In the next few days, Buffy and Angel’s lives got even more complicated. By accident, Giles and Buffy’s other friends found out about Angel’s return. Both Buffy and Mahleah were proven correct in their predictions. They freaked out at the news, and because Buffy had not been the one to tell them, they were skeptical of her motivations for hiding him. However after Angel protected Willow from the wrath of a homicidal ex-Watcher attempting to take possession of a supernatural weapon, they were inclined to tolerate him.

A curve ball hit the teenagers' love lives as well. Despite being friends since childhood, Willow and Xander suddenly discovered that they had trouble keeping their hands off one another. Considering they were dating other people, this was not good news. When Willow and Xander were kidnapped, things exploded. Oz and Cordelia, out of their minds with worry, managed to find their significant others just in time to discover the two in a clinch.

The unplanned betrayal left everyone shattered. Cordelia found herself recovering from the shock of falling through a floor and being impaled on a metal spike and nearly dying in fact, after running from the sight of her boyfriend in another girl's arms. She told Xander she never wanted to see him again. Willow and Oz 's relationship was put on hiatus until Oz could decide if he could forgive her.

Two weeks later, Willow sighed. "Shopping is just not as much fun when you're alone," she decided.

She walked aimlessly through the mall, mostly looking in windows. She was walking through the food court when she spotted Mahleah sitting at one of the tables eating a salad and a baked potato. She was observing the people passing by with interest, and greeted Willow warmly.

"Mahleah, you're doing the mall thing."

Mahleah smiled. "I like to watch people. Have a seat. Are you shopping for something in particular? You don't seem to have found anything you like."

"Oh, I'm just looking," Willow waved her hand vaguely.

"So, where's Buffy? Why isn't she getting in on all the shopping action?"

"She had a thing to do with her mom."

"And Xander?"

"He's around somewhere moping about the fact that Cordelia dumped him."

"Oz?"

"I don't know," she looked down. "Mahleah, can I ask you something?"

"Yes."

"Have you ever had to make a choice? A really hard choice?"

"Everyone has, Willow. What's your choice: between Oz and Xander?"

"Yeah, I mean, I've loved Xander since, well, forever, but I love Oz, too. I'm so confused."

"Close your eyes," Mahleah commanded. Willow just looked at her in puzzlement. "I'm going to help you figure out what you want. Now, close your eyes."

The redhead obeyed.

"Now, I'm going to ask you to picture some scenes and I want you to see them as clearly as possible. Ready?"

"Ready."

"Okay, remember the first time Xander kissed you." The girl smiled. "Now compare that to the first time Oz asked you out. Think about your first kiss with Oz and then the way you felt when you learned that Cordelia and Xander were dating. Last, see the look on Xander's face when he first saw you as a romantic interest. When you’ve got that, compare it to the look on Oz's face when he saw you kissing Xander and ask yourself…" which feels stronger, she meant to say, but Willow interrupted by yelping, "Oz!"

"You know what you want," Mahleah told her.

"Yeah, but how do I get him back? What should I do?"

"Nothing. As the injured party, it's his right to forgive or not. Wait for him to tell you what he wants. Be patient."

"Okay, but it's not easy."

"It never is, Will."

"So, is it worth it?"

"Oh, you'll have to make up your own mind about that."

"Tell me something, Mahleah."

"What?"

"I don't know, something about your life. I'm sure it's been fascinating. Tell me something you haven't told Buffy."

"I'm sensing a little rivalry here."

"No, not really. It's just she's the Slayer and always gets extra privileges. I have no desire for those little perks because then you also have to be responsible for saving the world and doing things like sending your lover to Hell. I don't want those things, just a nice quiet moment that you haven't shared before."

"Very well, let's see, what would interest you. My first boyfriend was a guitar player, too."

"Really? That's cool. What was his name?"

"Kevin, Kevin Davis."

"How long did the two of you date?"

"Most of my junior year of high school."

"Did your father object to your dating a musician?"

Mahleah smiled, "Definitely. We had more than a few discussions about my newfound rebelliousness. He never tried to prevent me from seeing Kevin, though. He knew that I'd probably pack up and head to Seacouver if he did."

"How did you and Kevin meet?"

"At a school dance, actually. Someone asked for my opinion of the band playing and I said the lead singer's voice was thin and scratchy and the guitar player should stick to strangling cats."

"Kevin wasn't the guitarist in question, I hope."

Mahleah laughed. "No, he wasn't, but happened to be walking by when I made the comment. He agreed with my assessment and was further impressed to learn that I had been playing myself since I was a girl."

"Not to mention sing," Willow pointed out.

"Actually at that time I was rather shy about performing in public. I sang for Dad, Mac, Tessa and Darius, but not many other people. Kevin overheard me humming one day and started coaxing me to sing for him. When I finally loosened up enough to comply, he hounded me to sing with his band."

"So, did you?"

"Yes, the week before the prom, they had a gig at a local wedding reception. They were not too crazy about doing weddings and their lead singer cancelled on them. Kevin begged me to fill in and I did, completely terrified the whole time."

"The beginning of your whole career," Willow declared.

"The start of my career as a singer, anyway."

"So, what happened your senior year? Did the two of you break up?"

"No," Mahleah was quiet for a moment. "The night before the prom my junior year, Kevin died."

"Oh," Willow sensed finality in Mahleah's tone of voice and decided not to ask what happened. "Well, at least you had a year."

"Yes, I was left with memories, an aversion to the prom, and Kevin's acoustic guitar, a gift from his parents."

"That was nice," Willow brightened, "and you got over your prom antipathy, right?"

"Not exactly. I made no plans to attend my senior year. My father tried to encourage me but I always cut him off in mid-sentence. The week before, Tessa sent me a beautiful black evening gown from Paris. My classmates had decided to have a small moment of remembrance in Kevin's honor and everyone wanted me there. I kept refusing to go. A couple of guys had offered to take me, but I declined."

"So, did you go?"

"On the big night itself, I locked myself in my room. About an hour before the dance started, someone knocked on my door. When I told them to go away, I heard my dad say, 'Mahleah, you're not going to sit in your room and brood all night. Like it or not, someone's come to take you dancing.'

"I unlocked my door, prepared to vent my wrath on the presumptuous eighteen-year-old male outside. Imagine my surprise when instead, I found a four hundred-year-old Scottish Highlander decked out in a tux."

"Duncan came to take you to the prom?" Willow was excited. "That's so romantic."

"It wasn't meant to be," Mahleah told her. "In fact, Tessa was the one to suggest it. Being as old as he was, Mac was a little clueless about the importance of the prom to a teenage girl. He agreed because he wanted me to get out and have fun."

"Of course he did, and it didn't hurt that you had the best looking date there."

"How would you know?" Mahleah asked in surprise.

"Buffy told me he was a honey, and she's a reliable source."

"Be that as it may, he was a date who wouldn't take no for an answer. Before I knew what was happening, I'd gotten dressed and away we went. We danced all night long. In fact, they had to run us out of the gym so the DJ could pack up and go home."

"Duncan taught you to dance, didn't he? I bet you two dazzled them with your fancy footwork."

"Yes, actually we did. So, Willow, you've now heard about a part of my life I didn't even tell Buffy."

Mahleah finished her meal while Willow resumed shopping. Just as the Immortal started to rise, Cordelia plopped down in front of her.

"Hi, Mahleah. You know, you've been around a lot. In fact, you're ancient, so, can I ask you something woman-to-woman?"

"With a beginning like that, how can I refuse?" was the dry reply.

"Right. Well, what I'm wondering is why did Xander cheat on me with Little Miss Computer Nerd-turned-Wendy the Good Witch? I mean, am I that repulsive? I'm rich, popular and beautiful, so why would that lose lock lips with someone else? Loser, now there's the clue. It answers my whole problem. It's not me -- it's him. Thanks, Mahleah, you've been a really big help." She left.

"Anytime," Mahleah told the empty chair. "Glad I could help."

Buffy’s romantic life was in turmoil as well. Since Scott had broken up with her, the tension between herself and Angel was growing unbearable. They’d found themselves kissing on a couple of occasions and nearly couldn't pull away.

It was Spike that cinched the deal for Buffy. He had returned to Sunnydale weepy because Drusilla had left him. Being Spike, his first impulse was, of course, to cause trouble. He had been the one to kidnap Willow and Xander out of a desire for Willow to cast a love spell to bring Drusilla back to him. In fact, he had been a shell of his former self until a vicious fight with former minions snapped him back to reality. He decided that all he had to do to win Drusilla back was be himself. Happy as a lark, he left town, leaving chaos in his wake.

Aside from the Willow, Xander, Oz, and Cordelia melodrama, which although he had pulled the curtain open on, so to speak, he had not really been responsible for, Spike had also shattered Buffy’s peace of mind. He had laughed at her and Angel’s attempts to turn their relationship into a platonic friendship. He told them scornfully that for the rest of their lives they would either fight or "shag" - for them, there was no in-between.

Buffy realized the truth in his words and told Angel she was not going to see him any more. He couldn’t accept that and asked if there wasn’t anyway that he could change her mind. Yet, he couldn’t meet her challenge: to tell her that he didn’t love her. She walked out, quite intent on never seeing him again.

She went to Mahleah but the Immortal knew that she should do nothing. This was Buffy and Angel’s problem and they alone could deal with it. So, she offered the girl the only comfort she could-the discipline of katas and the rigor of sword practice--allowing Buffy to tune out the outside world for a few hours each day.

She offered the same antidote to Angel, but added chess to regime of mental discipline. She was waiting, not entirely sure why, for the perfect moment to finish her story.

Once or twice a week, Mahleah and Rupert Giles had dinner, a friendly game of chess, and frequently a little sparring, as Giles was fond of fencing. Occasionally their matches were at his place but most often were at her house. Giles couldn't deny himself the pleasure of watching her finish a workout. He timed his visits for the evenings when Buffy wasn't present thinking that the girl needed private time with her new mentor, but also because he quite enjoyed having Mahleah all to himself. Adult company was rare in his life these days and the presence of such a beautiful and fascinating woman rarer still.

Watching Mahleah as she ran through a seemingly endless routine of katas was educational for him as well. He could see both how far Buffy had come as a fighter and how far she had yet to go. Upon her calling the Slayer inherited great strength out of necessity -- her enemies possessed supernatural abilities, but comparing her to the Immortal, Giles could see that Buffy relied too much on her Slayer powers. In a fight between Buffy and Mahleah MacLeod, his money would be on the older woman. He felt disloyal at even thinking such a thing, but that didn't make it any less true.

