and her mom were making progress in their quest to get her readmitted to Sunnydale High School. Buffy loved the idea that Principal Snyder might have to eat his words about never allowing her to return.

She was patrolling and Mahleah joined her for the evening. Afterwards they planned to meet Buffy’s friends at the Bronze. Mahleah protested that the teenagers would not like such an old person hanging out with them, but Buffy reassured her that the Immortal was one of the coolest people they knew.

Earlier Buffy had finished reading Macbeth, and while she had enjoyed "the Scottish Play" immensely, it troubled her. She found Macbeth’s final soliloquy extremely chilling, and she and Mahleah discussed it as they walked.

"It's a powerful piece, but why does it disturb you so much?" Mahleah asked.

"It’s so depressing!" Buffy exclaimed. "I mean, he’s saying that life is worthless: you live drearily until you die, and what’s left is meaningless - ‘a tale told by an idiot full of sound and fury signifying nothing’."

Mahleah was pleased that Buffy remembered the speech so well. "Ask yourself this: who is speaking?"

"Huh?" Buffy was shortly confused. "It’s Macbeth’s last big speech."

"True, but are we meant to take the speech as coming from Macbeth, or from Shakespeare himself?"

The Slayer frowned. "God, is that Shakespeare’s view of life? How could he feel that it’s so empty? I mean, look at his own life: he wrote plays that people have practically worshipped for centuries."

"Also true," Mahleah agreed. "So let’s put that argument aside for the moment. Why is Macbeth saying such things?"

"Well, I think he feels guilty about all of the murders he’s committed. I mean, he killed all of these people to get the crown, and now he’s about to lose it anyway. I think he feels that his life meant nothing. He threw away his good name and all the good things he had before, including I guess, his soul, and the crown brought him no pleasure, and definitely no peace."

"Very good. Is there anything else?"

"Yeah, wasn’t he just informed that his wife was dead?"

"Yes, and not only that she was dead, but that she had committed suicide."

"That makes it even worse, because she was his support. I mean she was the biggest reason he killed the king and the others anyway. Without her, the whole deal seems pointless."

"So, maybe he felt that if she couldn’t live with the burden of her sins, how could he? Nice work, Buffy, so, do you think the speech comes from Macbeth’s point of view, or Shakespeare’s?"

"Well, it definitely fits Macbeth, but maybe Shakespeare felt that way too, even if he didn’t go around killing his rivals."

"It’s true that if you hold onto that belief you can find evidence in his texts to support it, but he's like the Bible that way: if you look hard enough you can justify any argument. It’s what makes them such brilliant works. Eventually everything comes down to individual interpretation, and I believe he wrote the words for the character and not for himself. Well, at least not completely. I think we’ve all experienced a small taste of the way Macbeth felt."

"That’s for sure," Buffy agreed, "and it’s not like anyone knows what he actually meant. Or do they? Surely he encountered an Immortal or two in his time?"

"Surely," Mahleah agreed serenely.

Buffy eyed her suspiciously. "Come on, Mahleah, you couldn’t have known Shakespeare. You were born in the Twentieth Century. I don’t know what part of it, but you’ve let enough slip to rule out the Renaissance."

"Absolutely," Mahleah agreed again. She evaded Buffy’s next questions by saying, "Personally, I’ve always preferred the Shakespeare who could write words like Portia’s speech from The Merchant of Venice. You need to read that play, Buffy, and you definitely need to become familiar with that speech. It begins: ‘The quality of mercy is not strain’d; /It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven/Upon the place beneath: it is twice bless’d; /It blesseth him that gives and him that takes…’ I’ll skip a few lines. ‘It is enthroned in the heart of kings, /It is an attribute to God himself; /And earthly power doth then show likest God’s/When mercy seasons justice’."

"I like that," Buffy said after a moment’s contemplation. "It reminds me of something that happened after Angel changed. Back in the Fifties, a young student shot himself and the English teacher with whom he’d had an affair. This spring his ghost began possessing people, forcing them to reenact his crime. He kept hoping that he could change things, undo the wrong, but it took Angelus and me to do that for him.

"He called to us somehow and brought us to the school. He took over my body, and the spirit of his dead lover possessed Angelus. We repeated the same old scenario except that when he tried to shoot himself, his lover was there to stop him since she was in Angelus’s vampire body. She forgave him and both their souls were laid to rest.

"It took me a long time to accept that she could forgive him, and even longer to make any sense of why she could." She smiled ruefully. "I’m afraid that I over-identified with a teenager destroying the person he loved most through an act of passion. I couldn’t forgive myself."

"Have you now?"

"I think I finally let myself off the hook for being responsible for his losing his soul, just in time to feel guilty for killing him."

"But he didn’t leave you any choice, did he? You didn’t kill him; you killed the demon inhabiting his body. Like Mac, Angel did not want to live as a murderer. I was willing to kill his body to prevent him from turning into the evil he hated. I think you should look at your actions that way, Buffy."

"So, how about you and Shakespeare?" Buffy asked brightly, changing the subject. "You’re hiding something, Mahleah. All of the stories you tell me seem to be from first hand experience. Is that one of those paradoxes you warned about, or just a con job to encourage me to learn history? I thought you were going to answer a few questions. You know, give me some straight answers."

Mahleah played along, "If you’ll remember, I did give you some answers. You kept asking how I became Immortal and if I ever had a sexual relationship with Duncan. I think I answered both of those."

"Okay, I’ll give you the becoming Immortal one, but you’ve not given up all the dirt there is to know about you and Mac, admit it."

"I'm not finished," Mahleah began to tell her, when she started feeling the buzz from another Immortal.

Buffy was oblivious to that sensation but her skin crawled as she spotted a vamp heading in their direction.

"This one’s mine," she exclaimed, and launched herself, stake in hand, to meet the newcomer.

The vampire smiled at her coolly. "So you’re the infamous Slayer?" it inquired. "My mistress wishes to send you her greetings, and inform you that she has arrived in Sunnydale."

"Isn’t that sweet?" Buffy cooed, "and what does she expect me to do, register for china?"

"She expects you to die in the near future," the vamp stated.

"And why is that?" The Slayer inquired. "Am I going to be struck by lightening or something?"

"No," the vampire snarled, "because of the reward. Whichever of her servants dispatches you, gets to drink the gift of life."

"Dispatches me? Just how old are you anyway? Can we please rejoin the 1990s? Why don’t you just skip all the flowery phrases and call it blood?"

The vampire smiled at her coldly, "Blood, then, but this blood is the nectar of the gods. A cupful will make me infinitely stronger and practically invulnerable."

"What is your mistress’s name?" Mahleah demanded.

He glanced at her, as if just noticing her presence. "Her name, mortal, is Davinia. Learn it well, for you will tremble in her presence." His head snapped backwards as Buffy’s foot connected with his chin.

"You talk too much," she told him.

It seemed clear that the vampire had underestimated the teenager. He’d barely recovered from her kick when she launched a series of kicks and punches and capped it off with a quick stake thrust, which landed home - he disintegrated.

"So much for Mr. Renaissance man," she muttered to herself. She looked back to see Mahleah had vanished. "Now, where did she go?" Buffy wondered.

Upon hearing the name "Davinia," Mahleah had stayed long enough to see that Buffy needed no help and walked toward the nearby Immortal watching the activities from a distance.

She appraised him minutely. It was hardly surprising that he looked much the same as he had the last time they’d met. His red hair was cut shorter and more neatly, his clothes were more expensive and better tailored, but it was obviously the same man.

"Hello, Will," she greeted him. "It’s been a long time."

"A hundred and sixty years or so," he agreed. He looked at her empty hands, "No sword, Morgan, or should I say, my lady Beatrice?"

She smiled at him, "Morgan is fine, and I didn’t think I needed a sword with you, Will."

"I hope it never comes to that, but you taught me that when dealing with an Immortal -- err on the side of caution."

"True," she countered, "but I hope that I’ve not changed so much that I would greet an old friend and former student with a drawn sword. The question is, why are you here, Will? Surely you’re not killing Slayers for Davinia now?"

"No," his eyes were haunted. "I came to make sure that the Slayer wasn’t killed. Davinia wants her delivered in one piece."

Mahleah frowned. "That’s not what her messenger boy said. He claimed he would be rewarded for killing Buffy."

"Janus was quite untrustworthy. Davinia’s orders were to bring the Slayer to her alive. Alive was stressed, I assure you. I think that Janus wanted a taste of the Slayer’s blood before he took her to Davinia: a mistake for which he would have been severely punished."

"So were you along to protect her or to kidnap her?" Mahleah was quite serious herself.

"I wish the girl no harm. I was ready to intervene but saw you and knew there was no need. Is she a student of yours?"

"Yes, and she’s under my protection should she need it, so tell Davinia to leave Sunnydale. Buffy is much stronger than the normal Slayer, but if something should happen to her I would forget that Davinia is the love of your life."

He winced. "Please, Morgan, can’t the two of us stay out of this? This has nothing to do with the Game: it’s strictly vampire business."

"Will, have you ever known me to have a great admiration for vampires? The only reason I didn’t kill Davinia years ago was the fact that you begged me not to, and God knows how that mistake has haunted my conscience for well over a century. It’s Immortal business as well, isn’t it? Janus spoke of being rewarded with a cup of blood he called, ‘the gift of life’ --your blood, Will. You broke your promise to me, didn’t you? You’re allowing her to feed from you, and now you’ve become a prize to be passed around."

He blanched. "Morgan, she’s my lover. How can I deny her? Besides, she would never allow a minion to drink me."

"You keep telling yourself that." Mahleah told him, her voice holding out no illusions. "But think on this, my friend. Buffy and Davinia will meet, they will fight, and one of them will die. I care for you a great deal, but if Davinia kills Buffy, don’t stand in my way."

"Remember your promise," he told her. "You said that you’d never raise a hand against Davinia."

"For your sake, Will, I’ve stayed away, but you’ve either broken your word to me, or you have no control over her any more. I should never have made that vow to you, but since everything’s changed now, I give you fair warning: leave Sunnydale."

"If Buffy kills Davinia, I’ll kill her," Will warned.

"Only after I’m dead," Mahleah responded firmly.

"Morgan, please…"

"No, Will. If you desire peace between us, leave and take your mistress with you." She turned and walked away.

She had not gotten far when Buffy found her.

"Where did you go, Mahleah?" Buffy asked.

"You didn’t need me, so I met with an old friend."

"An old friend? She wouldn’t happen to be named Davinia, would she? I noticed that name seemed to jar loose a few cobwebs."

"I know Davinia, but she’s no friend of mine, any more. I met an Immortal, her lover."

"An Immortal and a vampire, ouch! Bad combination," Buffy scowled. "I thought that you guys and vamps didn’t get along too well, what with the bloodsuckers thinking that Immortals have ‘endless smorgasbord’ tattooed across their foreheads."

"As a general rule, yes, we try to keep our existence a secret not only for the reason you've said but also because a steady diet of Immortal blood makes vampires immensely powerful. If you face Davinia, leave your stakes at home, Buffy. I doubt you’ll even be able to put a hole in her with one. To fight with her you’ll have to use my way: decapitation with a very sharp sword."

"Okay," Buffy said thoughtfully, "but that still doesn’t tell me how Davinia got some Immortal to make an eternal contribution to her food bank. Is he so hideously ugly that he thinks she's the only monster that would give him some?"

"No," Mahleah snapped.

"I’m sorry," Buffy apologized. "You obviously like this guy."

"He was my student," Mahleah told her curtly.

"I’m sorry," Buffy said softly, "but it’s not my fault he shacked up with Vampyra. How’d it happen?"

Mahleah sighed, "As I've said, Will was my student a very long time ago. He considered me his first big love, and while I wouldn’t consider romance as an option, I’ve always felt protective of him. We went our separate ways and encountered each other every few years. I was actually quite delighted when he met Davinia. When he first introduced her, she was human and seemed to be a sweet girl. She was extraordinarily beautiful and adored the ground Will walked upon."

"So she encountered a vampire who turned her, and Will refused to desert her?" Buffy guessed. "How sad."

"Very close, but the truth is even sadder. It's very hard to be a mortal in love with an Immortal, and especially if one is insecure. It leads to the worst kinds of heartbreak."

Mahleah made her way through the streets of London. She was aware of newsvendors declaiming headlines dealing with the strange vigilante killings of criminals, but she dismissed it as hyperbole and continued on her way.

She was in a rather blissful mood. She’d just received a letter from her old friend Connor MacLeod, who was in Boston that had sent her into fits of hysterical laughter. He’d written to her, abashed, about a drunken duel in which he’d participated. Apparently, he’d been run through many times by his opponent but because he was drunk, he’d lacked the sense to play dead. The whole thing had turned into a gigantic farce. She was still smiling hours after reading the letter, but then she was also happy to be seeing both Will and Davinia and Shakespeare's "Romeo and Juliet." Of course, since the real life lovers were playing Romeo and Juliet, things were perfect.

Her young friends seemed to be making a reputation. Critics had celebrated their production all over London. Her smile widened. It would be good to see Will performing again in a Shakespearean play where he belonged. Perhaps she should reconsider her own retirement from the theatre. Surely, things would be quiet enough with Duncan MacLeod for a time, since the man was on Holy Ground.

Her night at the theatre did not dim her good mood, although it did puzzle her a bit. Davinia had seemed a bit out of character not as Juliet but as herself. She struck Mahleah as being different somehow --stronger and more forceful. She was a young woman who knew what she wanted and took steps to get it.