"Of course, Buffy will never live to be anywhere near Mahleah's age," he reasoned. "She does remarkable things for a seventeen-year-old and constantly improves."

Still, there was something to be said for centuries of training, he admitted while admiring the clean lines of Mahleah's forms. Both fighters had undeniable presence, but Buffy's attitude was brash, defiant, and even exuberant when compared to Mahleah's quiet, deadly grace. He imagined them as large cats, tigers were appropriate: Buffy, the young cub eager and impatient, learning the boundaries of her prowess and Mahleah, the mature hunter, sleek, experienced, and quite lethally lovely.

It was with these thoughts in mind that he entered the Immortal's house one evening not long after Spike's descent upon Sunnydale. He still felt a thrill every time he let himself in, knowing that Mahleah trusted him enough to have a key to her house.

He walked to the room she had made into a small dojo and froze in the doorway feeling the breath catch in his throat. This evening, Mahleah wasn't performing her usual routine of sword work. Instead, she was dancing to the sounds of Bizet's Carmen. He had never seen her dance, never before seen her so completely open and unguarded. The graceful artistry of her martial skills flowed effortlessly into something similar in movement, but worlds apart in intent. Having caught the dedicated warrior in a sublime act of joy and peace, he stood mesmerized by the sight.

The music ended and she slowly came to a stop, brought herself out of the moment, looked over at him and smiled, "Hello, Rupert."

He returned her greeting not surprised that she'd known of his presence. There were, after all, any number of mirrors in the room, but he knew felt that she would have known even without their aid. She was not easily caught off-guard.

As she walked towards him, her hands pulled her hair free. Giles' fist clenched in an effort to refrain from touching that shimmering curtain.

"Down boy," he told himself. "What's gotten into you tonight?"

"So, are you cooking this evening?" She asked, nodding towards the groceries he held in one arm.

"Yes," he managed to say.

"Good, while you're taking care of dinner, I'm going to shower."

He followed her back into the living room where she began ascending the stairs.

"Mahleah," he called after her.

She turned and saw appreciation in his eyes for being allowed to witness such a private moment. Smiling, she said, "You’re welcome," and continued upwards. He smiled back, then shook himself and hurried into the kitchen to begin cooking.

A couple of hours later, having eaten and taken care of the dishes, they settled down with hot mugs of tea--Earl Grey for him, apple-cinnamon for her--to play chess.

After the opening moves were out of the way, and the game was getting interesting, Giles told her, "I think inviting you to Sunnydale was one of my most ingenuous plans."

"Really?" she grinned. "Were you that concerned about the Scooby gang getting hurt on patrol? They didn't do so badly for complete amateurs with no combat training. Of course, I was there to catch the ones that got away."

"That's not exactly what I mean. I'm glad you came to assist them, but I was very relieved that you were here when Buffy returned. You've done wonders for her. I can't thank you enough."

"Well, I can't claim to have worked any miracle cures but I'm happy to have helped Buffy. She's a terrific girl."

"Yes, she is, and she's had so many trials to endure. It's good she decided to open up to you. I've been concerned about her for quite some time. Things have been especially difficult for her this past year and now with Angel's return…"

"She's dealt with that pretty well, I think. She'll find, though, that her recent decision to stay away from him impossible to keep."

"You think so?"

She smiled wanly, "I know so. You resolve to stay away from someone because you love him, and he loves you? You tell me, how long can it last?"

"Do you think there's cause for concern?"

"Oh, not concern in the way you mean. I have no fears that Angel will lose his soul again. I'm more concerned that they can't really have a future together, and it will be extremely painful for them when they realize it."

"You see them getting back together," it was a statement, not a question.

She grimaced, "Do you know what Spike said to them. Buffy told me because she couldn't get it out of her head -- it's the reason she stopped seeing Angel at all. Quote: You're not friends. You'll never be friends. You'll be in love 'til it kills you both. You'll fight and you'll shag and you'll hate each other 'til it makes you quiver, but you'll never be friends. Love isn't brains, children. It's blood screaming inside you to work its will. End quote."

"My God," Giles breathed, "No wonder Buffy's taken such drastic measures. After that little speech, I'd be surprised if she dated at all."

"He certainly has a way with words," Mahleah said grimly. "As I recall, he always did have."

"You've met Spike before, you never told me," Giles said in surprise.

"It was many years ago. He killed a friend of mine, and would be dust by now if I hadn't discovered that if I killed him I'd alter history in some way. But that's in the past. Even if I abhor the source, I can't discount the words. He has a point. That's the way love is for some people, I fear."

"Yes," Giles took off his glasses and wiped his eyes.

Mahleah moved a piece on the chessboard and sat back in thought for a moment. Then she said, "After Phillip took Duncan away from me, I spent a long time hating everything and everyone but especially Phillip. I even hated Mac a little. I was angry that he wasn't with me and that I was in so much pain. If I hadn't loved him so much, then I wouldn't have been in such agony. Ironically, I hated him for touching my heart and soul so deeply -- for loving me. As for Phillip, the rage I felt for him is hard to describe. I was consumed by it. For years, killing him was all I could think about. If I could make him pay, then I would feel better."

"And now?" Giles prompted.

"I've moved past it, let it go. Hatred only serves itself. I realized that life is too short to waste any of it hating."

"But you're thousands of years old," he protested.

"I may be that old, but the people around me will live only a tiny fraction of that time. When I thought of all the people I could have met, maybe helped in some small way and experienced their goodness, joy and hope, I was ashamed of myself. I had been incredibly selfish and completely self-involved. So, now while I admit a small amount of anger remains for Phillip, it's mostly turned to pity."

"And, of course, you don't hate MacLeod either."

"No, emphatically no. He's one of the best men I've ever known. After all this time I'm not sure how I love him, but love' s still there. It's your move."

He ignored the chess game. "After Jenny died, at first all I could think about was killing Angelus. That went disastrously I'm afraid, and I probably would have joined Jenny if Buffy hadn't intervened. She said something to me then that I've never forgotten, 'I can't do this alone.' I realized that my hell was nothing compared to hers. Jenny was killed, but there wasn't a demon running around in her body, trying to destroy me by hurting those I care about. So, I tried to keep her pain first in my mind. Then, Angelus tortured me and Drusilla used my memories of Jenny to perform mind tricks on me to discover the secret of awaking Acathla. When I discovered Angelus was sent to hell I rejoiced, yet I knew that Buffy was devastated and I tried to be a comfort to her. I put her before my own needs. When I discovered Angel had returned, I felt betrayed. She hadn't bothered to inform me. She was so concerned for Angel's safety that she never thought of the safety of her friends, or the community. With her, Angel always came first."

"Well, I would say she put the world first when she had to send him to hell, but I see your point. You were bitter?"

"Yes, I was, but I've realized that I was expecting too much from her. She' s not eighteen yet, but I continuously expect her to act like an adult."

"Everyone handles grief in a different fashion, Giles. Your instinct is to find people in more pain than yourself and help them. It's quite noble, but you can't expect everyone to behave that way. Pain makes people selfish."

"Yes, well, I'm not as noble as you make me out to be. In my own way, I acted just as selfishly as she."

"At least you realize that," Mahleah told him. "So you're making progress. How about your feelings toward Angel?"

He frowned, "You'll pardon me if I don't feel quite as inclined to give Angel the benefit of the doubt."

"Why? Before he lost his soul did he ever do anything heinous or unforgivable?"

"No," Giles admitted grudgingly. "He always helped whenever we needed it."

"In fact, if it wasn't for him, wouldn't most of you be dead, including Buffy?"

"Yes, he saved our lives, but…"

"But what? He had no idea that the curse upon his soul could be lifted, did he? Do you think that he seduced Buffy, that he forced her into a relationship she wasn't ready for?"

"No, he always seemed to love her. He put her before anything else."

"So, why the hatred for him, Rupert? Answer me truly, is Angel responsible for any of these terrible atrocities?"

"No."

"Well, then, send your hatred to join Angelus in hell where it belongs."

He coughed and put his glasses back on. "It won't be easy. Every time I think of Angel, I see Angelus."

"Look in his eyes, Rupert. If you have any more doubts about him, look in his eyes. His soul is right there for you to see."

He sat thinking this over, and then commented wryly, "Doesn't it ever get tiresome, being right all the time?"

She grinned, "I don't know how you mortals put up with us."

Christmastime came and with it new hope and new troubles. Oz forgave Willow for her betrayal and they started over. Cordelia left for Aspen-she wasn’t ready to grant Xander forgiveness and no one could hazard a guess on whether she ever would.

Xander was standing in line waiting to buy a movie ticket. He hated being seen out alone but it was hardly news to the teens of Sunnydale that Cordelia had dumped him. He'd pleaded with Willow to come along, but she was still feeling guilty about cheating on Oz and didn't want to go anywhere.

"So, here I am," he thought. "A Lone Wolf on the prowl ready for action. Who am I kidding? I'm a loser who couldn't get a girl if my life depended on it. Dating Cordelia was just a fluke of nature and now that I've screwed that up what girl would want to touch me with a twenty-foot battering ram? Okay, maybe they'd want to touch me with a battering ram but who would…." His thoughts trailed off as he saw a breathtaking woman walking in his direction. She was very tall, he thought, taking in her long legs. His gaze traveled upwards. "In fact, she's got an awesome figure. Why is she hiding it behind that long black coat…oh, my God, it's Mahleah. Surely she didn't see me scoping her out."

The Immortal had indeed spotted him and was headed in his direction. "Oh, please," he prayed inwardly, "don't be offended, please, please don't be offended. I know you pack a really big sword and I have no desire to see it right now."

When she reached him the woman appeared amused, rather than upset, for which Xander immediately thanked every god worshipped by mankind.

"I'm sorry," he started to apologize.

"For what, acting like an eighteen year old guy? You have more manners than most. Those boys over there, for instance," she nodded to a group pressed against the windows next to the video games, gaping at her, "could use a refresher course."

"No offense, Mahleah," Xander stammered, "but there are women in the world who deserve to be stared at."

"Why? So they can feel like freaks? It's true there are women who feel validated only when they're being stared at, but for most, blatant staring is an invasion of privacy."

"So what is the proper procedure for showing admiration to a pretty woman?"

"Smile at her -- a genuine friendly smile -- look her in the eyes and then look away."

"And what will she do?"

"Most will do one of two things depending upon how outgoing they are. She'll either smile back at you, or lower her gaze. If she looks down though more than likely she'll have a shy little grin on her face. If not, she's probably in a bad mood and you shouldn't mess with her."

"Good advice from an expert, and I thought my evening was going to be dull and lonely."

Mahleah looked around, "Where are the girls?"

"Willow's home doing penance despite being Jewish, and Buffy and Faith are out on patrol. God only knows where Cordelia is."

"You miss her don't you?"

He looked at her steadily, "Mahleah, seeing Cordy with that metal sticking out of her stomach was the scariest thing I've ever seen, well next to Buffy actually being dead. I never want to feel that way again -- scared, guilty, scared because of feeling guilty, any combination thereof. Not exactly the best night of my life."

"You're a bundle of joy this evening."

Before he could make the sarcastic response on the tip of his tongue he heard, "Hey, Harris, John here is going to score with your girlfriend tonight. Oh, excuse me, that's ex-girlfriend since she dumped your sorry butt."

"And the fun continues to pour in," Xander said acidly.

"Don't say anything to them, eventually they'll get bored and go away."

"And if they don't?"

She looked at him, her dark eyes wide and wicked. "Ever heard a song called 'I'm going Japanese?' I'd introduce them to a samurai warrior."

He grinned, "Ah, the night's improving once again."

By this time, they had made it to the front of the line. Xander leaned in and told the ticket seller, "One for Star Trek Insurrection."

Mahleah bought a ticket to see the same movie though she had intended to see Elizabeth.

"You know Xander," she told the teen, "I just remembered that it's been a while since I kept up with the Star Trek universe. Maybe you can explain things to me."

After the movie Xander decided to walk Mahleah home. She listened to him explain how he'd gotten involved with Cordelia in the first place."

"It never would have happened if we weren't trapped in Buffy's basement by a Tarachan assassin made of bugs." Then he described seeing Willow in her homecoming dress and how the two of them had someone managed to kiss.

"It was a fluke, that's all, a clothes fluke."

Mahleah listened patiently. On her porch, she unlocked her door and looked at him. "May I give you some more advice, Xander?"

"Sure."

"Don't allow yourself to fall into situations. You found yourself kissing Cordelia and suddenly that seemed to make sense. Then you kissed Willow and everything seemed to click there too. Don't just land in a situation by default. Make decisions, take charge of your life, and take responsibility for your actions. It may be too late to do anything about Cordelia but there's still time to save your relationship with Willow, if you want."

"Why would I be having any problems with Will? We're cool."

"Are you? Why were you at the movies by yourself, then?"

"I wasn't, I was with you…" at her look he dropped the defense. "Okay, take action, be responsible, anything else?"

"Walking the teacher home, Harris?" it was the same guys walking down the street.

Xander started to respond when Mahleah prevented it by kissing him. They heard catcalls behind them. Mahleah broke away and shook her head a little. "Don't just let things happen to you, Xander," she said so softly that only he could hear it.

"Right, next time I'll kiss you first," he whispered back.

She gave him a look and he blushed. They both knew she was just helping him save face in front of the guys on the sidewalk. He still loved her for it.

"Good night, Xander."

"Good night, Mahleah."

Trouble came with a new evil called the First. It manifested itself in the form of ghosts of Angel’s former victims and nearly drove him insane with guilt. Part of its plan dealt with Buffy; it kept encouraging Angel to make love to Buffy and lose his soul again, enabling him to kill her. In desperation, Angel decided to greet the rising sun on Christmas morning rather than take a chance on hurting Buffy.

She found him on a hilltop looking down at Sunnydale, just before dawn.

"Angel," she called.

He turned to see who had spoken to him then returned his attention to the town below.

"I bet half the kids down there are already awake," he mused, "lying in their beds, sneaking downstairs, waiting for day."

She'd reached him and began coaxing, "Angel, please, I need you to get inside. There's only a few minutes left."

He was calm, almost amused. Didn't she realize that he knew that even more than she did? "I know, I can smell the sunrise long before it comes," he told her.

"I don't have time to explain this--you'll just have to trust me...that thing that was haunting you..."

"It wasn't haunting me," he interrupted. "It was showing me."

"Showing you?" she was confused.

"What I am."

"Were," she corrected.

"And ever shall be." he finished. "I wanted to know why I was back. Now I do."

She couldn't believe her ears. "You don't know. Some great evil takes credit for bringing you back and you buy it? You just give up?"

His voice lost its calmness. "I can't do it again, Buffy. I can't become a killer."

"Then fight it," she urged him.

He shook his head. "It's too hard."

"Angel, please," she pleaded, "You have to get inside."

Words started gushing, "It told me to kill you. You were in the dream. You know. It told me to lose my soul in you and become a monster again."

"I know what I told you. What does it matter?" she tried to reassure him.

"Because I wanted to," he admitted, shame eating so deeply in him he could feel it in his bones. Didn't she understand? "Because I want you so badly." He had only spent months in the demon dimension according to her time but according to Hell's clock it had been several centuries. He was brought back for an undisclosed purpose only to discover that the only taste of heaven he had ever known was forever denied him. "I want to take comfort in you, and I know it will cost me my soul and a part of me doesn't care. Look, I'm weak. I've never been anything else. It's not the demon in me that needs killing, Buffy. It's the man."

He remembered the vision the First had shown him, the memory of himself as a young man. Lord, what a waste of human flesh he had been. Gambling, drinking, chasing women--he'd never accomplished anything in his life, never done anything of any value. He was a weak, foolish coward, and she was better off without him.

Buffy could tell he believed what he was saying. "He's forgotten all the good he's done," she thought. "He's saved all our lives more than we can count, but this thing has screwed up his mind so much he can't see it."

Aloud she said, "You're weak. Everybody is, everybody fails. Maybe this evil did bring you back, but if it did it's because it needs you and that means that you can hurt it. Angel, you have the power to do real good, to make amends, but if you die now, then all you ever were was a monster."

"Because you'll have wiped out all the good you did and left us with the memories of the torments you inflicted as Angelus. Oh please God, let this be tough enough to get through to him. I can't stand to lose him again," she prayed.

To him she repeated, "Angel, please, the sun is coming up."

"Just go," he told her.

"I won't," she refused.

He started getting angry, "Do you think this is simple? Do you think there's an easy answer? You can never understand what I've done. Now go."

She stood her ground, "You're not staying here, I won't..."

"Leave!" he shouted.

She struck him, hoping to knock some sense into him. He knocked her down, then stared at her lying on the ground, hating himself even more, "Oh my God."

He rushed over and grabbed her shaking her, trying to make her see, "Am I a thing worth saving, huh? Am I a righteous man? The world wants me gone."

She stared at him, tears welling up in those big blue eyes. Her voice came out soft and trembling like she was holding back a sob. "What about me?" she asked. "I love you so much, and I tried to make you go away. I killed you and it didn't help..."

She pulled away from him, knocking him down in the process. She stood up and stared at him, "And I hate it!" she declared. "I hate that it's so hard and you can hurt me so much. I know everything you did because you did it to me. Oh God, I wish that I wished you dead. I don't. I can't."

He got up and begged her, "Buffy, please, just this once let me be strong." His eyes were full of tears as well.

She'd had enough. "Strong is fighting," she declared. No one knew the truth of this more than the Slayer. "It's hard and it's painful and it's everyday. It's what we have to do, and we can do it together. But if you're too much of a coward for that," she told him with disgust as he hung his head, "Then burn. If I can't convince you that you belong in this world then I don't know what can." Unnoticed by either of them a few snowflakes danced by her head. "But don't expect me to mourn for you because..." her voice trailed off because they were both conscious of the snow falling ever more steadily.

They looked at the snow, then at each other in disbelief. It had never snowed in Sunnydale's recorded history. A Christmastime miracle poured out of the sky and covered the sun. For a whole day the residents of Sunnydale experienced an actual winter day, a White Christmas, no less, and the only price paid was not seeing the sun for twenty-four hours. Buffy and Angel wandered the streets, hand-in-hand like two small children, marveling at this wondrous thing.

Near the end of the day, they encountered Mahleah, who was, like them, roaming through town, taking in this unaccustomed beauty. For once her long black coat didn't look out of place. Buffy had never seen Mahleah with her hair completely unbound. It now hung loosely down her back and over her shoulders. She smiled and listened, intrigued by both their story and its resolution.

"Come," she told them. "It’s time for you to hear what I’m fighting for-the great wrong I’m trying to undo."

She lead them back to her house where Buffy called her mother to reassure her that everything was fine. Mahleah lit a fire in the fireplace and soon a merry, crackling warmth filled the living room. Angel brought Buffy a cup of hot chocolate and Mahleah a cup of tea.

Mahleah raised her cup and saluted them with it, "To happiness," she toasted, and they could only agree.

"This is perfect," Buffy stretched contentedly. "Good company, a warm fire, and hot chocolate. What more could a person want?"

"A good story?" suggested Angel.

Mahleah smiled, "That’s my department, I suppose."

"Absolutely," Buffy agreed, "and I remember just where you left off-Mac had proposed, and you’d said yes. You haven’t got married yet, though. Why not?"

"Well, to explain why Duncan and I aren’t married, I have to tell you about another person. Every story has to have a villain, doesn’t it? If not a villain, a story at least has to have an antagonist: someone who provides conflict for the protagonist, the main character of the story. Since this is the story of my life, that makes me the protagonist, and I shall now tell you about the antagonist. His name is Phillip Johnson."

"What kind of conflict?" Buffy protested. "He couldn’t have killed Duncan. You said that Duncan was alive."

"At this moment, he is, yes," Mahleah acquiesced. "But if Phillip has his way, Mac won’t stay in that condition for much longer."

"Who is Phillip Johnson?" asked Angel, "and why does he hate MacLeod that much?"

"I don’t know who he hates more," Mahleah softly mused. "Duncan or me." She shivered despite the fire. She excused herself for a moment and when she came back, she had wrapped her upper body in a long piece of tartan.

 Angel recognized the colors. "The clan MacLeod," he remarked.

"That reminds me of a question I’ve been meaning to ask," Buffy exclaimed. "If you’re not married to Duncan yet, why do you call yourself MacLeod?"

"The short answer to that question is that I have as much right to the name as Duncan. I am a member of the clan and always will be no matter where I go or how much time passes, but I’m jumping ahead of myself again. It’s easy to do. I was telling you about Phillip.

"I first met Phillip in graduate school. We were in different departments: I was in History and he was in Physics. We met through a mutual love of the theatre. Our school’s drama department held auditions for a production of Romeo and Juliet. We were lucky enough to be cast in the lead roles. At least, I was cast as Juliet and he was Romeo’s understudy.