Mahleah was more worried about Will, however. His role as Romeo appeared to be merging with his personality. More often, she thought he was the type of man who would take drastic chances for love and committing suicide out of grief seemed likely. It would be tough for him when Davinia died. But, she reflected, hopefully that wouldn’t occur for many years and she would try to be there when the inevitable happened.

A few days later, she visited the couple at home and found dreadful changes had taken place. When she knocked and no one answered, she started to leave, but then heard the sounds of a scuffle. She found the door unlocked and rushed in to find a nightmarish sight. Davinia’s lovely face had been transformed into a demonic visage and when she raised it to confront the intruder, her mouth was smeared with the blood of the man she had just subdued.

"Vampire!" Mahleah hissed in shock as she instinctively reached for her sword.

The creature in front of her pushed the man off her lap and stood up facing the Immortal. Just then Will rushed in behind Mahleah.

"Morgan, no, don’t," he pleaded.

"Will, this thing is a demon. It is not the woman you love."

"No, Morgan, please. Let me explain."

"Explain what?" she demanded. "That you’ve dishonored the memory of the woman you loved by allowing this demon to live in her body? Do you think Davinia would want to exist this way?"

"Yes," the vampire laughed.

"Yes," Will confirmed sadly.

"What?" Mahleah was startled.

"Morgan, you can’t kill her. She did it for me."

"You’re telling me that she wanted to become a vampire?"

Davinia changed back into her normal appearance. "I did it, so he would always love me." She announced. "I’ll always be young and beautiful, and live forever-just like him. I can’t have your kind of Immortality, but I can have this."

"Oh, you fools," Mahleah groaned, and lowered her sword.

"She did what?" Buffy demanded, incredulously.

"She had a vampire bring her over, so that she could live forever with Will. It’s the secret to her control. She became a monster out of love for him."

"Why didn’t you kill her?"

"To tell you the truth my heart just wasn’t in it. Although what she did was wrong, it was also the last human thing she ever did."

"But the people she killed?"

"Well, the last time I saw her, she was feeding on criminals – the worst kinds of scum. I knew in my heart things wouldn’t stay that way, but with Will begging for her life, I just couldn’t do it. Unfortunately, he made me promise not to kill her."

"Why would you do that?"

"I made the promise in a moment of weakness, but I did make it conditional. She was not to feed on innocents and above all, she was not to feed on Will. I know now she’s broken both conditions so I’m no longer bound by the oath."

"Don’t worry about it. I’ll kill her for you," Buffy vowed.

"It’s not going to be easy."

"So, let’s go get in some late-night sword practice," Buffy suggested.

After an intense training session, Buffy returned home. Joyce heard her enter and came into her room.

"Is everything all right, Buffy?" her mom asked.

"Yeah, I was just cramming in an extra workout with Mahleah."

"Oh, good," her mother was relieved. "I thought something might have happened while you were patrolling."

"Well, I did dust one vamp tonight. He was all talk and no fang...not much of a challenge really. Mahleah thinks he worked for someone a little more threatening, though, so we trained late."

"I'm glad that you've found someone to help out with the slaying," Joyce told her daughter. "And Mahleah seems very competent."

"Competent? Mom, Mahleah is the most amazing fighter I've ever seen. Her move's moves have moves."

"Buffy?" her mom was hesitant. "If Mahleah is as good as you say, then maybe she could take over the slaying?"

"Mom, I admit that Mahleah's a better fighter than I am, but she's not the Slayer. Killing vampires is my responsibility."

"I know," Joyce sighed, "I just worry. I mean look what happened to your friend Kendra, and she was a Slayer as well."

Buffy hugged her tightly. "I know and I am careful. I've been a Slayer longer than Kendra. I know how to take care of myself."

After Joyce left, Buffy thought about Will. It must be rough on him, knowing that Davinia had become a monster to be with him. It was amazing how you could hurt the ones you love without realizing it.

She fell asleep and found herself split in two. Part of her mind stood back and watched as events unfolded.

Still, neither of them moved. Their eyes were locked and they felt that slow, sweet, tingly sensation between them increase.

She turned and walked away. He stood there silently watching her, and the part of Buffy that was just observing the action gasped. Angel's shirt gaped at the neck revealing a very deep, angry cross-shaped burn on his chest. She remembered the way she'd pressed herself against him. She had hurt Angel and she'd never known it. What else had she missed by not looking?

Mahleah made a point the next day of going to the High School and informing Buffy’s Watcher of the previous night’s activities. Giles was horrified.

"Not Davinia!" he groaned. "She’s one of the strongest, most ruthless vampires existing. I doubt Buffy is up to facing a creature as powerful as Davinia right now."

Mahleah had winced at Giles’ first words, but she hastened to reassure him, "Buffy is doing much better than you think, Rupert. Her mind is still a little troubled but she’s much more focused, much healthier than when I first saw her. Her progress with the sword is phenomenal."

"Buffy’s an exceptionally quick study when it comes to weapons," Giles admitted with pride in his voice, "but do you really think that she’s up to this kind of challenge?"

"I do. The question for me is, why did Davinia come to Sunnydale?"

"It could just be the energy from the Hellmouth," Giles suggested. "Goodness knows it draws in enough monsters."

"Maybe," Mahleah mused, "but something tells me she has something specific in mind."

"Well, maybe we can help find out," said Willow’s voice.

The adults turned to find Willow and company behind them.

"Yeah, surely there’s something about this divine chick in one of these dusty old books," added Xander.

"Very well," Giles responded. "All help is vastly appreciated."

Mahleah was running behind in her own schedule so she returned to the university campus. Hours later she finished her last "official" class and was fencing with Buffy when she felt the tingle of an Immortal. She kept a lookout but did not spot anyone. Whoever it was seemed content to wait.

At the end of the lesson, she praised Buffy for her hard work and sent her out to see her friends. She’d told the Slayer about the research they’d undertaken, and they both hoped some progress had been made. Buffy left and Mahleah began walking home keeping an eye out for an ambush. She had just reached the door of her house when Will approached her.

"Hello, Morgan," he greeted her.

"Hello, Will," she responded, waiting for his next move.

He surprised her by sitting down on the steps to her porch. She hesitated a moment and then joined him.

"Buffy is an excellent student," he told her. "Much better than I ever was at her age."

"Don’t put yourself down," she told him. "You were a fine student. Remember that Buffy is the Slayer."

"I haven’t forgotten," he said.

Mahleah gave him a worried look. "You’re not thinking of hurting her?"

"No," he said with a tired sigh. "Have you forgotten that my dearest love wants to see her alive? Besides, at this point in my life I’m very tired of pain."

She studied him for a moment. He gazed out at the night sky with a haunted look she recognized all too well -- the look of a person who has seen and felt too much. He was a man with a weary soul.

She reached out and ruffled his hair affectionately. "You sound bitter."

"Do I?" he gave a mirthless laugh. "What have I got to be bitter about?"

"You tell me," she suggested, gently.

"I don’t have to tell you. What would be the point? You may not know the lyrics, but you know the notes to the song, and could hum it in your sleep. For over a hundred years, I’ve watched the woman I love grow farther from me and into a cold, manipulative shell of her former self. She used to be so full of life-now the only life that fills her she steals from others."

"Including you," it was not a question.

"Oh, no," he choked. "She doesn’t steal it from me, I donate it willingly. It seemed only fair at the time. After all, as she pointed out, look at the sacrifice she made for me. How could I refuse her the only thing she’d ever asked of me? But, you know it’s not like I ever asked her to make that sacrifice. She's always talking about the price she paid, well, what about the price I paid? She destroyed the woman I loved, and for that honor, I’ve been expected to provide her with undying loyalty until the end of time. God, I hate life!"

"It isn’t easy," Mahleah told him, "but you don’t have to continue living this way. Loyalty and respect are earned and should be appreciated yet she’s done neither. She doesn’t deserve you, Will."

He looked at her, his green eyes intense. "I’ve missed you, Morgan. Lately, I’ve looked back upon the times we had together as the best of my life."

She smiled warmly. "We did have some fun, didn’t we? You, me, the Globe Theatre, and the greatest playwright who ever lived."

"You know, it almost seems like a dream, now," he told her. "I was so lucky that you were the one to find me. I’m grateful, Morgan, I want you to know that. Even if I did get a bit churlish with you at the end."

She put an arm around him. "You were young and you fancied yourself in love. I’ve never been there, of course." She winked at him. "I knew from past experience that teachers and students getting romantically involved is not the greatest of ideas. It usually becomes messy, and ruins any chance at friendship. So, I gave you your wings, as I was given mine."

"You also said something about destiny calling," he reminded her. "I'd heard that you had a habit of disappearing suddenly and reappearing when you were least expected, so I should have known that one day you’d leave London for good."

"I’ve been back to London more times than I can count," she chided.

"Yes, but in a different lifetime."

"True. Things were not the same for me without my old friends, and people needed me elsewhere. So I left."

"Where did you go?"

"Glenfinnan, on the shores of Loch Shiel."

"Scotland? That should not surprise me. You’ve called yourself MacLeod most of the years I’ve known you. So, a Highlander stole your heart? Was he one of us?"

"Why do men always assume another man is involved?" she lightly scolded.

"Because there frequently is another man," he retorted. "Did you think I couldn’t tell your heart was yearning for someone else? You hid it well, but a lad in love scrutinizes his lady fair every chance he gets. He knows her every mood, her every whim. That's the reason I was so angry when you left. I knew you were going to him and I was sick with jealousy. What happened to him?"

"It’s a story much too long to tell," she told him. "Let’s just say I had a debt of honor to be paid."

"Okay," he assented, though curiosity gleamed in his eyes. "So have you paid it?"

"It’s still an ongoing process," she laid her head on his shoulder.

"Do you owe someone that much?" he asked.

"And more."

"Be careful, Morgan," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "Can you ever owe someone so much that it takes four hundred years to pay them back? Or, for that matter a hundred and sixty?"

She started to say, "He never asked me to," but only the first few words came out. He had leaned in and kissed her. She allowed the kiss, but when he broke away, she looked at him questioningly.

"That’s something I’ve wanted to do for several centuries," he told her. "I’m not your student anymore."

"No, you’re not," she agreed. Her mind was whirling with déjà vu. Like Duncan before her she felt protective of her former student and longed to heal his wounds. She just wasn’t sure this was the right way to do it. She was so close to fulfilling her goal, it would almost seem like a betrayal to take a lover, now. "It’s not like you can have the man you want," her brain told her. "Not yet, and maybe not for a long time to come. This man needs you."

Echoing her thoughts Will stroked her hair gently. "Please, Morgan, let me know that someone in this world values me for something other than the power they can drain from me. Let me remember that love-making doesn’t have to end in blood sports."

Inwardly she heard the echo from her youth, begging Duncan to help her past her fears. "Yes," she told him and bent her head for a kiss.

She stopped, "Darius?" she asked in a voice so soft that it was almost a whisper.

"You mean by sleeping with him? His soul is fractured, broken into little remnants of what he used to be. You've given him solace tonight, that's nothing to be ashamed of."

She woke with a start a few hours later. Her name was ringing through her house, and she realized that her bed was empty. She hurriedly pulled on a robe and descended to find a frantic Buffy.

"Thank God, Mahleah. At least she hasn’t gotten you, too."

"Gotten me? What do you mean?"

"She’s got them." Buffy’s words were tumbling over themselves trying to pour out faster. "She has them all: Giles, Willow, Oz, Xander, Cordelia, and my mom."

"Who’s got them?" It felt like her brain was wrapped in cotton. Things were not tracking.

"Elmira, Mistress of the Dark and lover of furry things that bite, who do you think?"

Mahleah grasped the banister tightly. "All of them. Do you know why?"

"Obviously, she’s setting a trap for one, or both of us, but I don’t know what she’s up to exactly. When I spoke to Giles earlier, he said that it seemed that she’d become obsessed for a time with Immortality. She tried to find all the legends about Immortals that she could find. It doesn’t make sense to me: as a vampire, she’s already Immortal."

"But she's not invulnerable," Mahleah said, her mind putting together the various clues. "How stupid can I be? It was right in front of me the whole time."

"What?"

"Ever since I’ve known her, Davinia has been obsessed with the thought of dying. I really think her fear pushed her into becoming a vampire more than her desire to be with Will forever. Will’s the frosting on the cake, and the whipped cream as well because his blood makes her practically invulnerable. After all this time, she still refuses to accept the basic fundamental fact of life: everything dies."

"How can you say that? You’re Immortal? You could live forever--"

"Even Immortals die, Buffy. We are players in a Game that ensures that someday only one of us will be left and it’s believed that last one will finally to age. Nothing lasts forever."

"So, what can Davinia do about it?"

"I think she has plans for you, Buffy. It’s been emphasized many times that she wants you alive. Yes, of course, she does, so she can feed on you. She thinks that the Slayer’s blood will take her a step closer to true Immortality."

"What can we do?" Buffy asked.

"We whack the witch!"

Since it was a trap, of course they were contacted and given directions. Armed to the teeth, they set off grimly to rescue their friends, Mahleah inwardly seething over the way she had been manipulated.

"What good is being ancient if you can’t sense when you’re being had?" she grumbled to herself. "He used the oldest trick in the book and I fell for it!"

When they arrived at Davinia’s, Buffy got her first look at "Elmira." She was lovely, the Slayer decided, but she wasn’t all that. Sure, she had the standard curvy figure, silky white blond hair, and large blue eyes-- but overall Buffy decided, she’d seen much more impressive.

"You know, sweetie," she said advancing toward the older woman, "you could use a makeover. I think I’d start with some sun ‘cause you’re way too pale, and combined with that hair, it makes you look all washed out."

The vampire was unperturbed. "So, you’re the famous Slayer."

"That’s me," Buffy said cheerfully.

"And Morgan, so nice to see you again."

"The feeling is mutual, Davinia -- too bad it’s for the last time."

"Indeed," she smiled coldly. "Well, I trust your last night on earth was spent pleasantly."

"Yes, thank you," Mahleah was even colder than Davinia. "Hello, Will. I see you made it back to your mistress in time for the big event. I guess that’s the reason you were in such a rush that you couldn’t even say goodbye."

He looked at her sadly, but remained silent.

Buffy had no idea what that particular exchange was about and decided it was not important. "So," she said brightly, "you think sucking on me will make you invulnerable. It's just too bad you’ll never get a taste."

"You stupid girl," Davinia sneered. "You have no idea how powerful I am. Believe me if I want your blood I will have it, and yours too, dear Morgan. Between the two of you, I plan to have enough strength to greet the sunrise."

Behind her, Will startled. "Davinia, you said you had no desire to kill Morgan."

"I don’t, you fool," she told him scornfully. "I intend to keep her alive for thousands of years. Look at how much your blood has done for me and you’re only around four hundred years old. Morgan -- or Mahleah or whatever she wants to be called today -- is ancient. Nobody seems to know exactly how old she is. When I grow tired of her, I’ll have her head cut off, so you can have her Quickening, my love."

Now Buffy looked startled, but quickly deflected it. Now was not the time to be sidetracked.

"Well, c’mon, Queenie," she taunted, "I’ve got a stake with your name carved on it."

The vampire’s lips curled up contemptuously. She raised a hand to warn her minions to keep back, came toward Buffy, and the fight was on. Between dodging and throwing blows, Buffy threw a couple of stakes to her friends as Mahleah freed them. Mahleah finished arming them and together they tackled the minions. Mahleah made her way toward Will.

He faced her with his sword ready. "I can’t let Buffy kill her, Morgan."

"You have to," she told him, "because she'll do it, and I'm not going to let you hurt her."

"She can’t win," he told her sadly, "and you don’t want to be Davinia’s slave for eternity."

 "So, what do you want me to do: leave while I can, or do you expect me to let you take my head so that she can’t drain me? Neither option appeals to me. One way or another, she dies tonight."

She pulled out her katana. They circled each other warily and exchanged a few strokes.

"It was a perfect diversion," she told him. "I fell for it hook, line, and blarney. You should be proud."

"I’m sorry," he told her. "Davinia wanted to keep me alive and thought you’d be unable to kill a lover, so she sent me to you."

She stared at him. "You’d prostitute yourself for her? What’s happened to you, Will? Where do you draw the line?"

"If it helps," he said, "Tonight meant something to me."

"Sure it did," she responded and launched another volley of blows, that ended with him being slashed in the arm.

"I meant what I said," he told her, "I've missed you, and no matter the price I pay, I don’t regret our making love."

"That’s easy for you to say," she responded. "You weren’t the one being used."

"That’s not how it was," he said and then cut himself off saying, "Forget it. The last person I ever wanted to hurt was you; at least it’s the last thing I’ll ever foul up."

He launched an attack as her brain processed what it had heard, mechanically blocking his blows.

"I’ve been leading with my ego," she realized. "My first instincts were dead on. He's sick of this life. In fact, he wants to die." With that thought, she decided to take a risk and lowered Tora.

"What are you doing?" he asked her. "Fight me."

"Ah, mo charaid, I don’t want your head. I never have. So, I guess you’ll just have to take mine."

"I’ll do it," he warned.

"So go ahead," she told him. "You’re right, I can think of no worse torture than to be Davinia’s slave, so end it for me. Take my head."

He stared at her, raised his sword, lowered it, and then raised it again. She looked him in the eyes steadily.

"You already know my heart," she told him. "I’m the kind of person who’d find it next to impossible to kill a lover. Can you?"

He lowered his sword again, and then a wild look of determination came over his face. He pulled his arms back, ready for the fatal blow. Her eyes never left his, and never flinched even when he swung and pulled his blow a scant centimeter from her neck.

He dropped the sword and fell to his knees. "I can’t." he said.

They looked to their right. Buffy and Davinia’s fight was nearing its conclusion and had drawn nearer to the Immortals. Buffy had a stake out, and Davinia was laughing at her. Buffy swung the stake with her left hand in a devastating blow at Davinia’s heart. The stake went in, but stuck. Davinia remained intact.

Davinia began to laugh. "So much for slaying," she crowed, "maybe next time you should bring something sharper."

"I did, so pog mo thon, you nighean na galladh," Buffy said grimly. As her left hand had been swinging forward, her right hand reached behind her back and felt the hilt of the katana she and Mahleah had honed to incredible sharpness. Even as the vampire laughed, the sword was coming toward her. Buffy left the stake where it was, and her left hand clutched the end of the sword handle as it came around her back, adding more power and control. Even as Buffy spoke, the katana cut through Davinia’s neck and the old vampire crumbled into dust.

Buffy straightened. "Don’t you know it’s not nice to gloat," she told the debris.

"Neither is your language," Mahleah said dryly, referring to Buffy’s curse.

Will saw it all, and tears rolled down his face. "I don’t know whether to grieve or be relieved," he said softly.

"Both probably," Mahleah told him.

"No," he told her. "End it for me, too."

"No," she echoed. "I won’t kill you."

"Please, Morgan," he begged.

"No."

He turned to Buffy. "Then, you do it. I deserve to die."

"No," Buffy responded with pity.

"Why not?" he demanded. "It would be justice."

Buffy looked at him steadily and quoted, " ‘…earthly power doth then show likest God’s/when mercy seasons justice’."

He fell to the ground sobbing and suddenly Mahleah’s arms were around him. "Cry," she said softly. "Wash it all away, and then come with me to see the sun rise. It’s time to start a new life."

The next few days saw Mahleah sending Will off with hope for the first time in years for his future as well as Buffy’s return to Sunnydale High School. Mahleah didn’t see Buffy for several days, and when the Slayer came knocking on her door one evening, the older woman realized how much she had missed her favorite student.

Buffy had many things on her mind but wasn’t sure how to approach them. She chatted about various non-important issues then began building up to the important issues.

"We’ve got a new Slayer in town," she announced.

"Really? What’s her name? Is this because Kendra died?"

"Her name is Faith and, yeah, she’s Kendra’s replacement."

"What’s she like?"

"Tough as nails, my guess is, she’s had a hard life. I didn’t think I was going to like her at first, but she grows on you. It’s a good thing she’s here, I guess, because there’s a new vamp in town who calls himself Mr. Trick. I don’t know how much of a threat he’s going to be yet. Oh, and did I mention I’ve got a date to go to the Buster Keaton festival?"

"No, you didn’t," Mahleah’s smile was warm. "Who’s the lucky fellow?"

"His name is Scott Hope. I almost ruined any chance with him. He tried to give me a token of his friendship, but you see it was a claddagh ring like the one Angel gave me, and so I completely wigged out in front of him. I’m over it now, though, and I’m sure we’ll have fun doing the Buster Keaton thing."

Mahleah nodded. "I’m sure you will, too. Just take things slowly, Buffy, and it will get easier with time."

"There’s something else," Buffy went on. "I told Giles and Willow about Angel…about how he died. I mean, I’d told them about me killing him, but I’d kind of left out the part where he was cured."

"Cured?"

"Yeah, Willow’s curse kicked in at the last second," she shrugged. "It was too late; Acathla was already awakening and forming the vortex to Hell. I had no choice: only Angel’s blood could close the gateway, but, oh, Mahleah, the look in his eyes!" She was quiet for a moment and then went on, "I wanted to thank you because without your help, I would never have been able to talk about him."

"I’m glad I could some comfort to you."

"I wondered if it would help you. Talking about whatever is haunting you, I mean. I’m not just asking because I’m curious. Finish your story, Mahleah. I think you need to tell it to someone almost as much as I need to hear it."

Mahleah sat quietly for a moment. Then she said softly, "You’re right, Buffy, and I suppose the place to begin is with my first Quickening."

"I can’t believe it, Mahleah. I can’t believe he killed you." Richie was pacing back and forth in the living room.

"Would you hold it down?" she hissed. "My dad’s upstairs with Belinda. Or, would you like to explain to them why anyone would kill me?"

"I’m sorry," he said and lowered his voice. "I just don’t understand how you can accept the things he did to you? Aren’t you angry?"

"Angry at him because of an accident? No, he wasn’t himself when he did it."

"I’m hearing an unspoken ‘but’ in that sentence. Did he do something while he was ‘himself’ that you can’t forgive?"

She looked away, saying, "No, of course not."

"You are the lousiest liar I’ve ever seen. What happened, did the two of you finally do the dirty deed?" He stopped and stared at her, "That’s it, isn’t it? How could you sleep with the guy who killed you?"

"As I keep telling you, he’s not the guy who killed me. He’s not responsible."

"But you did sleep with him?"

"Richie, that’s none of your business."

He stared at her and then backed down. "You’re right, it’s not. Something obviously happened between the two of you, though, and you should know that I’m on your side. If you ever need a shoulder…" He was cut off by her flinging herself at him in a fierce hug. He hugged her back. "Hey, are you sure you don’t want to talk about it?"

"No," she told him steadily. "Don’t worry, I’m not going to cry. I just need a hug."

"Sure," he told her. "Anytime."

After he had gone, she took a walk in the orchard. She felt foolish because she was wearing a light coat with Tora hidden in it. He’d made her promise not to leave the house without the katana, and gotten very angry when she’d seemed to take his words lightly.

"An Immortal without a sword is an Immortal without a head, Mahleah," he warned.

Ultimately, his insistence saved her life. As she walked among the trees, she suddenly felt the presence of another Immortal, and froze.

"Richie?" she called.

To her surprise, a strange, dark haired woman stepped toward her. Mahleah was taken aback by the woman’s appearance. She wore extremely heavy eye makeup and a studded leather collar around her neck. The rest of her outfit was equally outlandish. To Mahleah, the stranger looked like she had listened to way too much ‘80s metal.

"Who are you?" she asked.

"I’m an old friend of Richie’s and MacLeod’s," the newcomer told her. "I’ve been following Richie for months, hoping for a shot at him. When he came here, I thought I’d get rid of you; little did I know that you’re one of us. That’s a bonus. I’d say when I take your pretty little head, I’ll be getting even with not just Richie but MacLeod as well."

"Why do you want to hurt them so badly?"

"It's the way I operate. If you hurt a man badly enough, he becomes an easy target - he wants to die."

Something clicked in the back of Mahleah’s mind. "Felicia Martins," she said.

"Very good," Felicia nodded. "They’ve told you about me."

"Well, they mentioned you."

"I think next time I’ll be worth more than a mention. Don’t worry, it’ll all be over in a minute."

"I don’t think so," Mahleah had pulled out her own sword. "I’ve a long life ahead of me and I’m not ready to lose it just yet."

"Oh, the cub’s going to put up a fight. Good, but I should warn you girl, that I’ve been trained by MacLeod as well, and I’m much older than you are."

Mahleah’s thoughts were a jumble. "Don’t think so much," she commanded herself. "Just react and anticipate."

They faced off and Felicia attacked. She was very strong, a very aggressive opponent. Mahleah countered rather tentatively. Felicia took advantage of this hesitation and began driving Mahleah backwards. Mahleah feared she’d run into a tree, but couldn’t spare a second to look behind her. Suddenly, her left foot found nothing beneath it. She realized she was at the edge of the orchard where a small slope separated the trees from a field.

Seeing her enemy off balance, Felicia struck like lightening. Mahleah found Tora sailing behind her. Weaponless, she watched as Felicia prepared for the fatal blow, and then she launched herself off the bank, turning the fall into a somersault and luckily landing near her sword. She had hit the ground rather brusquely, as she hadn’t come out of the somersault, the way she would have wished. Finding herself on the ground, she rolled to the side and grabbed her katana.

Her mind screamed at her, "Stupid! That was just pathetic! Duncan MacLeod, who is much better than this woman ever dreamed of being, trained you, and yet you’re letting her kick your butt! Get up and fight!"

Felicia was already facing her in the field. "Not bad," she said, "but not good enough either." She swung at Mahleah again. Mahleah saw that Felicia was overly aggressive, and that trait could be used against her. She kept pulling her strokes, showing hesitation so that Felicia would think she was still scared, when she was really watching and waiting. Inevitably, her chance came. Felicia overextended herself in a particularly vicious thrust, and Mahleah found an opening under the woman’s blade. She sliced her abdomen open and brought the katana up in a disarming move.

Felicia had fallen to her knees. "I should have remembered," she groaned. "MacLeod told me that move would be the death of me. Go ahead and do it, girl. Take your first head."

Mahleah hesitated. She wasn’t sure that she could bring herself to actually cut off someone’s head.

"What are you waiting for?" Felicia snarled. "Do it. Don’t have any illusions, kid. If you let me go, we’ll face each other again. Next time you'll probably want to kill me since I may have Richie’s head by then, or MacLeod’s…"

"NO!" Mahleah screamed and brought Tora down, cutting through Felicia's neck. She stared numbly at the lifeless body in front of her thinking, "What have I done?" Then the Quickening took her.