"Phillip was rather quiet. The only place he seemed to feel comfortable relating to people was the stage. Unfortunately, he didn’t fit in with the usual extroverted theatrical types in general, and with Brandon, the actor playing Romeo, in particular. I knew what it felt like to be different and not fit in, so I made every effort to be nice to him." Mahleah shifted her weight uneasily.

"Interestingly enough, during dress rehearsal, Brandon fell and broke his leg. At the last minute, Phillip had to fill in for him."

"So he got his fifteen minutes of fame," Buffy commented.

"Did he cause the accident?" asked Angel.

"At the time I didn’t think so, but upon reflection…yes, he probably did."

"Let me guess, he fell in love with you."

"Fell into an obsession would be more accurate," Mahleah answered. "He knew all of Romeo’s lines, but I helped him learn the blocking for his big fight with Tybalt. It was the first time he had ever picked up a sword and we worked long hours together to make sure he had the moves down in time for the opening."

"So was it a smash?" asked Buffy.

"Well, it was not my best performance as Juliet, but it was my first and one of my most exciting. I fell in love-with the theatre, not Phillip. I’ve already told you that the stage would play a big role in my life. As it turned out, Phillip played a large part as well.

"He started showing up at strange times in strange places. He just happened to be ‘in the neighborhood’ when I had class, went out with friends, even went to the grocery store. When he started showing up at my apartment unannounced and calling me every day even though I had never given him my address or my phone number, I started to worry. I thought I could take care of myself, but I was a little worried about Diana, my roommate.

"All of this happened right after my little drunken adventure in Paris after Fitzcairn died…."

"The near miss," Buffy recalled.

"The near miss," Mahleah agreed. "We were in the play after my return, but before I graduated. After graduation, I moved to New York, hooked on the smell of grease paint so to speak. Before I left, I had a long talk with Phillip and told him that we could never be anything but friends, and if he didn’t stop following me everywhere, we couldn’t even be that. He agreed to leave me alone, and I was hopeful that he could move past his fixation."

* * * * * * * * *

Mahleah walked into the laboratory where Phillip was working. All of her things were packed and she was leaving in the morning for New York, but before she left she'd decided to straighten out this mess.

He was obviously working intently on something; he was completely oblivious to her presence until she broke his concentration by grabbing a stool beside him and speaking.

"What are you working on so hard? You’ve already got your Ph.D. Have they already given you a new project to work on?"

He jumped slightly. "Mahleah, I didn’t notice you."

"Obviously. What is that?" she nodded toward his computer screen.

He launched into a vigorous and lengthy explanation involving entropy, time and power supplies, which really did not interest her. She waited until he paused to take a breath and then spoke.

"Actually, Phillip, I came here because we have some things to discuss."

He recoiled for an instant and then replied, "Like what?"

"Like the fact that you’ve been following me around, that you call my apartment once or twice every day and you were extremely rude to Diana when she told you that I wasn’t at home the other day."

"I’m sorry about that. I was sure you had said that you were staying home and I thought she was lying to me."

"Why would she do that?"

"I don’t know. Were you lying when you said you were going to be home?"

"No, I had planned to be home since there were things I needed to do, but an old friend popped into town unexpectedly, and coaxed me into going out for the day."

"An old boyfriend?"

"No, actually it was a quite impulsive and frequently irresponsible female friend. Phillip, that’s what I’m talking about. It shouldn’t make any difference if Amanda was a man. You have no reason to be jealous. Actually, you have no right to be jealous, either. There has never been anything romantic between us, beyond the characters we played once on stage. You’re going to have to accept the fact there’s never going to be anything between us."

"Maybe if you got to know me better," he protested.

"No, Phillip. I just don’t feel that way about you."

"There’s someone else, isn’t there?" he guessed, getting angry.

"That’s not the problem. I just don’t love you in any way other than a friend."

"A friend?" he was scornful.

"Hey, don’t knock it. True friendship is every bit as precious as romantic love, but I’m telling you now that if you don’t stop acting like the ghost of Hamlet’s father, haunting me wherever I go, you’ll ruin any chance of us having a friendly relationship. What do you say?"

"Diana said that you were in love with another man," he said sullenly.

"She said what? When?" Mahleah gaped at him.

"When I came to see you last week, she told me that I should stop wasting my time: that you were in love with a man named MacLeod, and he was a better man than I would ever be."

Mahleah inwardly cursed her inconsiderate roommate and took a deep breath.

"Diana should never have said that to you. It was wrong and I apologize for her. She was retaliating for some of the ugly things you said to her."

"She showed me a picture of the two of you together."

"Oh, boy," Mahleah thought, "I need to have a long talk with that girl."

"You are in love with him," Phillip stated flatly. "I can see it in your face."

"My feelings for MacLeod are complicated," she told him, "but whatever else may be true, he is my best friend. We love and respect each other, and I know that whatever happens between us, those feelings will never disappear. Friendship and trust is the basis for any good relationship. People need to like each other before they love each other. Anything else is unhealthy."

"So you’re saying that lovers should start off as friends?"

"It’s a good way to go," she agreed, but then frowned and warned him, "Don’t think that it happens in every case, or that it will between us. You have a bright future ahead of you, Phillip, and you shouldn’t waste it obsessing over something you can’t have."

"We’ll be friends, then?"

"As long as you can respect the boundaries of friendship, yes."

* * * * * * * *

"Obsession is an ugly habit to break," Angel commented softly.

"Too true. If you remember, after I became Immortal I went back home for a time, then started working as a singer. Eventually, I made my way to Paris and encountered Phillip again. He had prospered in the time since I left him. In his world, the world of Physics, he was a genius, and was just starting to make a name for himself when he had a fatal car accident."

"Fatal?" Buffy exclaimed, "But if he was dead how…" her voice trailed off as she realized, "He was Immortal."

"Yes," Mahleah confirmed, "He was Immortal and I, unfortunately, was the one who found him.

* * * * * * * * *

Mahleah sat in the waiting room of a Paris hospital deep in thought. She had accompanied Angelina, the wife of one of the musicians at Joe’s club, who had been feeling sick for a couple of weeks. The girl was having tests run, but Mahleah suspected that the results would prove that Angelina was pregnant. Michel, Angelina’s husband, planned to meet them at the hospital, but he was running late.

While waiting for Angelina to emerge with her joyful news, Mahleah was dealing with some troublesome news of her own-the discovery that she would never have children. Intellectually, she had known this fact since the day she had died and revived to discover how much her world had changed forever. Emotionally, however, reality was just beginning to penetrate--Immortals cannot have children.

She understood for the first time how Tessa must have felt: being with the man she loved and wishing desperately to be able to have his child and realizing it was a dream that could never happen. "At least Tessa had a choice," Mahleah reflected wryly. "She could have found another man to give her a child and Mac would not have stopped her. For that matter, she could have had artificial insemination, but chose not to. I don’t even have those options. No matter who I have sex with, or what fertility doctor I go to see, the result would be the same - no babies for me."

Growing up, she had always assumed that she would be a mother someday. Now, she felt like a mortal who had always wanted to have a child, and had put it off until too late.

"I know in many ways it’s good that Immortals can’t have kids-they would become pawns to be used in the Game. Yet, it's mostly tragic. Think of all the skills and knowledge that have been lost because there was no one to pass them onto. That’s why the student-teacher bond is so sacred for us," she decided. "In many ways that’s our only experience parenting. Oh, well, sitting here dwelling on things I cannot change will just drive me crazy."

She picked up a newspaper lying beside her and idly thumbed through it, until an item grabbed her attention: "Brilliant Young Physicist Dies in Car Accident."

"Oh, no," she exclaimed. She had, from a distance, taken some pride in Phillip Johnson’s accomplishments after leaving him in his lab. The university had hired him for its physics department and his research had won several awards. Now, it seemed that all his work was for nothing. He had come to Paris to present an idea which, according to the newspaper, was rumored to be the biggest breakthrough in theoretical physics since Einstein’s Theories of Relativity. Unfortunately, Phillip died in a car crash not long after arriving in the city and all of his notes were destroyed when the wrecked vehicle caught on fire. Apparently, both the man and his work were gone forever. She wiped tears from her eyes and stopped a nurse passing through the hall.

"Where’s the nearest restroom?" she asked.

"The nearest one is on the floor just below us, but most people prefer to use the one on this floor even if it's farther away," she was told.

"Why is that?"

"Because the one downstairs is next to the morgue," came the reply. "Most people get the creeps if they go anywhere near it, so they’d rather walk a little more."

"Morgues don't frighten me," Mahleah reassured her.

Following directions, she went down a flight of stairs. Opening the door, she could see the bathroom in front of her. She started to walk toward it, when she felt the unwelcome tingle of a nearby Immortal. She paused for a moment then walked to the door of the morgue and peered in the window. The room appeared empty. Not knowing if she’d find friend or foe, she walked in, pulling out her katana.

When she got to the source of the tingle, she read the card on the door and put Tora away. She hastily opened the door and pulled out the slab holding the revived "corpse."

"Hello, Phillip," she said.

For the next few weeks, Mahleah was kept extremely busy. She worked at the club at night, rehearsed in the day, and tried to keep Mac from discovering that she had taken on a student at all times. As she wasn't a secretive person, it grew more difficult as time went on.

She knew that teaching Phillip alone was far from the smartest thing she had ever done, but she couldn’t stop herself. Maybe she had been his obsession, but she couldn’t leave him at the mercy of the next Immortal to come along. He needed to learn how to survive in the Game.

She was concerned, though. By dying in such a noticeable way, Phillip had lost everything: his career, his work, and his inheritance. As the reality of his losses became clearer to him, he clung to Mahleah more and more, treating her like his only lifeline in a world turned upside down, and she had no idea how to make him let her go.

Duncan leaned against the wall, drinking a cup of coffee and enjoying the view. Mahleah, nude, lay on her stomach asleep, the sheet barely covering her lower body. Her head was turned toward him, and her hair cascaded across the pillow. One arm was over her head, hugging the pillow, and the other was outstretched towards his side of the bed. The afternoon sun played across her bare back, and glinted off the honey tresses.

He wondered when she’d started sleeping naked. It made a certain amount of sense, considering she was one of the warmest people he had ever met. She always felt like she was running a low-grade fever, so it wasn’t really shocking that she preferred to sleep without clothes. It was just that he knew that she hadn’t as a child, and when he’d stayed with her all of those nights after the attack by Kenneth she’d certainly been clothed. Circumstances had changed since then. He smiled to himself. It wasn’t only that she was an adult now – they were lovers. "If she only knew," he thought, "how irresistible a temptation she is providing right now." Maybe, she did know though. She had surprised him both by the extent of her passion, and her sensual nature. The only thing he couldn’t understand was where she was spending all of her time. He barely saw her these days. She had slept late today, and he’d tried not to disturb her, but now he was going to make up for some lost time.