At first, it was so invasive, she gasped with shock as the power that was Felicia Martins overwhelmed her. Then, it was suddenly painful. She saw the bolts of electricity just before they struck her. She screamed and tried to ride out the overwhelming pain. The agony increased in wave after wave until suddenly it wasn’t pain any longer. Felicia’s power no longer fought with her own; they had merged. She was Felicia, but she was not Felicia. Felicia didn’t really exist any more, and yet she did. A rush of pleasure swept through Mahleah's body as it finally accepted the new addition. She found it would be easy to surrender to the seductiveness of this feeling, but then would she still be herself? That thought reminded her, "I am Mahleah, not Felicia," and as suddenly as it had begun, the Quickening was over.

She lay on the ground trying to get her bearings back, when she felt the tingle of yet another Immortal. "There’s no way," she realized. "I don’t feel like I could move, much less fight again."

Then she heard a familiar voice say, "Mahleah, thank God you’re okay."

Richie rushed to her and helped her to her feet. He looked over at Felicia’s body and a sad look crossed his face.

"What are you…" Mahleah could barely get out the words.

"I got back to my motel room and found a message from Joe warning that Felicia had been seen around here. I hurried back hoping she hadn’t found you, and nearly had a heart attack when I saw the fireworks." He looked around, remarking, "Boy, lightening seems to really love that tree."

The apple tree in question showed damage from the recent Quickening, but it also showed scars about a dozen years old from previous lightening strikes.

Mahleah glanced at the tree and then back at the headless body and stiffened. "Richie, I’m going to be sick," she told him.

"So, that was your first Quickening. Did it ever get any easier?"

"To behead someone? The first time was possibly the hardest, but it’s never been easy. Any day that it becomes easy will be the day I lay down my sword."

"When did you get over being mad at Duncan?"

"It was a gradual process rather than an overnight thing. I finally understood all the reasons for his behavior as I told you before. I also realized that he hadn’t rejected me. He had said we shouldn’t have made love, because it was the wrong time, which implied some day there might be a right time."

"Did he try to talk to you?"

"Yes, he found out from Joe where I was and tried to call me several times from Paris. At first, I refused to speak to him, and then when I did, I was quite abrupt. I left the mountains hoping to keep my father out of the Game and got a job in San Francisco singing in a club, but went to see Joe for Christmas. Mac came to see me and we actually talked about what happened."

"Then did you two get together or what?"

"No, if you mean in a romantic sense. What we’d rediscovered was even more important: our friendship. We both admitted to the attraction between us, but there was no rush. We had plenty of time to explore that path. In fact, we agreed that he owed me a debt: an incredibly romantic evening with a happier conclusion."

Mahleah smiled. "It seems that many of the big events in our lives happened in Paris. In the spring, I got a frantic phone call from Amanda. She was firmly convinced that Mac felt so guilty about things from his past, that he would let an Immortal named Stephen Keane take his head. She begged me to come to Paris and talk some sense into him. I thought she was overreacting, but her fear was sincere, so I agreed."

"Why on earth would Duncan just let someone have his head? What had he done that was so terrible?"

"Duncan was, and is, no saint, Buffy. Every Immortal has events they wish they could erase from their past. Do you recall what I told you about the Battle of Culloden?"

"Vividly." Buffy thought that Mahleah’s description couldn’t have been more realistic if it were first-hand.

"So you remember that it was the last stand of the Highland clans, and the English treatment of the Scottish people afterwards was shameful."

"I remember your using stronger language than that before, but yeah, I remember."

"Duncan fought at Culloden, and he also helped smuggle Bonnie Prince Charlie out of Scotland. He witnessed many atrocities against his people and he retaliated against the English. One of the Englishmen he killed was a friend of Stephen Keane’s.

"Duncan was reminded by a friend named Ceridwyn that revenge destroys the soul. He left Europe and headed for the East. Stephen Keane was given similar advice by a mentor and didn’t pursue him. Unfortunately, his mentor was Sean Burns."

"Ouch."

"It was evident to everyone who knew Mac that he felt great remorse for what he’d done and Amanda and Methos were convinced that guilt would get him killed. So, they asked me to come to Paris to talk some sense into him."

Mahleah walked into Darius’ chapel and was rewarded by an Immortal buzz. When she had found the barge empty, on a hunch she headed for the rectory. She saw MacLeod sitting in the middle of the chapel. He gave a sigh and rose. She waited for him outside the entrance. When he came through the door and saw her, he groaned.

"Oh, no she didn’t."

"I’m afraid so," she told him cheerfully.

"Why can’t the bloody woman just mind her own business?"

"Well, oddly enough she likes your head attached to your neck, and she wants me to use my influence to make sure it stays that way. I told her I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to do: if you’d made up your mind, nothing I could say would change it. Hardheaded Highlander," she added under her breath.

He ignored her last comment. "I’m glad someone understands that," he grumbled. "Do you know what that woman has put me through. She had me arrested for one of her own heists! Then, Methos shot me and tried to take Keane’s head himself."

"They’re worried about you. Well, just to be a good little girl, who does her duty to her friends, I’ll remind you that while you may regret your behavior after Culloden now, at the time it was inevitable. You were raised to be a clan chief. The primary responsibility of your life was to take care of your people. You couldn’t just stand by and watch innocents being slaughtered. You hadn’t learned yet that killing the English would bring you no comfort. Everything that you were, told you to show the same ugly death to those who had slaughtered your people. You were Duncan MacLeod of the clan MacLeod and you still are, for good or ill. You can’t deny who you are."

"I'm not trying to," he said softly. "I’m not just being held accountable for the Earl of Rosemont’s death, Mahleah. Stephen Keane was a student of Sean Burns."

"Oh," she said stunned. "But Duncan, you didn’t kill Sean."

"I don’t think Stephen would listen to an explanation, that wouldn't make much sense anyway. Besides, as you said, I can’t run from who I am, good or bad. I have to take responsibility for my actions."

She raised an eyebrow. "Oh, now I get it. This is your way of seeing if you’ve been on the side of the angels. If you win, you’re justified in your motives, if not your actions. You know, Mac, you claim to have been born in 1592, but some of your ideals are even older. Trial by combat-that’s positively medieval."

"What’s that say about you, then?" He inquired. "You’re the only person who figured this out. They all believe I’m going to lie down and let him chop off my head."

"I don’t know, I guess I just figured it out because some old crackpot kept preaching to me about honor as I was growing up."

He looked at his watch and got serious. "I need to go, mhuirnin."

"I know," she told him. "Just do me a favor, huh?" She put her arms around him. "Remember that you still owe me one, and I intend to collect. A man of honor always pays his debts."

"A man of honor isn’t always lucky enough to have such an interesting debt to be paid," he countered.

"Well, I’m planning on being a loan shark and charging you exorbitant interest," she said. "So how about a down payment?"

She raised her face to his and he willingly kissed her. They separated and she said seriously, "Let me ride with you."

He agreed. They rode in silence and when they arrived at the Luxembourg Gardens, they both got out of the car. He came over and hugged her.

"Remember that as long as you’re alive, I’ll be here and here," he told her, pointing to her head and her heart.

"Fine," she responded, "but, as I also like you in my arms, make sure you return to them, you hear?"

He smiled. "I shall endeavor to please you, my lady."

He walked off and she whispered, "Then come back to me, mo saighdear-bàrd."

She waited outside and when she felt an Immortal emerging, she stepped forward.

Stephen Keane allowed Duncan MacLeod five minutes to say his good-byes to Amanda, who had been making one last plea for the Highlander’s life. Her loyalty and persistence had impressed him. He'd truly meant it when he told her that if there came a day when someone wanted revenge for MacLeod’s death he hoped there would be someone to plead for him as eloquently and passionately as she had. He had stepped outside the private club where they had met, when he felt the presence of yet another Immortal. He expected to see MacLeod’s other friend-the man who nearly took his head before MacLeod stopped him, but when he spotted the source of the buzz, he saw a strange woman.

He did not know her, but hoped that she was friendly: she was certainly stunning. She was tall with shoulder-length golden-brown hair and lightly tanned skin. Her dark eyes were flashing at him, which he did not take for a good omen.

"Stephen Keane?" she asked.

"Yes," he answered, marveling at her. God, even her voice was beautiful. "Who are you?"

"I’m most often called Mahleah," she told him.

"Well, Mahleah, what can I do for you?"

"You can meet me here tomorrow, if you kill Duncan MacLeod." She told him flatly.

Oh, he thought. "Well, whatever else they say about Duncan MacLeod he’s certainly a ladies’ man. First Amanda and now you, pleading for his life. I must say that if I was only beginning to grow envious of the man before, I certainly am committed to it now."

"You don’t know what you’re talking about," she snapped, "and I’m not begging for his life. I’m just telling you straight out: if you kill him today, you’ll face me tomorrow."

"Does MacLeod know you’re here?"

"He knows I’m here, but he doesn’t know I’m challenging you. He wouldn’t want me to, anymore than he wanted Amanda to stop this fight. I'm not going to try any of her tricks. I’m not pleading any extenuating circumstances; I’m not going to recount his good deeds. I just want it on the record that if you kill him, I'll kill you. Killing you might be a mistake, but I think if you can take the head of Duncan MacLeod, then you’re not as good a man as he thinks you are. He’s coming now, please don't mention this conversation to him."

He promised that he would not and she walked away. She waited with an anxious heart, but saw no telltale streaks of lightening. When her senses told her that an Immortal was coming, she closed her eyes for a second then gathered her courage and looked. Duncan MacLeod walked toward her.

She ran throwing herself at him. He caught her, picked her up, and spun her around, laughing. He lowered her just enough to reach her mouth. The kiss was both electric and joyous. They hated to break apart, but even Immortals run out of air.

"So, I gather you won," she said archly. "Did you spare his life? I didn’t see a Quickening."

"Yes. I won the fight, which was all I wanted."

"All you wanted, hmm?" she asked coyly.

"Well, all I wanted from him," he murmured and kissed her again.

When this kiss ended, he lowered her to the ground and they strolled together in the gardens, hand in hand.

"Well, I guess I need to go catch my flight back to the States," she told him eventually.

"Must you leave so soon?" he asked.

"Yeah, I’ve got a job to get back to, and besides there’s Amanda to be considered. She’s tried every trick in her considerable arsenal to see that you remain in one piece and you should go celebrate with her."

"That doesn’t bother you?"

"Amanda’s known you a lot longer than I have. Besides, my turn is coming."

He drew her to a nearby bench. "I have something to confess," he told her.

"Confess, huh? Do I get to make you do penance?"

"You may not be happy with me," he told her. "When you were here before, you left a few of your things. I was sorting through them the other day, and I came across a small blue book."

"Oh no," she groaned.

"I’m afraid so," he responded. ‘I didn’t know you wrote poetry. I have to admit when I realized what it was, curiosity compelled me to read it."

She buried her head in her hands. "I’m so embarrassed," she moaned. "No one was ever supposed to see that stuff. I’ve been writing it since I was a teenager. Please say you didn’t laugh."

"I didn’t," he reassured her. "In fact, I thought it was quite good. Don’t worry, I’m not vain enough to think that the erotic ones were about me. I have to say though, that I feel a little jealous of whoever did inspire you to write some of those lines."

"What for instance?"

"Well, this one comes to mind:

‘I heard a song on the t.v. tonight

She was embarrassed, but also impressed that he’d committed the lines to memory. "What if I said that I was writing about you?"

"Then, I say that the answer to the last line is an unqualified ‘yes.’ Actually, they’re tempting me right now."

He acted upon that impulse and then she sighed, "I hate to say it, but you really should go to Amanda. She deserves to know that you won, although I don’t feel as guilty about delaying you as I would have if she hadn’t forgotten to call me when you met Kalas. Well, I’ll be nicer than her and send you to her a few minutes late rather than a few hours. I’ll see you sooner than you think," she promised.

"Until then, a luaidh, my dear," he smoothed her hair and kissed her inner wrist.

"Until then," she echoed and watched him walk away. She remained on the bench, quietly letting her emotions regain their equilibrium.

Stephen Keane walked up and sat down beside her. "Where’s MacLeod?" he inquired.

"With Amanda."

"What, do the two of you have some sort of time-share arrangement or something?"

She laughed. "Not exactly. Since I was the only one who actually understood what this fight was about, he has to let his other friends know he’s not dead."

"Why are you the only one to understand?"

"I suppose because Amanda may have known him longer, but I know him better. Our natures are more alike. Amanda may have been born in the Middle Ages, but in many ways her thinking is quite modern."

"So, what is MacLeod to you anyway?"

She stared at him, "What’s it to you? Are you writing a book?"

He laughed. "What?"

"It’s something my father used to say. It means why are you being so nosy?"

"Oh. I want to get to know you better," he said. "I guess I was wondering if there was any chance for me to develop the same kind of relationship with you that MacLeod has."

"Impossible, our relationship is far too complex. Duncan has been nearly everything to me -- teacher, lover, best friend, family. The position he holds in my life is irreplaceable, I’m afraid."

"Even if he were dead?"

Her answer was swift, "Especially if he were dead."

"I wasn’t going to try to kill him again."

"Good. Have you forgiven him, then?"

"I don’t know. I haven’t gotten it all sorted out yet."

"You may not believe me, but Duncan didn’t mean to kill Sean. Sean’s death was a tragedy that resulted from a Dark Quickening."

He scoffed, "Dark Quickenings are a myth."

"Oh, no," she said steadily. "I can tell you from experience that they are all too real. I was there when Sean died, I know." She rose. "I hope we can be friends, Stephen, but I have a plane to catch."

"Mahleah, wait a second," he called.

She stopped.