Mahleah awoke to the sensation of fingers gently caressing her spine. Duncan was nuzzling the back of her neck. She stretched languorously and rolled over for a kiss. "Good morning," she smiled at him.

"Good morning, mhuirnin," he murmured, "or should I say good afternoon, sleepy head?"

She stiffened in his arms. "What time is it?"

"Almost two o’clock," he told her.

"Two o’clock!" she broke from his embrace and leaped from the bed. "Oh my God, I’m going to be late."

"For what?" he frowned, watching her hurriedly pull clothes from the closet and start getting dressed. "Rehearsal’s not until four. You have plenty of time to get to Joe’s. Besides," he moved to the side of the bed and caught hold of the belt loops of her jeans, pulling her toward him, just as she tried to pull a T-shirt over her head, "I’ve barely seen you for the last week or so. I miss you."

She was struggling to get her arms through the sleeves of her shirt, but he grabbed her hands and pinned them to her sides. She’d been planned to tuck her shirt into her pants and so hadn’t bothered to fasten them yet. He bent forward and kissed her stomach above the edge of her panties.

Looking up at her with soulful brown eyes he asked, "Haven’t you missed me?"

She sighed and thought guiltily, "What am I doing -- denying myself the chance to spend time with the man I love, so I can be with Phillip? How stupid is that? On the other hand, the sooner Phillip can survive on his own, the sooner he’ll be out of my life for good."

To Duncan, she said, "I’m sorry, Mac. I promise I’ll make it up to you."

His thumbs were now tracing the ribs beneath her bra. "Good," he responded to her promise. "You can start right now."

He pushed her jeans, along with her panties, down to the floor, lifting each leg clear. As he held on to the second foot to escape the denim, he tickled her instep, then kissed just above her ankle.

Sliding off the bed onto the floor, he began making his way up her leg; his mouth, teeth, and tongue causing exquisite sensations. She knew that if she did not leave soon she would be very late indeed meeting Phillip. Dutifully, she opened her mouth to protest and his fingers rose to find and mercilessly tease her nipples through her bra. The protest ended up sounding more like a strangled yelp.

She looked down into mischievous eyes and tried one last time. "I really do need to go, Duncan."

"Absolutely," he averred, "you’re free to go at any time. All you have to do is say stop and you can be out the door in two seconds."

The twinkle in his eyes brightened, "On the other hand, if you don’t want me to stop, then I won’t."

Even while delivering this small speech, he had been making his way up her leg. When he finished, he was at her upper thigh. She started to say, "Yes, stop, I’m going," but at that instant his head moved past her thigh, his mouth reaching for higher pastures.

The only part of her sentence that actually made its way out was a very emphatic, "Yes!"

After a few seconds, he looked up once again. "Did I hear you say you wanted to leave?"

"No!"

"Because if you really need to do something, we can stop now..."

"It can wait," she said firmly, "this can’t."

Much later, he watched as she emerged from the bathroom and once again donned her jeans.

"If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were seeing another man," he observed.

She picked his shirt up off the floor where it had been discarded and slipped it on, inhaling deeply. It smelled pleasantly like him.

"Yes, I am," she responded, "and I’m going to see him now wearing your shirt."

He frowned. "You say that so seriously, I’m inclined to believe you."

"Well, it’ll teach you to appreciate me, won’t it?" she teased.

"Always."

Sword practice did not go well. She only had thirty minutes to spare for Phillip and that was going to make her late for rehearsal at the club. Her pupil was in a sulky mood and refused to cooperate.

Every day she faced the same problem with him; he would not attack. She had patiently explained over and over again that it was unlikely that he would actually hurt her. She had studied for many years and if she made a mistake of that magnitude, she deserved to be cut. This did not reassure him, and she would ultimately have to taunt him until he lost his temper before he would take the offensive. Unfortunately, the small control he had over his blade vanished completely and he swung wild and erratically.

As soon as she’d walked in this afternoon, he had snapped at her.

"You were with him, weren’t you?" he demanded, taking in the man’s shirt and the happy glow she was unable to conceal.

"If you mean Duncan, yes I was. I am living with him. We’ve been through this before, Phillip. My love life is none of your concern."

"You haven’t told him about me, have you? You know if you do that he’ll kill me."

She’d told him he was wrong, but he remained unconvinced. Now, she was becoming frustrated with his attitude and his unwillingness to work.

"Look," she said finally, putting her katana away. "I’m obviously wasting my time with you today. I don’t know what you do when I’m not around but it’s obviously not practice. You need to take this more seriously, Phillip. You’re in The Game, and I can’t protect you forever. You need to learn to survive on your own."

Something she said seemed to infuriate him. "No," he growled. "You don’t plan to spend eternity with me, but with him."

He stalked away but then turned back. "You’re exceptionally limber today for someone who didn’t even warm up. Was he good? Did he make you moan? He must have given you a good workout, you’re still flushed. Were you writhing like a bitch in heat? Did you beg for more?"

With each question, he got nearer and nearer. When he spat out the last one, he was practically in her face.

She looked him in the eyes, getting just as furious as he was. Temper flaring, she responded, "You really want to know, don’t you? Well, let me tell you, Phillip, it wasn’t good, it was glorious. He took me to places I didn’t know existed. Tourists passing by on the Seine stood up and applauded when they heard me screaming. I think they heard me across the river in Notre Dame. Is there anything else you want to know, Phillip, like what I was screaming, maybe? I think it went something like, ‘Oh, yes, yes, yes, oh God, don’t stop, Duncan ...Duncan ...Duncan...’"

He hit her across the face. When she raised her head, he hit her again. He raised his closed fist this time, but she avoided the blow and brought up her foot, kicking him in the groin. When he doubled over, she quickly grabbed his hair in both hands, slammed his head into her lifted knee, and shoved him away.

He lay on the ground moaning in pain and looked up at her. Her face was a mess. Blood ran from her mouth and nose and she had the beginnings of a black eye. He knew that this would be mostly healed within fifteen minutes or so, but it still horrified him, as did the deadly calm expression on her face.

"Mahleah, I’m sorry," he gasped. "I’m so sorry."

She stared at him for a full second and then turned on her heel, leaving without a word.

"I’m so sorry," he called after her. "I’ll make it up to you, I promise."

Mahleah rushed to Joe’s club hoping no one would see the blood on her face before she could wash it away. She was full of rage, not only with Phillip, but also with herself for wasting so much time trying to help him.

"No more," she vowed. "If I never see him again, it will be too soon."

Rehearsal itself went fine, if necessarily cut a bit short. She returned to the barge afterwards to change clothes, hoping Duncan would be there. He wasn’t, and she remembered he had made plans to spend the evening with Richie. She left a note asking him to drop in at the club later.

It was nearly closing time before he arrived. As he drove her home, she confessed, telling him everything she knew about Phillip, including that day’s violence.

"I’m not going to scold," he said when she finally finished speaking, "because it seems redundant. You knew it was a bad idea and everything that’s happened confirmed it. The important thing is that you don't go anywhere near him again."

She agreed. "But he still needs a teacher, Mac."

"I’ll find him one," he promised, "but he’ll be leaving France as soon as possible."

"He won't respond well to your asking him to leave. He knows we’re lovers and he, well, he hates your guts. He’s not likely to listen to anything you have to say."

"I want you to write him a letter, explaining that you want him to leave France as soon as possible. Say it nicely but make sure he understands it’s goodbye. I have some calls to make."

She looked at him in the moonlight. "They won’t take too long, will they? It turns out that I have some spare time tomorrow since I don’t have to give a sword lesson and I know exactly how I want to use it. We have some catching up to do so, consider this afternoon to be a down-payment."

He flashed her a smile, "Sounds good."

The next night, Mahleah was in the middle of her first set when she felt an Immortal enter the room. She hoped it was MacLeod but didn’t see him. During a break between songs, Angelina came up and told her that a man with an enormous bouquet of flowers wanted to talk to her.

Angelina went on to reveal disturbing news, "He was here yesterday and earlier today. We told him that you weren’t expected until tonight and were probably spending time with your boyfriend. He didn’t seem to like that very much and stormed away. Shall I have Robert throw him out?"

Robert was the club’s bouncer. Mahleah debated that tempting thought for a moment and then told her, "No, not unless he becomes a problem, but it wouldn’t hurt for Robert to keep any eye on him just in case."

When the set ended, Mahleah walked over to the table where Joe sat.

"I’ve got trouble," she told him.

"I know," he nodded.

"You do?"

"I’m a Watcher, remember? You should’ve known better than to get involved with him."

"He needed a teacher, Joe."

"Yes, he did, but not you. You should have let MacLeod find him a teacher as far away from you as possible."

She bowed her head, admitting the truth of his words.

"Don’t look now," he told her, "but Mr. Trouble is headed this way."

"Oh, no," she groaned.

Phillip walked up to the table, flowers in hand. "Mahleah, I’m sorry," he apologized. "I don’t know what came over me, but I promise I’ll never lose my temper like that again."

She sat silently, not even looking at him. He continued to plead, but she refused to acknowledge his presence.

Angelina came to her rescue. "Mahleah, I think I’m going to be sick."

"Pregnancy’s kicking in already, huh?" Mahleah rose, went to the bathroom with her friend and stayed there until the next set began.

When she left the restroom she felt MacLeod before she saw him. He was sitting at Joe’s table in a corner beside the stage, and her heart lifted at just seeing him. She looked but saw no sign of Phillip. "The night’s looking up already," she thought.

She gave the band a prearranged signal and they began playing. Sitting on the edge of the stage nearest to Duncan and Joe, she began singing softly and simply, "Your love is better than ice cream/ better than anything else that I’ve tried..."

His eyes gleamed with pleasure. She continued the song, never taking her eyes off him. Concluding with soft humming, she rose and walked to the table, leaned in and gave him a big kiss.

The romantic Parisian audience applauded, enjoying the sideshow. All of the audience, that is except Phillip. The rejected suitor sprang to his feet and ran to MacLeod’s table. He tried to grab Mahleah but immediately two pairs of hands prevented him, with her band mates preparing to jump in if necessary.

"Easy, Phil," Joe admonished him. "You’re not touching her again if we can help it."

"You’re leaving -- now!" announced Robert.

"Mahleah, don’t you understand? I really love you. This guy will do nothing but break your heart," Phillip pleaded.

She stood mute as Robert started muscling Phillip to the door.