"Why didn’t MacLeod tell me about the Dark Quickening?"

"You wouldn’t have believed him, and even though he knows rationally that he couldn’t have changed things, emotionally he still feels guilty. Hopefully, this fight will allow both of you to move on past the guilt and the hate to forgiveness."

"Forgiveness," he repeated.

"A word I fully believe in," she stated. "Trust me, if I can forgive his acts during the Dark Quickening then the two of you should just get over it."

"Why? What did he do to you?"

"He killed me," she said and walked off to catch her plane.

* * * * * * * * * * *

"Wow!" exclaimed Buffy. "What a story. I’m almost afraid to ask what happened next."

"Joe Dawson opened a new club in Paris, and since I very much wanted to be in Paris, I asked him for a job. I’d sung at his Seacouver club before, so he agreed without hesitation. A month later, I was back in France where I spent six of the most blissful weeks of my life before it all came crashing down."

MacLeod walked into Joe’s new club and Joe approached him.

"You’re late," he scolded.

"Yeah, I’m sorry, Joe." He apologized. "An old friend I hadn’t heard from in a few years dropped by and I got hung up. Did I mess up your plans?"

"Part of them," his Watcher told him, "but everything’s not ruined, I hope. Old friend, huh? Male or female?"

MacLeod looked at Joe with amusement. "Not that it’s really any of your business, but it was a male friend."

"Sorry, Mac, but I’m still your Watcher. I try to keep track of these things, besides I didn’t want the surprise spoiled."

"So, what’s the big mystery?" Duncan started to ask when he felt the tingle.

He looked around as Mahleah walked up to him wearing a short silk dress of a warm red-color.

"Hello, Mac."

"Hello, Mahleah. This is unexpected. When did you get into Paris and how long are you staying?"

"As long as you want," she told him.

"I hope that’s for a long time, Mac," Joe told him, "considering she’s my new main attraction."

"You’re working here?"

She nodded. "We’d hoped you’d get here in time to hear me sing, but my set’s over."

"Any chance I could get a private performance?" he inquired wickedly.

A grin spread across her face. "Come dance with me, and we’ll discuss it," she told him. "Bye, Joe."

As if it were arranged, the band began playing Big Sugar’s song "Still Waiting". Joe had joined them and now sang into the mike, "Talk to me, baby. Come on and take my hand. Talk to me baby, so I can understand. ‘Cause I can’t go on living, being your sometimes man."

Mac and Mahleah swayed together wrapped up in the moment. Without hesitation, they danced cheek to cheek, which allowed them to be very close and to be able to hear each other.

"So, how about that private performance?" he asked, idly running his fingers across her bare shoulder.

"Do you think you can afford it? You've already run up quite a bill, remember?" One fingernail ran up the outside of his thigh, lightly and slowly, making its way up under his jacket to create havoc on his spine.

"Well, how would you prefer to be paid: in one lump sum, or on an installment plan?" he suggested with a twinkle in his eyes, his skilled fingers finding an extremely sensitive spot on the back of her neck and exploiting it ruthlessly.

She closed her eyes for a second, feeling chills run through her body. "Installments," she told him, "definitely installments. I guess the only other problem is that age-old question: your place or mine?"

"Your place? Where are you staying?"

"In a hotel room, right now. I thought I might get myself an apartment later."

"If you’re not afraid it would clip your wings, you can stay with me," he suggested.

"Okay," she agreed. Then she whispered in his ear. "While I was waiting on you to arrive, I wrote a new poem. Would you like to hear it?" When he nodded, she recited to him:

"A fever courses through my veins

Chill bumps run up and down my arms and legs,

He tightened his grip around her, pressing her even closer from the small of her back. "I’m right here…" he whispered.

Six weeks later, Mahleah returned to the barge from Joe’s to find candlelight, champagne, and the song "That’s Where It’s At" awaiting her. Mac walked toward her slowly, eating a strawberry. It was the perfect scenario.

"What have I done to deserve all this?" she purred. "Candles, Sam Cooke, strawberries, and the man I love: you really don’t want me to go, do you?"

He stepped closer. "Oh, you should definitely go," he told her. "It’s your grandmother’s eightieth birthday. You’ve been careful not to reveal your Immortality around your family, so you should enjoy the time you can still spend with them. That said, I just wanted to remind you of the reasons you should come back."

"And what are those?" she asked amused.

"Well, it would be rough on Joe to replace you. It’s a new club and you’re helping him build up regular customers. Then, Amanda will miss having someone to shop with, Richie will miss having an Immortal his own age to talk to…"

She interrupted him, "By the way, I’m glad the two of you worked things out. I didn’t know how to act when he was so angry with you. While I’m gone you two can have a little male bonding time together."

"Yes, we can." He continued his list, "and Methos will miss having someone around that can best him in a verbal duel."

"Well, it’s nice to know that my friends will miss me," she said lightly. "What about you? Looking forward to a cold, lonely bed?"

"Oh, it won’t have to stay cold and lonely for long," he teased her.

She took a step toward him, "It had better stay pretty empty while I’m gone," she mockingly threatened.

"I just meant that you’re not going to be gone long," he protested, all innocently.

"What’s the champagne for?" she inquired. "You don’t have to get me drunk anymore to get me to throw myself at you, remember?"

He went to the table and picked up the glasses. He handed one to her, "Just for a toast," he said. "To your grandmother's birthday and your speedy return."

She smiled and they drank. He took her glass and sat it with his own back on the table. When he returned to her, he had a very red, very ripe strawberry in his hand. He dangled it over her mouth, "And to finishing what you started," he told her.

She immediately caught the reference. "You’ve been into my poetry again, haven’t you?"

"I wasn’t prying," he told her. "You left it out. Knowing your appetite for strawberries, and seeing that you stopped just when the poem was getting interesting, I thought we could finish it together."

He let her take a bite out of the strawberry, then put it between his own lips and waited. "That’s not the way, the poem went," she retorted, but his eyes only sparkled at her. She leaned in to take the strawberry, grazing his mouth in the process. She chewed, tantalizing him with her slowness. Then she leaned in again. The lingering smell of the berries acted like an aphrodisiac on her.

"Yum," she murmured, "my two favorite tastes combined."

"What’s the second?"

She grinned impishly and kissed him again, running her hands lightly down his body. "I’ll let you guess."

Five days later, Mahleah returned to Paris, irritated and more than a little worried. MacLeod had forgotten to pick her up at the airport, which was out of character unless something unexpected had happened.

She paid the cabby, picked up her bags and went on board. She hadn’t been able to sense him, so she was not surprised to find the barge deserted. She laid her things down, and wondered what was going on.

"He’s not here," she heard a voice behind her say.

She turned to see Joe. "I can see that." She studied Joe’s face. His eyes were red and swollen, and he leaned on his cane like a man twice his age. "What’s happened, Joe?"

She expected news of the worst sort, and tried to prepare herself, but when it fell the blow was so brutal that it caught her wide open.

"Richie’s dead," the Watcher told her.

"Richie! No…Who?" her mind was whirling and his next sentence literally knocked her down.

"MacLeod," Joe could barely get the name out.

She collapsed to her knees. "No, it’s impossible!"

"It happened, Mahleah. I was there right after it happened. I saw the Quickening."

"Dark Quickening?"

"No."

She stared at him in complete shock. "But Duncan would never kill Richie in his right mind."

Joe heaved a sigh, "Well, that’s the big question, right now."

"What do you mean?"

"MacLeod is convinced that a demon called Ahriman is haunting him. He’s also claimed he’s talked to two of his dead enemies: Horton and Kronos."

"Do you think he’s gone insane?" she asked him.

"As easy as it would be to say yes, I don’t think so," he told her.

"Ahriman…wait isn’t he from the Zoroastrian legends? Something about every thousand years a champion is chosen to fight the ultimate evil?"

Joe gave a wry smile. "Sometimes a Masters’ Degree comes in handy."

She frowned. "That’s about all I remember. What does this have to do with Duncan killing Richie?"

"We were all becoming convinced that Mac was losing it, except Richie. Mac got a phone call from the kid saying that he’d seen Horton, like Mac said, and that he was going to follow him. MacLeod tried to tell him it was a trap, but Richie hung up. The next time Methos and I saw the two of them, Richie was dead."

"Where’s Mac?"

"I don’t know."

"You don’t know? You’re his Watcher!"

"Look, when MacLeod really doesn’t want to be found, he won’t be. I’ve had people out looking for him, but so far no luck. I thought he might come back here. I knew you were arriving today, and I thought he’d want to see you."

Tears began flowing down her face. "I’d have thought so, too," she whispered.

Buffy sat in stunned silence for a long time. "I don’t know what to say," she said finally. "Mahleah, that’s terrible. What happened? Surely Duncan didn’t really kill Richie?"

"Yes, he did," the older woman told her. "As it turns out, he didn’t mean to: he was tricked. Ahriman was using hallucinations to torment Mac. One of the visions had been of Richie, and Mac nearly lost his head before he realized that this wasn’t really his friend. A series of illusions paraded around him, and as he tried to fight them, Richie popped up in front of him. Mac struck before he realized that this was no illusion-it was his friend. It wasn’t until the body fell and the Quickening took him that he understood what he had done."

"Well, at least you found out what really happened."

"Not for a very long time. Mac did not return to the barge. I waited for days that slowly turned into weeks before I accepted that he wasn’t coming back."

"Where did he go?"

"To the Kampak Monastery in Tibet, and he stayed there for a year."

"A year?!"

"Yes. He shut himself away from everything but the need to strengthen himself so he could fight the demon. Ultimately, he did succeed in defeating Ahriman, by countering violence with peace."

"So, then the two of you got back together again, right?"

"No, Buffy we didn’t. I felt he had betrayed me as well as Richie. He sent me not a single word, you see, in that whole year. He cut himself off from everything and everybody, and that included me. I spent the time trying to come to terms with grief and make sense out of chaos, but I did not have the person I most relied on for comfort, and share his own grief with me."

"What did you do?"

"As I said, at first I stayed in Paris, certain he would return. When he didn't, I went out in search of him. I spent five or six months wandering the world trying to find him, to no avail. Eventually, I went to the one refuge I still had: home in the mountains. I had come to some unsettling conclusions and made some painful decisions."

"Like what?"

"My entire life had revolved around the world of Duncan MacLeod. It was well past time for me to discover what Mahleah’s world was. I would never become truly independent, or learn who I really was until I lived my life on my own terms. I had to make a break with the past and invent the future for myself."

"But Mac was the love of your life," Buffy protested.

"Well, looking at it objectively, he had been the only real love in my life up to that point. I had had other lovers, and fell in love with other men, but they had all been secondary to him. They were never put first-he always was. To put it another way: I had been a bit-player in his drama. I needed to find my own stage, my own canvas, meet my own friends and enemies. I realized that I had already missed two opportunities of doing so: once when I was sixteen and the other when I was twenty-four, but I hadn't been ready. I still defined myself in terms of his world. This time I would not."

"Didn't he try to talk to you?"

"Yes. After he left the monastery and defeated Ahriman, he tried to call me, but I refused to speak to him."

"What were you doing?"

"As I said, I’d returned to the mountains and I lived there for a long time. I found there was a shortage of teachers in our community, so that was where I turned my hand. I loved it. I had just settled myself into my new position and was enjoying both being with my father and the benefits of a small town- for instance, a stranger attracted attention, so I was usually forewarned of any potential Immortals-when Duncan started calling me. I told my father that I didn’t want to talk to him, and partly explained why. It saddened him in many ways because he and Duncan had been close friends since before my mother’s death.

"He would apologize to Mac and tell him I had still not relented and they would chat to themselves for a while. This lasted for nearly a year before Mac finally came to see me."

"Why did it take that long?"

"After Richie’s death, Mac was plagued by self-doubts. Before he came to see me, he went through what I call his ‘It’s a Wonderful Life’ experience. An old enemy, wanting revenge, held Joe and Amanda hostage, and the ransom was Duncan’s head. Duncan had reached the point where he could not stand the idea that someone else he cared for might die because of him. He almost let the other Immortal have his Quickening when Methos thankfully intervened. In the ensuing chaos, Mac was shot and while he was ‘dead’, he swears that Fitzcairn showed him what the world would have been like if he had never existed. I’ve never learned all the details about this alternative existence, but they frightened him badly. It convinced him to make sure his living friends knew how much they meant to him, which of course, would include reconciling with me. What he didn’t know was that there was a new man in my life."

"A new man? Who?"

"He was mortal, and he had not traveled around the world, but I thought him pretty special. His name was Mark Fleming, and he was a writer, although when I met him he was also a teacher."

Mahleah looked at Mark. They had been entertaining his literature class by performing some famous Shakespearean scenes. They had already finished their rehearsed material, and the students were clamoring for more.

He looked back at her, his blue eyes full of mischief. Taking her hand, he began a new scene:

To smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss.’

She took up his challenge:

"’Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much,

She touched her hand to his and dared him to go on.

He did:

At that moment, Mahleah felt the presence of an Immortal, but she knew she could do nothing in front of the students. She would have to finish the scene and excuse herself, in case the visitor was unfriendly. The duel from Hamlet was one thing, but a fight between Immortals was hardly for a classroom. She barely hesitated before pronouncing, "’Saints do not move, though grant for prayers’ sake.’"

Mark smiled, "’ Then move not while my prayer’s effect I take.

He leaned in and kissed her, while his students cheered.

When they parted, she gave her next line, "’Then have my lips the sin that they have took.’"

Just before he finished the meeting between Romeo and Juliet, she spotted the source of the buzz--MacLeod.

"’Sin from my lips? O trespass sweetly urg’d! Give me my sin again.’"

He kissed her again, and this time she made a production of it, wrapping her arms around him and making the kiss last. His class went wild.

They finally broke apart and he looked at her in surprise. "’You kiss by the book,’" she told him. Then to the class’s dismay she stopped the proceedings. "I have some things to attend to," she told them, and walked out with MacLeod following her.

She walked out of the building and into the woods nearby in silence. He waited for her to speak, but she held her tongue until they were well out of sight of the school. Then she stopped and turned to him, "What do you want?"

He was relieved. He had been afraid that she was not going to say anything. "I want to talk to you."

"What about?" she inquired.

"About us," he stated simply.

"There is no ‘us,’ " she responded. "You made that perfectly clear when you went off without a word."

"I’m sorry," he told her, "I wasn’t thinking very clearly. I just knew that I had to get away and I had to figure out a way of defeating that thing. I didn’t mean to hurt you."

"No, you didn’t, but then you didn’t actually think of me at all, otherwise you would have sent word that you still at least had a head. That’s what hurt, Mac. You didn’t care if we were still breathing. You just left us alone in our grief and let us find our own comfort." She sighed, "I don’t mean to sound so bitter. I know that if we were hurting, how much more pain you must have been feeling. Yet, I think in the end that was the sharpest cut of all: I wanted to be there for you and you shut me out completely."

"I’m sorry," he told her again.

"That’s okay. Grief makes us selfish. All we can think about is how much we are affected. Don’t worry about it, MacLeod. It’s over, in the past. I’ve moved on."

"I saw," he raised an eyebrow. "So, was that little display in there for me, or is it vain of me to ask?"

"Yes to both questions," she told him firmly, "but not just for you, for me as well. Mark’s a good man, and I think I’m falling in love with him."

He winced. "You know it took time for me to grow comfortable with seeing you as an adult, and then to see you with a romantic eye, but when I did I was delighted with what I found. Yet, I don’t think I’d truly realized how much I missed you till now."

"Oh, don’t you dare pull that on me," she told him hotly.

"Let me finish. I realized that despite, or because of, the turmoil we went through, I’d never told you that I love you."

She slapped him across the face, but he went on anyway. "I apologize for that, cariad. It was unforgivable. You had the courage to tell me your feelings a long time ago, but I never did. It seemed strange and unnecessary, but I know better now. I don’t just love you, I’m in love with you, nighean, and I miss you." He reached out to wipe a tear from her face and she backed up.

"No," she said. Then she screamed it, "No!" Turning, she ran away from him through the trees. He followed her, but stopped when he saw she had not gone far.

Hearing him approach she whirled around and confronted him as angry as he had ever seen her.

"No, you are not going to do this to me again. I know you don’t mean to drive my emotions crazy, but you do. It stops here. We can’t be together, Duncan -- not now and maybe not ever. I don’t know: never is a strong word for our kind. Also, please don't call me nighean anymore. It means my lass, or my daughter. It should be addressed to a young girl."

She saw how stricken his face was and her voice softened but she did not pull the blow.

"As I said before, I’ve moved on. I need to find out what my life is like without living and breathing Duncan MacLeod. I have mistakes to make and I have to make them on my own. I need to be with people who’ve never heard of you, for good or bad. I can’t keep dropping everything in my life to confront a crisis in yours. I know, you would and have done the same for me, but don’t you see," she swallowed but continued with a sad smile, " mo saighdear-bàrd, I don’t want to be an appendage. I have to be my own person, and I don’t know who that is yet."

He smiled at her but his own eyes were wet. "My head is telling me that you’re right, but the rest of me doesn’t want to listen."

"I know," she confessed, "the same here. But, I also feel that this is my chance and I need to take it. We’ll keep in touch over the years, but I don’t think it should be a frequent thing."

He sadly agreed. He turned to leave, and then faced her again. "Let me know if…"

"I will," she promised. "I’m sure that eventually I’ll get my crazy self figured out, and no matter what happens you’ll always be my best friend. I just need to learn to rely on myself a little more and you a little less."

He started to speak but she had crossed the distance between them in quick strides and was kissing him fiercely, trying to memorize with her tongue and lips the way his mouth felt and tasted. Neither wanted the kiss to end, but eventually she pulled away, "Part of me will always be in love with you, Duncan," she whispered. "Goodbye."

Then she was gone, leaving him standing there with a hundred emotions running through him. He echoed her last words, "Goodbye."

Buffy sniffed. "Get out the hankies," she groaned. "Man, Mahleah, I was hoping for something with a happier ending."

"I can only tell you what happened," her teacher told her.

"So did you ever see him again?"

"Of course I did, but it was a gradual thing. I’d told him we’d keep in touch and we did: e-mail, Christmas cards, and eventually phone calls. It was ten years before I actually saw him again."

"Ten years?"

"It was at my father’s funeral. He showed up to pay his respects and offer comfort if I needed it, which was a gesture that was appreciated, yet unnecessary: I still had Mark."

"How long were you and Mark together?"

"For thirty years," Mahleah reminisced. "Thirty years and then I had to watch him die a slow, agonizing death from cancer."

"Oh, I’m sorry."

"There was nothing I could do, no enemy I could fight. When he was gone, I didn’t want to live anymore either. For the first time, I truly felt the burden of living forever. When Mark died, he was only fifty-seven years old. He should never have died that young.

"I went into virtual hibernation. I couldn’t sleep, or eat, and refused to speak to anyone. My friends worried about me. I’d gone from a total mind-numbing rage at the universe to a shell-shocked emptiness. I would wander around in a daze and then curl up in a window seat and gaze out the window. My orchard had not only seen death, Buffy. It had also seen joy. Mark and I got married in it. It became the symbol of everything I loved and feared and I became obsessed by it."

"Mahleah," the voice spoke to her persistently. "Mahleah, mhuirnin, can you hear me?"

Maybe if she ignored it long enough, the person would go away.

"Mahleah, this man says he’s an old friend of yours. He’s come a long way to see you. Talk to him."

Mahleah still did not respond.

"Would you leave us alone for a little while?" the visitor suggested.

When they were alone, he grabbed her by the arms and shook her gently, "Mahleah, I know it hurts, but talk to me."

She looked at him with a vacant stare and turned listlessly back to the window.

He grabbed her again and turned her to face him. "Mahleah, if you don’t come out of this soon, they’re going to put you in the hospital. They think you’re starving yourself to death; they don’t know you’re Immortal, but if you go into a hospital people are bound to discover how different your body is. Mahleah, are you listening to me? They’ll have you put in a psychiatric ward, and shoot you full of drugs to bring you out of this depression. Is that what you want? It’s time to stop acting so self-indulgent. What happened to the proud, strong woman I knew who wanted her independence so badly she threw me out of her bed?"

She blinked at him, "Duncan?" she croaked. Her voice was raspy from disuse.

"Yes, nighean, it’s me. Talk to me."

"He’s dead," she told him dully.

"I know."

"He’s dead," she repeated and then she said, "I want to die, too."

He gritted his teeth and then forced himself to be harsh. "He was mortal. Mortals die. That’s how the world works, Mahleah. Nothing you can do can ever change it. You love one, then they leave you, so you find another."

"No," she whimpered. "Never."

"You will find another and he will die, and so will the next one and the next one. They all die. That’s how our lives are."

"No," she said louder. "No."

"Cancer, heart attacks, murder, car accidents, strokes, old age: they’re born already dying, Mahleah. Accept it and move on."

"No!" she screamed and began hitting him. "No, no, no, no, no…" Her blows grew feebler as she began to break down into sobs. He drew her to him, relieved that she was letting her grief out at last. The window-seat grew uncomfortable, so he picked her up and carried her to the couch. She clung to him crying out her heartbreak for what seemed like an eternity. Gradually, though he could tell the tears were slowing. He looked down to discover she was fast asleep on his chest.

He saw the two women from the neighborhood who had been keeping an eye on her, peep in and nod approvingly. This was apparently the first sleep they’d known her to have since Mark died. He hoped that coming to take care of her wasn’t a violation of the agreement they had made so many years ago. What she could only now begin to understand though, was that Immortals, especially when dealing with the death of a loved one, sometimes needed help from others. Only another Immortal could possibly understand what she was going through.

Once she fell asleep, the problem became when she was ever going to wake up. Her exhausted body obviously needed the rest but he couldn’t stay in one position on the couch for days.

He discovered that she was sleeping so soundly that she was oblivious to movement, so he carried her to her bed. She slept and slept for days. He checked on her often to see if she were awake. Eventually, one sunny morning, she opened her eyes and saw him sitting in a chair across the room.

"Duncan?"

He rose and went to her.

"Duncan, have I been dreaming? Is Mark really dead?"

"I’m afraid so, nighean," he told her.

Her eyes got moist but she stayed relatively calm. "Oh, Mac, it never gets any easier, does it?"

"No," he answered.

"You could have lied," she observed. "Does anything help?"

"Time," he told her, "but time also makes it worse because the same cycle repeats itself. Good friends help. I recall after Tessa died there were a couple of pesky ones that kept me sane."

She smiled for a moment.

"All I can tell you, Mahleah, is that every moment you have with people you care about, mortal or Immortal, is precious. Hoard up your memories like a dragon does gold because there may be times when they are the only things keeping you sane. Now, you need to eat."

"I know," she told him ruefully, "but I still don’t have much appetite."

"Well, you’re eating anyway. We’re going to start rebuilding your strength. By next week, we’ll be working out."

"Working out," she groaned. "That sounds way too strenuous."

"That’s because you’ve been self-indulgent and lazy for a while," he told her firmly. "As soon as possible you’re putting a sword in your hand."

"Always the Game," she sighed.

"Other Immortals love to find you vulnerable and besides, the discipline helps with the pain."

"Okay."

True to his word, he got her back into fighting mode quickly, and she discovered he was right the mental discipline kept the pain at bay for a time. She complained that he was being more demanding than when he had trained her originally. He countered by saying that she knew what to do now, and he was just making sure she was in the shape to do it.

She told him one day as they were filing nicks out of their katanas, "I think what sent me over the edge was not the grief, it was the guilt."

"That you were the one to live and not him?" he responded.

"No, well that too, but also guilt that when he was diagnosed with cancer a part of me was glad. That makes me sound awful, doesn’t it?"

"Depends. Why were you glad?"

"Because then we had something new to focus on. I could concentrate on being a caring wife rather than an exasperated one. We had some problems these last few years and every one of them stemmed from the fact that I was Immortal and he wasn't. He would be irrational at times, firmly convinced that I would grow tired of him and leave because he was growing old. I tried to tell him that I loved him and would continue to love him no matter how old he got. When the cancer came along, it gave me a convenient scapegoat to lay all our problems upon. I think that’s what bothered me the most when he died."

She looked at him troubled. ‘I’m going to have to deal with that many times, aren’t I?"

"I’m afraid so."

"So, Duncan helped you pull through after Mark died. Did you resent him?"

"Resent him?"

"That it took him to pull you out of it. Did you feel like you’d gone back on your self-reliance stance?"

"At first, it bothered me a little, but as I healed and grew stronger, my sense of humor reasserted itself and I thought, ‘well, this time he ran to participate in the little drama of which I was the star.’ Besides a few years later, he needed me because Joe died. We continued to see each other, but just as friends."

"Just friends."

"Yes, I met his new girlfriends, he met my new boyfriends and sometimes we already knew them: Amanda was in and out of his life as usual, and I dated Methos, Stephen Keane, and Duncan’s clansman and fellow Immortal Connor MacLeod for a time."

"Did you ever get married again?"

"No, I didn’t."

"So, how did you occupy yourself?"

"Oh, I did many things. I was a teacher, a reporter, an electronic technician, and even the manager of a rock band once. The thing that pulled at me most frequently though, was the theatre. At the time that the first major stage of my story ends, I was in London playing at the Globe. I’ve had the distinction of being in every one of Shakespeare’s plays at least once.

"I remember that I was playing Katherina in "Taming of the Shrew," when Duncan came backstage after a performance.

Mahleah was brushing her hair in her dressing room when she felt the warning tingle. One hand reached under the table for her katana and the other kept brushing. "Come in," she called.

The door opened and a large bouquet of red roses were thrust in. She peered around them to see Duncan grinning at her. "You know," he started and she joined him in unison, "when I played Kate…"

"Yeah, yeah," she added. "Everybody’s a critic."

"Well, this critic has brought an offering to lay at the feet of the first lady of the theatre," he said with dramatic flourish.

"Why thank you my good man," she gestured extravagantly as well. "You may kneel and offer your praise."

He kneeled, laid the flowers in her lap and kissed her hand, "Does my lady require anything else that her humble servant can provide?"

She laughed. "Nothing but to stop acting the fool, which is a role I must admit you play well."

"Touché," he stood up. "Would you care to join me for dinner or do you have other plans?"

"Oddly enough, I don’t. I did have a previous engagement but it was called off at the last moment. His loss is your gain."

MacLeod did not ask who her prior date was but was grateful for his cancellation. He and Mahleah saw each other every night for two weeks when she made him an interesting proposition. Walking back to her house one night she said lightly, "We start a new production soon: Much Ado About Nothing."

"Your favorite."

She smiled. "I’m flattered you remember."

"You’re playing Beatrice, I assume?"

"Absolutely, but we need a Benedick. When was the last time you were on the stage, Mac?"

"Me?"

"Why not? It would be fun. I need a Benedick who can at least attempt to stand toe-to-toe with Beatrice. Come on, admit it-you want to do it."