"It’s okay, Robert," MacLeod told him. "Phillip and I have some things we need to talk about, don’t we?"

They left together and Mahleah rubbed her arms, suddenly feeling deathly cold. She managed to finish the set but was still upset and Joe told her to go home.

When MacLeod returned to the barge hours later, he was grim. She asked, with no small amount of trepidation, how Phillip took the news.

"Badly," he told her. "He accused me of going behind your back. When I showed him your letter saying goodbye, he got very angry and claimed that I forced you to write it. That’s when he insisted on talking to you, so I called; I wasn’t about to bring him here. After you assured him that he should leave France, he got violent."

She started, "I knew he hung up abruptly. He didn’t…"

"Attack me? Yes, he did." MacLeod said. "I had no chance to pull out my own sword, so I hit his blade from the top and reached out and knocked the handle out of his grasp. He stood there, stunned that I was suddenly holding his weapon and told me to go ahead and kill him."

"You didn’t?"

"I thought about it," he admitted, "but I didn’t. I told him I would spare his life, but he had to leave the country immediately, and never try to see or speak to you again. He didn’t care for those conditions and I thought I’d have to take his head, but finally he agreed. His last words were that I was not good enough for you and someday you would realize that. He hoped it wouldn’t be too late-whatever that means."

She put her arms around him. "I’m sorry, Mac. I thought I was helping him, but I think he became more fixated on me than ever. Thank you for not killing him though."

He held her to him and stroked her hair. "I just hope you'll never have a reason to regret my leniency. I have an awful feeling that I just made a terrible mistake. I doubt we’ve seen the last of him, cariad."

"He did leave," Mahleah continued, "but he also kept tabs on me. I’m not sure how he managed it, but he knew most of the major events in my life. He knew when Duncan killed Richie and deserted me, and hated him even more for it. He knew that I got married but discounted Mark as a powerful rival because of his mortality. He sent flowers when my father died and even, they say, tried to talk to me after Mark’s death, but I didn't respond to him. He was in the neighborhood when Duncan arrived so you can imagine Phillip’s anger when the one man he hated above all others was able to bring me out of my stupor.

"After that, from what I’ve been able to find out, he eventually infiltrated the Watchers so he could not only keep track of me but other Immortals as well. He used the information he gathered to find young Immortals without much experience or training and take their heads."

"Oh," Buffy exclaimed, shocked.

"Why did he choose only young Immortals?" Angel asked. "Surely he didn't gain much strength from killing them?"

"A little more than you might think depending upon the individual, but it turned out that he did have a plan of sorts. He was absolutely convinced, you see, that the two of us were soul mates and someday I would realize this. He knew that I had never remarried and though many men had passed through my life, most were mortal, and so to his mind complete non-entities. I dated Immortals, but never got completely serious about any of them. Duncan and I kept our relationship strictly platonic for so many years that Phillip believed we would never be romantically involved again. He thought that if he made himself look powerful enough I would instantly forget every other man I had ever met. Unfortunately for him, I was less than impressed by his method of persuasion…"

* * * * * * * * * *

Mahleah checked her watch impatiently. She had been sitting in the restaurant waiting for Janet Dawson to arrive for over an hour now. She frowned. It was unlike Janet to be so late. Normally, the Watcher was punctual down to the second: a trait Mahleah enjoyed lightly teasing the girl about but also of which she approved.

Janet Dawson…Mahleah smiled in appreciation. Since she had known Joe, Duncan’s Watcher, so many years ago, Mahleah had always tried to get to know her own Watcher. At this time, it was a double joy for her because Janet was a direct descendent of Joe. Like her ancestor, Janet loved history and beautiful old things. She clung to old-fashioned ideas like reading books and writing on paper rather than on a computer. Unlike Joe, though, Janet was a much happier person. Her life had been straightforward and content where his had frequently been rocky. Janet was bubbly and full of life and Mahleah hoped that fate didn’t hold too many curveballs for her.

The Immortal straightened, spotting Greg, Janet’s fiancé entering the restaurant. He stopped to ask a waiter a question that pointed him in her direction.

"Greg," she greeted him. "Please sit down. I wasn’t expecting you. Is Janet on her way?"

Something in the young man’s face disturbed her. "Is something wrong?" she asked.

"I hope not," he told her, "but I’m afraid so. When was the last time you spoke to Janet?"

"Yesterday," Mahleah answered, "when she invited me to lunch. I'm supposed to go to San Francisco tonight. An old friend of mine is opening in La Traviata and I promised to be there, but Janet insisted she needed to speak to me before I left. Why, has something happened?"

"Janet disappeared yesterday."

"What do you mean disappeared?" Mahleah demanded.

"We were supposed to go out last night, but when I arrived, no one was home. I let myself in and waited but she never came back. I started getting angry and then I got worried. I checked out her schedule…you know how she insists on writing everything down, and I found a note saying that she was meeting you today. When she still hadn’t shown up this morning, I searched the apartment for any clue to where she could have gone and found an envelope under my pillow. There were two letters: one for me and one for you. She wanted me to give this to you if anything happened to her. I don’t know if this qualifies, but I’m taking the chance." He handed her a small envelope.

Mahleah opened it and read,

"Mahleah,

Something's terribly wrong with the Watchers. There have been several strange deaths of newly born Immortals lately and I think that Paul Carter is behind them. I can’t prove it right now, but I’m working on it. In case something happens to me you should know this: I saw a note in his computer mentioning 7 o’clock, Friday night at the pier. What it means, I don’t know, but there has been a new chronicle opened this week on a man named David Stern. I’m afraid someone may try to kill him. Why would a Watcher want Immortals dead, Mahleah? Surely all the insane renegades of Horton's sort were exterminated decades ago? Please expose Paul for the murderer he is.

Love,

Janet

P.S. David Stern needs a teacher."

Mahleah looked at Greg. "Have you ever met Paul Carter?"

"No, but I’ve heard Janet talk about him. It was fairly obvious that she doesn’t like him very much."

"So I gathered," Mahleah said dryly. She passed him the note.

He read it and whistled. "Tonight’s Friday. Will you go to the pier and see what’s going on?"

"If Carter is as dangerous as she thinks, it may be the only chance of finding out where she is."

"Right. I’m going with you," he declared.

"No." she told him. "This sounds like Immortal business, and I’d rather you stayed out of it."

"But…" he started to object.

"No."

"So much for the opera," Mahleah thought to herself hours later as she huddled inside her overcoat trying to keep out the cold air coming from the water. She had just decided that Janet had been having delusions brought about by her frequent abduction by aliens, when she felt the presence of another Immortal. Ducking into the shadows she hid behind a stack of crates and watched.

A young man of medium height and build, with dark hair stepped into the moonlight.

"Hello," he called. "Is anyone here? This is where you said to meet…" He turned as he felt another tingle. Mahleah looked with interest to see who the newcomer was.

At first she was frustrated because his face was hidden in the darkness. She heard the young man, David she supposed, say, "I was beginning to think someone was playing a joke on me. I’ve been walking around out here for some time. So, what’s the big secret you need to tell me? I hope you’re going to tell me why I woke up in the morgue the other day. I mean, I really need someone to explain that one to me. What did you say you were again, a watcher? What do you watch?"

"You die," the stranger announced and shot the young Immortal with the gun he had been concealing.

David fell to his knees. "Why?" He stammered.

"For your Quickening, kid," said the fake Watcher, who proceeded to pull a sword out of his coat.

In an instant Mahleah had darted out from behind the crate and kicked the gun out of the other Immortal’s hand. As she did so, he fell into the light and she gasped, "Phillip?"

"Mahleah," he gaped at her. "What are you doing here?"

"Stopping you from killing this child. He’s never had a teacher, Phillip. He doesn’t even know what he is. How could you do this?"

"I never had a teacher for very long either, thanks to MacLeod," he snarled.

"Duncan made arrangements for you to have training, but you never took advantage of them," she told him.

"Training?" he laughed. "MacLeod never wanted me to be trained. He wanted me dead, but was afraid he'd lose you if he killed me personally, so he tried to send me to someone who would do it for him."

"That’s absurd!" she protested.

"Is it? Haven’t you learned yet that the Highlander is not the man for you? He killed one of your closest friends, didn’t he?"

She stared at him in stunned silence, barely believing the words coming from his mouth.

"Mahleah, I’m going to be just as strong or stronger than he is. Don’t you see we were made for each other? Nobody would be able to stop the two of us."

"You’re saying that you’re doing this for me?"

"If I could, I’d lay the prize at your feet," he told her.

"That will never happen," she replied, "because for people like you, there can be only one." She pulled out Tora.

"I don’t want to fight you," he protested. "I love you."

"You don’t have the first clue about the meaning of the word," she responded. "I’m sorry, Phillip, but I could never feel anything but disgust for you. You are the antithesis of everything I hold dear."

Her body automatically adopted a fighting stance, her left foot going behind her, its heel raised from the ground and her weight falling upon the right leg in front of her. Her blade tapped his experimentally. He instinctively parried and she blocked his blow; however, as she did so, she leaned in and trapped his hand on his blade with her left and in a flash used his own momentum to pull both swords behind him. Both weapons were caressing the back of his neck and his own hand was about to decapitate him.

Mahleah paused for a moment. "That’s the trouble with killing children, Phillip," she informed him. "Their Quickenings give you very little power and none of the skills you need to face a seasoned Immortal."

"That’s all MacLeod left me fit for," he spat.

The blades sliced lightly around the back of his neck.

"What do you mean?" she demanded.

"I’ve had no training, Mahleah. The only Immortals I can take are the young ones. Don’t I have that right in the Game?"

The blades sunk a little further and then Mahleah released him.

"That’s how some people see the Game," she said, "but not me. I’m giving you one last chance, Phillip. I’ll find you a teacher if you wish, but this killing of innocents must stop."

"They’re not innocent; they’re Immortals."

"They’re innocent," she insisted. "For our kind they’re practically babies. They’ve never done anything to harm you. Promise me you’ll not kill them anymore."

"If you promise to finish teaching me," he countered, his eyes lighting up.

"No,’" she told him decisively. "Never. I can’t be your teacher, Phillip, your lover, or your friend."

"But you said we were friends years ago!"

"You’ve destroyed any chance of that. I'll find you a teacher, Phillip, but stay away from me. If we meet again, I’ll kill you."

Mahleah smiled wanly at Buffy and Angel, "From that moment on, Phillip hated me."

"Did you find Janet?" Buffy wanted to know.