"Wouldn’t I have to audition?"

"Sure, but that wouldn’t be a problem. All I have to do is whisper into the casting director’s ear. I’ve hinted that I may not be here much longer and they want to keep me desperately."

"I couldn’t do that," he exclaimed.

"Okay, how about this-I help you prepare for the role, you audition and if you get the part it will be your own skill that does it."

He hesitated for a moment, then looked at her bathed in the moonlight. "All right, I’ll try." He consented.

She smiled broadly and slipped her arm into his.

With her coaching, he got the part. Rehearsals were underway when they realized an unexpected side effect of their role-playing. The chemistry between Benedick and Beatrice was crucial-the audience had to perceive that beneath the witty repartee were two people who were deeply in love but afraid to admit it-and unreleased sexual tension was the order of the day.

After a particularly long rehearsal one night, when Mac and Mahleah left the stage, she pulled him to the side and repeated one of her lines, "I would he had boarded me." They found themselves kissing fast and furiously, oblivious to the other people backstage.

Suddenly the director’s voice came out of nowhere, "Stop immediately."

They broke apart startled.

"What are you doing?" the director demanded.

"Well, where I come from," Mahleah drawled, "we call it kissing, and contrary to popular opinion, I know the English indulge in it as well."

He colored, "You can’t."

"Oh, yes we can," she told him firmly, "I assure you we’ve known how for a long time and we’re both quite good at it, so if you’ll excuse us we’ll get back to it."

"No," he exclaimed. "You’ll ruin the play!"

"What?" they looked at him in amazement.

"The sexual tension," he explained. "If you act on it, there’ll be none left for your performances."

"Oh, yes there will," Mahleah told him firmly. ‘I assure you there’s enough tension to go around."

"No," he insisted, "Right now, it’s perfect. You’re old friends, correct?"

"Yes," MacLeod answered.

"Well, right now your body language says that the two of you were lovers in the past, but something happened, just like your characters in the play. Now, you’re about a half a step away from consummating your love affair."

Mahleah rolled her eyes, "Yes and that half step is the one you’re standing in," she told him, "so move."

"No. I forbid it. If something happens now you may still have chemistry between you, but it will have changed. Please, I insist that you two keep your passion for the stage and offstage be strictly platonic."

"Of all the bloody nerve," MacLeod said exasperated.

The desperate director looked at Mahleah, "Please," he begged her, "please swear that you’ll wait until the show closes."

"Until the show closes?"

"Yes, please."

She sighed, "I’ll give you until opening night. We have no idea how long the play will run and I’m not going to swear celibacy any longer than I must."

"The first week," he countered.

"The first two nights and that’s it, Edward, take it or I attack him right here in front of you."

"Very well," he agreed, "the first two nights."

MacLeod was getting angry, "Now wait a minute, I’m not letting some complete idiot dictate my sex life."

She shrugged, "We’ve waited years, what’s a few more weeks. They’ll be horrendously torturous, but just think how rewarding the payoff will be after we’ve spent six weeks teasing each other to death. Think of it as very public foreplay and after the second night’s performance we have a date."

Opening night’s performance was spectacular, but as Duncan and Mahleah made their way backstage, a familiar tingle greeted them. Duncan spotted the stranger first and walked up to him.

"I am Duncan MacLeod of the clan MacLeod. Are you here for me?"

"I am Nicholas Frazier and you mean nothing to me. I want her!" he pointed past the Highlander toward Mahleah.

She sighed and approached him. "Nicholas, I told you years ago that we have no quarrel."

"I disagree. I will meet you here tomorrow night," he told her, then walked away.

Duncan looked at Mahleah. "Who was that?" he asked.

"Nicholas Frazier. I met him years ago when I was part of a touring company. He claimed that I had injured him many years ago, but I swear I'd never met the man before. I think he’s insane. Anyway, he hounded me into fighting him and luckily, we were interrupted. I dropped out of the tour and he lost track of me until today. Now, it looks like I’ll have to finish that fight after all."

"I could try talking to him," MacLeod suggested.

"It wouldn’t help. No, Mac, this is my problem. I’m afraid there’s nothing you can do. I have my own enemies these days and I have to face them myself."

He was quiet, for a long moment and then said, "I guess I just hate the possibility of losing you just when things were going so smoothly."

She put her arms around him. "You’re not going to lose me. I’ve waited too long for us to finally get our act together and I’m not giving up so easily. Come on, take me home."

When they arrived at her flat after an unusually quiet drive, she invited him in.

"Don’t look so depressed," she chided. "You’d think this was my first fight or something. Have a little confidence in my skills. I've survived this long somehow. Maybe it's because I was taught by the best." She looked at him. "That was supposed to at least make you smile."

"I just wish I could-"

"Do something. Yes, I know, but you shouldn’t. You’re accustomed to taking action but this time you can’t do anything but wait." She smiled, "The shoe’s on the other foot this time and there’s nothing you can do but accept it."

He kissed her, and she responded willingly but when he started taking the kiss farther, she pulled away.

"Hey, we can’t do that, remember? We promised Edward there would be no hanky-panky until tomorrow night. We’ve been planning this for weeks so let’s not go back on our word now."

"This could be our last chance to be together," he protested, "and you're going to let the psychobabble of that half-witted, self-absorbed idiot of a director keep us apart?"

"Oh no, see we'll be together tomorrow night as planned. We’re not having sex tonight because I'm going to walk away from that fight tomorrow."

"You can’t know that for certain," he told her. "The fact is, anytime you face another Immortal you could lose even if you're the more skillful fighter. He might cheat. If that happened, we'd have lost our last night together."

"So spend the night with me," she suggested. "I welcome it, but we’re still not going to make love, and it’s not really necessary." Seeing the look he gave her she reassured him, "Don’t get me wrong, I want you badly," her dark eyes flashed, "and when it happens the sex is going to be mind-blowing, but in the end it’s only a physical symbol of what we already know. That sounds, as one of my friends would say, ‘Just like a chick,’ but hear me out. Let me have the comfort of your arms around me tonight, like the nights we spent together platonically, so long ago. Tomorrow, I promise," she leaned in and bit his jaw lightly, "I’ll jump your bones."

The next day no one had seen Mahleah despite the fact that it was almost time for the curtain to rise. Edward was beside himself worrying about what would happen to the night’s performance if the understudy had to go on instead of Mahleah.

MacLeod was deeply concerned as well. He knew that she could have encountered Nicholas Frazier, so if she turned up late for the play was immaterial to him. His worry was whether she would show up at all.

"This is so unlike her," Edward fretted. "She’s never late for a show, never."

MacLeod automatically responded, "She’ll be here," but inside his stomach felt like it was digesting glass.

His mind sifted through memories: Mahleah at five years old, trying so hard to hold back tears after being attacked by a vampire; at eight years old, picking up sword techniques like she had known them all her life; then, at twenty two when she was assaulted by her lover; and a year later when she got drunk and bared her heart to him for the first time-centuries full of memories that he knew would haunt him if she never returned.

Melanie, the understudy, was terrified. She knew the part of Beatrice but was well aware that opening night had gotten great reviews and the audience was here to see Mahleah, not her.

The play began. The curtain rose and Melanie went out on stage with the others, filled with dread. MacLeod stood in the wings waiting for his cue to enter when he suddenly felt a tingle. He listened and sure enough, Mahleah’s voice rang out, "Has Senior Mountanto returned from the wars, or no?" He breathed a sigh of relief.

If Edward had thought the chemistry between his stars was steamy previously, now it was positively molten. The audience was mesmerized, imagining that if it looked closely enough it could actually see the sparks flying between Benedick and Beatrice.

After the curtain fell the Immortals attempted to make their way back to Mahleah’s dressing room but graciously accepted the accolades people were showering upon them. When they reached the door, Edward blocked the way.

"You can’t do it," he announced. "Did you hear that crowd? Do you know that we’re sold out for the next month? You can’t ruin things now."

"Edward," Mahleah said firmly. "Move out of the way and stop being absurd. We agreed to give you two nights no more. If that displeases you, replace us. Now excuse us, we have much to discuss."

She walked inside, waited for MacLeod to enter and then locked the door. "You’re never going to believe what happened to me," she told him.

"Nicholas?"

"No, well, he was probably behind it. I got a note, by the way, saying that he’s meeting me tonight, here at the Globe."

"You haven’t fought yet?"

"No, listen to me. I was outside my flat, walking toward my car, when this kid bumps into me. I didn’t think anything of it at first but then I realized he’d stolen Tora! I think I chased him all over London before I finally caught him. He confessed a man had paid him a lot of money to steal her and said that it didn’t really matter if I got her back, but he’d pay him extra if I didn’t. It was Nicholas -- I know it. He wanted to make me so late, I wouldn’t be able to go on."

"So you still have to fight him?"

"Yes, I’m afraid so, but first…" she let her dress fall to the floor, which displayed assets enhanced by the underwear designed to go under the period costume.

"What are you doing?"

She perched herself on the top of her dressing table. "Keeping a promise. I said that after tonight’s show, I’d jump you."

"I was expecting a bit more than a quickie in your dressing room," he complained.

"Oh, you’re going to get a lot more than this, after I fight Nicholas. Trust me what I have in mind will take a lot longer. Come here."

He walked to her and she nodded approvingly. "Ooh, I like it when you obey my orders - sometimes. Kiss me."

He leaned in to answer her command and she wrapped her arms and legs around him. He had just succeeded in unfastening her many laces, and she was about to comment on the advantages of having a lover who actually knew how the clothes came off, when they felt a warning buzz.

Mahleah pulled away. "Of course he’s going to be early - the show off. Oh well, once more into the breach, dear friends. We'll continue this later in much greater detail."

She hopped off the table and began pulling on clothes. He watched in silence, drinking in every motion. When she was ready she picked up her katana and faced him. "It’s what being in love with an Immortal is all about," she reminded him softly. "You never know from day to day if it could be the last time you’re together. A wise man once told me I’ll always be here and here," she tapped his head and his heart, "if that's true I can never truly die."

"As I recall the response was that tonight I want you here as well," he pulled her into the circle of his arms.

She smiled and kissed him briefly. "Oh, I will be," she promised, "and if you play your cards right, I’ll even be here," she dramatically fell to her knees, rubbed her head against his thigh like a cat, gazed up at him, and then stood, "later." She walked out of the door.

"Later, mo chridhe," he agreed.

"So that’s how you and Mac got back together," Buffy mused. "I’m almost afraid to ask what happened next. You generally have a cycle of getting together and breaking up, and time it gets worse. After all, you're here without him."

"Yes, I am," Mahleah agreed. "But tonight, I think I have that happy ending you were looking for. Mac and I spent a year at the Globe together. Then we traveled the world for a couple of years and settled in Scotland for a while, but Duncan knew that he couldn’t stay there permanently because things tended to happen to him in his native land. Eventually we made our way back to Paris. One night we were returning from a movie when…"

Mac and Mahleah were walking hand-in-hand along the Seine. Mac looked over at her and thought she looked even more beautiful than ever. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes were sparkling, and her whole being seemed to be glowing.

"I love that movie!" she declared. "I loved it the first time I saw it, and I think it’s only gotten better with time."

The movie in question was Shakespeare in Love, which had been playing at a classic film festival. MacLeod had enjoyed the film as well, but he also enjoyed teasing Mahleah.

"Even though it was unrealistic?" he said lightly. "I mean there’s no way a woman could really have done that. During the Renaissance, they were very careful about making sure that there were no female incursions into male territory like the stage."

"I think if a woman were truly a good enough actress, she could pull it off."

"In other words, you think you could have done it."

"Yes, I think maybe I could have. You’ve seen me in Victor/Victoria. You know I can play a woman pretending to be a man pretending to be a woman. Are you saying you doubt my abilities?"

"Well, you’ll never get the chance to prove it, will you? Besides, the times you’ve acted in are completely different from the Renaissance."

"Oh, and you remember it so well since you were a child when Elizabeth died. That was how many centuries ago?"

"True," he admitted, "so I’ll just be chivalrous and say my lady could do whatever she put her mind to doing."

She kissed his cheek. "Good answer, mo saighdear-bàrd. Tonight, I'm in such a mood after seeing that movie again, though, I think I could do whatever you wanted." She reached out and laced her fingers in his hair. "So is there something you’d like me to do for you, my bonnie Highlander?"

He was quiet for a moment looking at her and then he said, "Marry me."

She gave a start, "What?"

"You heard what I said. Marry me."

She walked a few steps away and looked out at the Seine. "Why now, after all this time?"

"Because it's finally the right time," he answered.

"Do you think you could marry an Immortal?" she asked seriously. " ’Til death do us part’ means a little more for us than it does for other people. Not to mention the fact that we might have to face each other some day."

"I could never take your head," he said firmly, "not even if we were the last two Immortals left, and I don’t believe you could take mine either."

"No," she responded. "You know that I don’t buy into the Pavlovian idea that Immortals have to fight until only one is left. Here’s another question for you: why marriage? How would it change anything between us?"

"It’s a leap of faith," he told her. "It’s the ultimate commitment and absolute show of trust for our kind." Then he laughed, "If you like, just put it down to the fact that I was born in the 16th century and some ideas die hard. Besides I went to a lot of trouble to get this ring."

"Ring?"

He pulled a small box from his inner jacket pocket, and handed it to her.

"Mac, you didn’t have to buy me a… oh," she gasped when she saw the contents of the box. Nestled inside was a double heart surrounded by diamonds– one set with a sapphire and the other with a ruby – and topped with a crown. "Duncan, I…."

"Wow, you’re actually at a loss for words," he grinned. "I must have picked the right piece."

"It looks like my bracelet." Her right hand involuntarily flexed and moonlight glinted from a piece of jewelry he had given her centuries ago when they first became lovers.

"That’s one reason I wanted it for you."

"One reason, there are others?"

"I didn’t know if you would recognize it. It once belonged to Charles Stuart."

"Charles Stuart?" she gasped. "Is this the ring he gave Clementina?"

"Aye," he said with a grin.

"No wonder you had trouble obtaining it, you probably had to spend a fortune on this little bauble. Why go to all that trouble?"

"I wanted you to have something with a history – something that would remind you of our past: the early days as well as the more recent time we spent in the Highlands. These have been the happiest years I can remember."

Her mind was spinning and her heart racing. "So, you found the ring that Bonnie Prince Charlie gave his mistress?"

"There have always been rumors that he actually married her," he reminded her. "I always preferred to think so myself."

"So you want to make an honest woman of me at last," she bantered while her thoughts whirled furiously.

Taking a deep breath, she turned to face him and gave him her answer, "Yes."

"Yes? Yes!" he grabbed her and whirled her around. A boat was coming down the river, and he waltzed her down the banks to the music that drifted from its deck.

"The two of you got married?" Buffy was ecstatic.

Mahleah smiled, "He proposed and I said yes."

"So you were engaged?" Buffy was getting a little bewildered.

"Yes."

"But you haven’t gotten married?"

"Not yet."

"Not yet. That means that you’re going to, right? Where is he? I’m terrified that you’re going to say the two of you broke up or he died or something."

"No, we didn’t break up and as we speak Duncan MacLeod is still alive. Is that enough of a happy ending for you?"

"Well, I still have questions," Buffy protested. "I mean I’m really confused about some things. I’d almost believe you were making this up, Mahleah, ‘cause things don’t track."

"I know."

"Your story takes place over hundreds of years but it’s only 1998 and you were born in this century."

"I know. Eventually I’ll tell you the second part of the story but not tonight. You need to be getting home. After all, you do have school tomorrow."

"Yes, isn’t it great!" Buffy clapped her hands over her mouth. "I never thought I’d hear myself say that."

"Go home. You’ll want to look good for your new prospective boyfriend."

Buffy pulled her claddagh ring out of her pocket. "I’ve got one stop to make first. I have to say goodbye to an old friend."

Once more, Buffy stood on the spot where Angel died. She had decided that if she was going to start a new chapter in her life, she should say goodbye to the old one. Now she found it harder than she’d imagined.

She still clutched the claddagh ring in her hand. When she looked at it, she could still see Angel giving it to her on the night of her seventeenth birthday - the night everything started going wrong, the night that proved how deadly the relationship between a vampire and a Slayer could be.

She gritted her teeth, took a deep breath and managed to say it, "Goodbye, Angel." She laid the ring on the spot where he had disappeared, since it was the closest thing to his grave and then quietly left.

When she went to sleep, she had one last dream of Angel. She remembered the night they had been possessed by the ghosts of James and Grace: the student and the teacher who'd had such a fatal affair. This time though the ghosts weren't present; it was just her and Angel interacting, and she realized what he was trying to tell her.

She woke up with a gasp, her face wet with tears. He had managed, she felt, to use their shared memories to send her a message from beyond the grave: "I never stopped loving you. I don't blame you for anything that happened. Now, dry your tears and start a new life...be happy."

She intended to fulfill that last wish.

The next few weeks were stressful for Buffy. She had just settled into her new routine, balancing high school, Slayer duties, a new boyfriend, training with Mahleah, and dealing with an overanxious mother, when the whole juggling act collapsed around her. The unthinkable happened: Angel returned from Hell.

Buffy still wasn’t sure how or why Angel had been brought back, but it had sent her emotions into overdrive. When she first encountered him, he had not recognized her; he was like an animal that had been beaten too often. She had taken him to the deserted mansion he had made his headquarters before their last fight, and chained him to the wall. Later he had broken loose and attacked a monster that Buffy was fighting. He seemed to be Angel again after that, albeit a weak, very confused Angel.

Buffy was afraid to tell her friends about his return. She didn’t think they would understand that he wasn’t the same evil vampire she had fought months ago. Giles, in particular, she knew would have problems dealing with the person who killed Jenny.

She turned to the only person who could handle the news: Mahleah. Upon hearing that Buffy’s ex had returned, Mahleah frowned and asked, "Are you sure he’s cured?"

"Yes," Buffy told her. "Well, I don’t know if cured is the right word. Willow cursed him."

"So, as far as you know the curse she used was the original one? That would mean it has the same limitations as the first one."

"I think so," Buffy said sadly. "We both understand that we can’t be together - like that, but, I mean he is my friend, and he needs my help. He’s very weak."

"You say that when he first returned he was wild. That would make sense considering what he’s no doubt been through. Are you sure it’s safe to be around him?"

"I’m pretty sure," Buffy said. "I told you when I first found him, he couldn’t talk and I don’t know that he even recognized me. Now, he’s pretty much like the old Angel, except that we’re both really awkward around each other."

"Why haven’t you told Rupert and the others?"

"Because they will do a major freak job on me."

"You need to tell them, Buffy. If they find out through some other source, they’ll be even more upset. It could seriously damage your friendships."

"I know," Buffy admitted, "but first I need to figure out a way to tell them."

"My advice is to not to wait too long."

"You won’t tell them, will you, Mahleah?"

"No. It’s your secret and your responsibility to see that they discover the truth from you and no other source."

Buffy knew Mahleah was right, but she wanted to find the perfect time to tell them and it never seemed to come. She continued to take Angel blood since he was too weak to find any for himself. She told him about Scott, although it hurt her to see the pain in his eyes. She was not expecting Scott to break up with her the next day. When she told Mahleah about it, and the fact that Scott had said she wasn’t the girl he'd thought she was-she was too moody and distracted, for him --Mahleah was unperturbed.

"If he couldn’t understand why you’re a bit more serious this year after you got expelled, were wanted by the police, and ran away from home, then you didn’t need him anyway. As you might say, ‘Loser! Move on!’"

Buffy hesitated in telling Angel about the breakup. She didn’t want to do anything to jeopardize the precarious rapport they were building. Eventually she thought of a way of distracting them from thoughts of what might have been -Mahleah’s story. She figured that he would be interested since he had met the woman when she was a child.

When she finished, Angel frowned. "I remember that little girl, but Buffy that was only twenty some years ago. I don’t know who or what Mahleah is, but I don’t believe her story. I’ve never encountered an Immortal before."

"No offense, Angel, but they don’t exactly advertise their presence, especially to vampires. I know Immortals exist; Giles told me about them, and Davinia had heard about them as well."

"I guess if Giles knows about them they exist, but how do you know that’s what Mahleah is?"

"Angel, I staked her. She was dead, okay. Then, suddenly, she was alive again. Trust me, the woman doesn’t even have a scar."

"That doesn’t mean she’s Immortal," he objected. "There’s too many things in her story that don’t add up."

"I know. She’s promised to explain to me how everything fits. Oh, God, look at the time," Buffy was flustered. "I’d better get home or Mom's going to think I became something’s midnight snack. Goodnight, Angel."

"Goodnight, Buffy," he said absently.

He sat there quietly thinking after she left for quite some time. Then he rose and went out. Buffy had told him where Mahleah lived and he wanted to meet her. Finding the right house, he knocked on the door. A few minutes later, a woman came to the door with a thin kimono wrapped loosely around her.

When she saw him, she paused. Many years had passed, but his was a face she would never forget. She subtly appraised him. He was looking much better than the last time she’d seen him: healthier and better groomed. He still had the same dark eyes, though, that showed her both his soul and his pain.

"Angel?" she asked. "Is something wrong? Is Buffy okay?"

"Buffy’s fine," he told her. "I just wanted to talk to you."

"Please, come in, then," she invited.

He looked at her. "You do know…"

"That you’re a vampire, of course I do. But I have nothing to fear from my guardian angel, please come in."

He crossed the threshold, his mind whirling. Buffy had forgotten to tell him that Mahleah knew the little girl’s pet name for him. He followed her into the living room and when she turned, he studied her. Yes, it was the same person. She had the same large dark eyes, the same unusually colored hair, the same mouth and cheekbones.

"You are the one," he said.

She smiled and he had a flashback of a brave five-year-old smiling up at him in gratitude. "I am the one," she repeated firmly. "Now, won’t you sit down and tell me what’s on your mind, Angel?"

He sat. The house was unusually warm, as she had lit a fire. "Who are you?" he demanded. "I know what you’ve told Buffy, but we both know that’s not possible. The things you’ve been telling her couldn’t have happened to you. When we met it was only twenty years or so ago."

"Twenty two," she corrected.

"Twenty two. Well, that would make you twenty seven, not however many centuries you’re claiming."

"Why would I lie?"

"To gain Buffy’s confidence. I don’t know, I guess the kindest explanation would be that you made it all up to help Buffy out. She obviously needed someone to talk to, and you were there for her, but what are you up to now? Why did you come to Sunnydale?"

"I have an appointment to meet an old friend," she told him softly. "So, do you think I made up being Immortal as well?"

"Well, according to what Buffy saw you’re obviously not a normal human being and you’re not one of my kind either. Giles, I know, believes you’re Immortal as did Davinia. That brings up another problem: I knew Davinia. She was crazy-many vampires are-but she was obsessed with becoming invulnerable. Also, she was older than me, so how could you have known her before she became a vampire? That would make me younger than you, and we’ve just established that you’re 27."

"We’ve established that I should be 27, but you’re right, I am older than you - considerably older. I can’t believe you’re denying the existence of Immortals. You’re a vampire, surely you can imagine the existence of creatures like my sort?"

"If Immortals have existed as long as you say, then why don’t I know about them?" he challenged. "Surely I would have heard rumors of some kind."

"You want proof?" she asked him. "You want to know why we try so hard not to become known to your kind?"

She stood up and let the kimono drop to the floor. Underneath she wore a black silk nightgown that reached to the floor. A slit in the side gave him a glimpse of a long, shapely leg. The bodice was low cut and consisted mostly of lace. Tilting her head to one side, she told him, "Drink."

"What?" he swallowed, hard.

"Drink from me, taste my blood, feel my power. It’s all the proof you’ll need."

His eyes involuntarily took in the whole picture. She was standing in front of the fireplace, its glow highlighting the gold in her hair and outlining the curves of her body. One strand of her hair fell loosely down to her shoulder. "I can’t do that," he protested.

"Come on, you won’t hurt me. I mean, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t drain me, but I’m giving you permission to drink my blood. I do not make this offer lightly, Angel, but I trust you." She hadn't moved. Her eyes, calm and complacent, gave him permission. She was completely relaxed.

She smelled of things he remembered from his human past: cinnamon and vanilla, as if she’d been baking. The demon inside him was salivating because it could sense her blood. Anyway around it, she smelled like food to him, and it didn’t help that she looked like she’d stepped straight from a vampire’s most erotic fantasy. Still, now that he had his soul back, he wouldn’t give into either of his twin urges: to feed, or to ravish her. After all, there was Buffy to consider. The man won out and the demon subsided with an inaudible howl of protest.

"I can’t," he said stepping towards her, "especially not if it was true about Kenneth feeding off you. That was unforgivable, and I won’t do it." He tucked the errant lock behind her ear.

She straightened her head, a look of approval in her eyes. "Buffy was right. You are no longer an animal. Very well," she walked over to a table where an empty wineglass stood. Waterford crystal, the Irish vampire noticed in a daze. Before he realized what she was doing, she had brought a knife out of hiding. He heard her gasp as she cut her wrist deeply and caught the blood with the glass. She turned to him, holding the glass of blood in her right hand. He was close enough that the smell of the blood overwhelmed him. Its richness and potency surrounded him.

She wrapped her arm in a discarded hand towel and smiled then held out the glass. "Taste and understand."

He was still reluctant, but she insisted. He raised the glass to his lips and took a cautious sip. She watched as his eyes widened. He looked at her, stunned. She beckoned to him to finish what was left in the glass, "You’re weak, and that will restore much of your strength." He closed his eyes, swallowed and then raised the glass again and drank deeply. His eyes were closed and a shiver of pleasure ran through his body. As Angelus, he had terrorized most of Europe and had drunk deeply of more people than he cared to remember, but never had he experienced anything like this.

The glass fell from his fingers but Mahleah expected that and caught it before it hit the floor. He swayed and she guided him to the couch.

"Careful," she warned him, "I would imagine someone in your state would be quite overwhelmed by the power."

His eyes opened, but they were dreamy, unfocused. "That was…"

"Incredible, I know," Mahleah’s voice was dry.

"I’ve never…"

"Tasted anything like it," she finished. She unbound her wrist and let him watch. He thought he saw a small spark and the wound was gone.

"Even vampires don’t heal that quickly," he gasped, and forced himself to focus on her. "I believe," he said slowly, "that you are Immortal, but you are so old. Much older than you’ve even hinted at with Buffy."

"I know," she told him, "and there are reasons for that, I promise. I will tell you, but not tonight. I want Buffy to hear them as well. Do you believe now that I have no plans to harm her? I’ve said that I’m here to meet my destiny, but it seems I’m also here to prepare her to meet her own."

"I look forward to hearing the rest of the story," he told her.

"Well, I’m not Paul Harvey, but I’ll try."

End of Recovery I.