"Yes. Her body washed up on the beach a day later. Unfortunately, my words to Phillip about killing innocents had unexpected consequences. He decided that I was right-- he should concentrate on hurting those who had hurt him: namely, Mac and myself, and when he found out that we had decided to get married, he was inspired to prevent the wedding and take his revenge in a spectacular fashion."

"How?" Buffy and Angel chorused, and then looked at each other.

"I told you that Phillip was brilliant in Physics. When he became Immortal, he was in Paris on behalf of our alma mater, to present a theory that could have shocked the world. While concocting his scheme for revenge, he remembered that paper. He had worked on it, perfecting the idea for centuries, and decided this was the perfect opportunity to test it. His revenge revolved around the twofold idea that he wanted to become one of the most powerful Immortals who ever lived as well as wipe Duncan MacLeod out of existence, destroying me in the process. In the end, he decided the best way to accomplish these goals would be to kill Duncan before I ever met him."

"Huh? I’m confused. How could he kill Mac before you ever met him? Unless…"

"Unless he discovered a way of traveling in time," Angel finished.

"That’s exactly what he did," Mahleah confirmed. "His paper laid out its basic premises. The problem was he didn’t have a power source strong enough to activate his theoretical device. When he became Immortal, he discovered that energy source - the power of the Quickening."

"Oh, my God," Buffy exclaimed. "So, I think I understand now. You’re from the future and you’ve come back to the past to prevent Phillip from killing Duncan, so the two of you still meet."

"Partly true," Mahleah told her. "I am from the future, and that was the original plan but the ‘best laid plans o’ mice and men gang oft agley.’"

* * * * * * * * * * *

MacLeod carried Mahleah across the threshold of their bedroom. She was crooning "Ice Cream" again, but she’d modified the words to, "Your love is better than strawberries…" causing him to grin.

"Mmm, I could get used to this," she purred. "You know, I’m glad I thought up the idea of a dress rehearsal."

"I’m sure you are," MacLeod told her.

"You’re complaining?" she arched an eyebrow.

"Complaining, no, just pointing out that you’re nearly as tall as I am."

"So? Are you saying that you’d like me to carry you over the threshold? I could if I wanted to you know. It might not be quite as graceful, though. You'd end up over my shoulder or something, and you might also end up rather abruptly, hey!" He had dropped her, unceremoniously, on the bed.

"What?" he inquired, innocently.

"That move needs some work," she told him, rubbing her posterior.

"Okay," he agreed and scooped her up and started spinning rapidly in circles.

"What are you doing?" she squealed. "Ah!"

He spun until completely dizzy and then hurled them both toward the bed. They crashed and were lucky their old-fashioned, four-poster didn’t collapse under the force. They both laughed until tears rolled down their face.

"You know," Mahleah said finally, trying to catch her breath, "when you promised to make the room always spin for me when we're in bed together, this wasn’t exactly what I had in mind."

"Oh well, I’m all ears. Was this other idea something you wanted to rehearse as well?"

She found herself flat on her back, pinned to the bed and gazing into a pair of large dark eyes.

"Absolutely," she averred, just before she hooked a leg over his, and rolled him over. "A full un-dress rehearsal is definitely called for."

"Mahleah!" she woke out of a deep sleep with a start. She reached out to touch Duncan and gasped as her hand passed through him.

"Duncan, what is it?"

He looked at her with fear in his eyes. "I don’t know."

Their hands tried to touch once again, and as before merely passed through one another.

"You’re becoming transparent," she exclaimed. "I can see right through you."

He was actually getting fainter with every heartbeat. His hand tried to brush her hair and his lips moved, "I love you, mhuirnin," she made out and then he was gone. For a minute, she was frozen in horror, and then she screamed and broke the lamp. She continued screaming and breaking things until distracted by the sound of someone at the front door. She ran and threw it open to discover a short, slightly weasely-looking man outside.

"Who are you?" she demanded

He blinked up at her. She was at least four inches taller than he, and quite naked.

"I guess it’s happened," he commented.

Mahleah’s eyes narrowed, and she grabbed his collar, pulled him inside and kicked the door shut.

"I said, who are you? What have you done with Duncan?"

"My name is Whistler," the newcomer told her, "and I haven’t done anything to MacLeod. Thank your friend Phil the Psycho for that little gift."

"Phillip? What did he do?"

"Look around," Whistler advised her. "Notice anything missing besides MacLeod?"

She pushed him in front of her and scanned the room. "All of his things are gone!" she exclaimed.

"Correct," he agreed. "In fact, you’re probably missing this yourself," he pulled out her katana.

She grabbed it. "That’s my sword," she began and then she shook her head. "No, it’s not either. The tiger eyes are different."

"It’s Tora," he told her. He saw her look of disbelief and told her, "Go ahead, look for her. She won’t be there."

She walked to the place outside her bedroom where she had last placed her sword, and as predicted it was gone.

"What have you done to her?" she asked.

"Consider it a special modification," he replied. "a necessary tool if you ever want to see MacLeod again."

"Where is he?"

"Nowhere. Well, to be more specific, Duncan MacLeod of the clan MacLeod has been dead for centuries."

"What?"

"Your old boyfriend, the physics genius, found a way to tap into the power of a Quickening and use it to go back in time. He’s been doing some specific rewriting of history."

"You’re saying that Phillip killed Duncan in the past?"

"Yes, and MacLeod wasn’t the only one. He picked his targets carefully to provide the maximum amount of power for himself and pain for you."

"You’re insane," she told him.

"Really. Then what happened to the Highlander? I'll tell you what, contact your friend Methos, and see what he tells you."

"Methos, why?"

"Because he died thousands of years ago. Go ahead--prove me wrong. See if you can find him. Don’t worry, I won’t go anywhere. By the way, would you mind putting on some clothes? I don’t mean to sound ungrateful for the spectacular view, but it’s rather distracting."

* * * * * * * * * * *

"So when you tried to find Methos, he was nowhere guy too, huh?" Buffy asked.

"Yes. At first, I didn’t want to believe Whistler but eventually I had no choice." Mahleah shivered and pulled the plaid more tightly around her.

"He can be very persuasive," Angel commented.

"You’ve met him?" Mahleah was surprised.

"Short guy, claims he’s a demon trying to keep good and evil in balance, yada, yada, blah, blah, oh yeah, we’ve met," Buffy declared. "He popped up in time for my encounter with Acathla."

"He gave me a reason to live," Angel said softly.

They waited for him to continue, but he wasn’t ready to tell Buffy that Whistler had shown her to him before she was even aware of it and changed his life.

"Well then, you know that he has a couple of nasty habits like telling you the bare minimum of what you need, and deliberately leaving things out until after they’ve occurred."

"That’s the same demon," Buffy declared. "So, he put you wise to Phillip? Why? Let me guess, the powers-that-be decided that Psycho Phil had gone a little too far with his wacky-mobile and it was up to you to restore balance to the universe."

"Essentially, yes."

"What about the sword?" asked Angel.

"I needed Tora to succeed in my ‘quest’ and since Duncan had given her to me, she had disappeared with him. The ‘powers-that-be’ gave her back to me, with a significant difference to be explained in greater detail later."

"Why is it you were able to remember MacLeod in the new timeline even though you’d never actually met him?"

"That’s an excellent question, Angel. I asked Whistler the same thing, but the answer he gave me was rather fuzzy. It had something to do with being Immortal and the Immortal memory being harder to erase. Personally, I think it was a divine gift, like having my sword restored. After all, if I couldn’t remember the way things were originally, how on earth could I restore them?"

"True," he agreed.

"So, what had Whistler done to Tora?" Buffy asked.

Mahleah reached for the nearby sword. The ivory handle's tiger crouched, ready to spring with eyes that glowed like rubies.

"Do the eyes look different to you, Buffy?"

Buffy frowned and studied the tiger carefully. "They seem brighter," she pronounced.

"They are brighter," Mahleah told her, "as Whistler said they're a tool. Believe it or not, the original color is a tiger’s eye not a ruby. When I traveled into the past, Tora was my guide to prevent me from changing history. If the stones are unchanged, the timeline is flowing the way it should. If the left eye goes black, I know I’m about to do something that would adversely affect history. If the right eye goes black, what I’m about to do will either affect history in a positive way or keep it completely unchanged."

"And if the stones are red?" Angel asked.

"That means someone else is about to change time," Mahleah said grimly, "and that would be Phillip. The eyes allow me to track when and where he’ll be. For instance, I know he’s coming to Sunnydale soon because of the brightness of the color. When he arrives, they’ll be practically transparent. Whistler told me how to interpret the signals, where to find Phillip, what his portable machine looked like, and then disappeared."

"Typical," Buffy commented.

"Portable machine?" Angel asked.

"Yes, it was a refinement of his original, which was quite large. He called it his molecular chrono-displacement device. Whenever he takes a head, he wears it on his wrist, and the Quickening activates it, sending him whenever and wherever he has programmed it."

"But you managed to find him?"

"Yes. He had set up a laboratory on a small island near Tahiti. I went there immediately and confronted him. He was rather surprised that I'd figured out his plan so quickly: almost as surprised, as he was when he saw my katana. The power he had gained changed him. He no longer wanted me-he wanted the Prize, and thought he had a good shot at getting it, since he now had the Quickenings of three of the most powerful Immortals and planned to get even more.

"At first I let my anger rule me, when we fought. I was hurt and allowed it to come out in the fight, which was a tremendous mistake. He injured me several times before I forced myself to concentrate on winning the fight. When I began getting the upper hand, he demonstrated a favorite trick of his, which he has used several times; he had a small two-shot Derringer tucked up his sleeve. I persevered to the end, wounds and all, and he started losing some of his earlier smugness. He allowed an opening and I took it. A few strokes later and I severed the wrist holding the MCD and then cut him open from shoulder to hip.

"Calmly, I retrieved the MCD and put it on my own arm. There were two lights on its display: one flashing and the other not. I took a chance and pushed the button beside the blinking light praying it was the right one. He attempted to raise his sword, but I put my foot on it. He looked up at me and said something I’ve had reason to remember: ‘In order to save your precious Highlander, you’ll have to pay a very high price.’ I told him I would willingly pay any price and took his head.

"The resulting Quickening sent me back in time to the beginning of the Bronze Age, at the approximate place that Phillip had been, but fortunately before disaster struck. It turned out his target had been Methos. Using the stones as a guide, I found my friend in time to prevent him from drinking wine that Phillip had poisoned. Phillip was nearby, and once again we fought and I took his head. Just before I had found him, however, Whistler had appeared and given me a choice. The MCD Phillip was wearing could return me to my time when I took his head, but then, I would never know Duncan MacLeod. You see, Phillip is the only person that knew how to program the MCD and whenever he arrived in the past, he would reset it to take him back to our time. Unfortunately, it only worked with the energy of a Quickening and since Phillip was the only Immortal I could kill without changing the future, I had a dilemma. If I wanted to prevent him from killing Mac, I would have to stay in the past and wait as patiently as I could until he made his next attempt. The problem was that he changed history three times. Killing Methos was the third time and killing Duncan was the first. If I could have killed him before he took Duncan’s head, nothing would have changed and I could have returned to my time. I wasn’t that lucky and so that was the price I’ve had to pay. I destroyed the MCDs to prevent anyone else from possibly ever using them."

Buffy gasped, "From the Bronze Age to…when was Duncan even born--fifteen something?"

"1592," Mahleah told her.

"All that time waiting."

"You said three times," Angel observed. "Who else did he kill?"

"Very good," approved Mahleah. "This was something Whistler failed to mention to me. I was in Wales during the thirteenth century, when the stones began to glow red. When I followed their clues, they led to a small village on the border of England and Wales where a priest was caring for wounded soldiers regardless of their nationality. Can you guess who he was?"

"Darius," Buffy declared. "It has to be Darius."

"It was Darius, and when I found him, I realized why Phillip had been so powerful. He had taken Darius’ Quickening the only way possible -- in the past. In my time, if you’ll remember, a mortal named Horton killed Darius, and none of our own kind was around to receive his power - so it was lost. Since the first time I killed Phillip until I prevented him from killing Darius, I was privileged to have my old friend’s wisdom and serenity to help me through the years."

"So, every time you kill him, you actually lose power, then?" Angel inquired.

"Yes, if you look at it that way. I don't. When I kill him, I restore something precious back to its rightful owner."

"If you kill him one more time you’re done? You can return to your own time and live happily ever after?" Buffy asked.

"Nobody lives happily ever after, but I hope I’ll get a chance to try. Sometimes I wonder though, if this experience hasn’t ruined my chances for that happy ending. I’m not the same person that I was--that Duncan knew. I’m older, and I’ve seen so much. Actually," she laughed, "I’m much older than he is, now. He may not find this version of me as easy to love."

"I’m sure he will," Buffy exclaimed. "Why wouldn’t he?"

"It's true that many of the changes have been for the better, but my point is that I would be like a stranger to him."

Angel had been quietly thinking about the story she had just told them.

"Mahleah," he said eventually. "Why has Phillip waited this long to try to kill MacLeod?"

Mahleah’s eyes clouded and she looked away momentarily before answering. "To be honest, he's tried before," she replied. "You might say I was only halfway successful in my mission that time."

She sighed, "As you can imagine, I've missed him over the years. There was a great unfillable void in my heart. I kept an eye on his clan from practically its first generation, and continued to check up on them every hundred years or so. A legend sprung up about me and my ‘children’ that protected the MacLeod’s."

"That’s why you said that you have as much right to the name as he does."

"Absolutely. I was adopted into the clan centuries before Duncan was born. I think it’s understandable that when 1592 came around, I watched the stones closely to see if Phillip would decide to appear. He didn’t. I was living in England during the time Duncan was growing up, working in the theatre, and doing a few services for the Queen, but I spent a great deal of time traveling to the Highlands just to check up on him."

"Theatres, during the reign of Elizabeth? You did know Shakespeare!" Buffy accused.

"Yes, I did," Mahleah admitted. "I knew him very well, in fact. I remembered my boast to Duncan that I could duplicate Viola’s feat in Shakespeare in Love, and so I did. Actually, I bested her performance, as I was never exposed as she was eventually. I’d had more practice at pretending to be a man, you see. I frequently used drag to disguise my identity. As a man, my actions were more easily accepted and I was trying so hard not to change history.

"The Globe was where I met Will, Buffy. He frequently calls me My Lady Beatrice', because Much Ado was the first play we were in together. I grew restless, though. I found that I could no longer resist temptation and I left England for the Highlands and Glenfinnan. Seeing Duncan in that way was both a torment and a release. I couldn't tell him about the many painful events that would eventually happen to him. I could only watch and try to console him, for example, when his first love, Debra Campbell, died from a senseless, tragic fall. When he was killed in battle and rose from the dead, he terrified his clan and his father banished him. I followed him into exile."

"How romantic," Buffy said dreamily.

"Not so romantic," Mahleah countered. "He didn't ask me to go, for one thing. I followed him later. I’d hidden my gender from him as well, and we wandered aimlessly from place to place, sleeping in the open, and eating what we could find.

"I realized that I could only protect him up to a certain point. Although the stones had stayed their normal color for years, one morning I saw that the left eye had turned black and knew I had to leave him, but it was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. It was time for him to face his destiny alone.

"He went on his way, had his first Quickening, and met his first Immortal teacher, his fellow clansman Connor. I went as far away from him as I could--to Japan actually, and studied under one of the greatest swordsman who ever lived. Over a century later, Japan would be close to the place where Phillip would try to kill Duncan in Mongolia."

* * * * * * * * * * *

MacLeod looked up at the stranger who had challenged him. The tall, thin man seemed to know him somehow, although Mac was certain they had never met. They fought and thanks to Hideo Koto’s expert teachings, the Scot was about to win when the stranger proceeded to shoot him with the smallest pistol that MacLeod had ever seen. Now, Duncan prepared himself for the fatal blow.

The stranger paused, "What did she ever see in you?" He said scornfully.

MacLeod had no idea what the man was talking about. Suddenly, they both felt the presence of another Immortal, and a horse came rushing toward them like a bolt of lightening. Its rider knocked the stranger away from MacLeod, nearly riding over him in the process and then leapt from the horse, looked over at him, and spoke, "Well, I’m not too late, but I’m cutting it awfully close."

"Morgaine?" Mac could barely believe his eyes. His old teacher, who he hadn’t seen since she’d deserted him days before he met Connor, was rescuing him. She spared him a glance and a smile. "I’m here, cariad." That was the last he knew for the bullet finished its work and he died.

"Mahleah, what are you doing here?" Phillip asked, shocked. "You can’t interfere - it’s against the Rules of the Game."

"So is going back into the past to kill someone," she retorted. "I think I’m justified in interfering."

She advanced on him, Tora in hand, hearing one of her old master’s instructions in her head, "In fighting it is always better to go straight in. Always go straight in, with utter resolve, regardless of the situation."

She followed the strategy that he called "sticking to the enemy like glue" which he said meant "not permitting a gap to grow between yourself and the enemy in combat." She feinted to the left, attacked on the right, and used the flame and flash cut remembering, "your flame must be resolved to penetrate in a flash with utmost intensity…Go in deeply with your body." Phillip left himself open and she cut into his abdomen.

Her eyes flashed with victory for they both knew he was going to die. He fell to his knees but managed to block her next parry. Suddenly, his Derringer was in his hand and he shot. He got lucky. The bullet went in just below her heart. She gasped and collapsed.

"I don’t have the strength to kill her," he realized, "and MacLeod may come back in any second."

He decided to get away as fast as he could. A farmer in a cart was passing by and he managed to throw himself in the back before he lost consciousness.

* * * * * * * * * *

"He got away!" Buffy was stunned.

Mahleah looked glum. "Not one of my finest moments, I agree."

"You prevented him from killing Mac," Angel pointed out.

"Yeah, what did he say when you woke up?" Buffy wanted to know.

"One advantage to being such an old Immortal is that I healed more quickly than he so, when he woke up, I was long gone."

"Didn’t you want to stay?"

"Of course I did, and when I checked Tora’s eyes weren’t red anymore, but when I thought about staying with Mac her left eye turned black, so I left. Now, you know my story, Buffy."

"Not all of it," the Slayer objected. "There’s hundreds of years left unaccounted for."

"It would take forever to tell you about all the things that have happened to me. You wanted to know about my great quest, and now you’ve heard it."

"You said that MacLeod thought you were a man, but in the fight he called you a woman's name."

"Did he? I must have made a mistake in the retelling," Mahleah said lightly, and then added, "Before I forget, Buffy, I have something for you. I know we exchanged gifts the other day, but this is special."

She went to her Christmas tree, picked up a package and handed it to the teenager.

Buffy unwrapped it to discover, "A book?"

"Not just any book. That is Miyamoto Musashi’s Book of Five Rings, a book of strategy. Musashi is the kensei, or sword-saint, of Japan. Study his teachings well, Buffy, they could save your life. Remember that you should not always rely on your strength and your Slayer abilities, use your wits as well. Fight with your entire spirit. I don’t know what the future has in store for you, but I want you prepared for it. I fear my own time with you is running out."

At that moment, the phone rang. When Mahleah answered it, she found it was Joyce Summers. She handed the phone to Buffy, and as the girl spoke to her mother, the Immortal pulled Angel to the side.

"If I’m not here, watch out for Buffy. I know I don’t need to tell you to do that, but I wanted to give you a warning. I don’t know the details, but I’ve heard rumors that the Slayer’s 18th Birthday is an extremely significant one. She is required to go through some sort of rite of passage, but I don’t know any of the details. Buffy’s Birthday is next month, so keep on your toes, okay?"

"Absolutely," he promised.

Buffy hung up the phone. "Mom wants to know if we want to join her and Faith for dinner. I left them last night before we even got to open our presents."

"Go then," Mahleah told her. "I’m sure your Mom is missing you."

"You should come, too," Buffy insisted. "No one should be alone on Christmas Day."

Mahleah and Angel glanced at each other. "All right," Mahleah agreed. "Let me get my coat."

"Don’t forget Tora," Buffy laughed, handing her the katana. "I’ll never forget you wearing a coat on that first night, then whipping out your sword and chopping vampires into sushi. Hey," she said, remembering something, "How did you get that picture in your bedroom?"

Mahleah straightened her collar. "I stole it," she announced.

"No way."

"Oh, yes, way. Using a few skills I first picked up from Amanda, I broke into my old apartment and took it."

"Weren’t you changing history?"

"By stealing a picture? Besides, I occasionally have the strangest feeling that I was meant to come back in time."

"Why do you say that?" asked Angel, intrigued.

"Because when I went into my old apartment, it was about a day before I was due to be attacked by Kenneth, and my wooden dagger was on the living room table. I suddenly remembered showing it to Diana about three days before the attack and had never put it back in the head of the bed."

"So what did you do?"

"I picked it up and placed it where the picture used to be, on the shelf directly behind my pillow." Mahleah said heading for the door.

That night she found him. Since she'd discovered Darius in Paris, it was possible she might find MacLeod there, too.

"I wanted to see you," she said simply, and went to him. As he hugged her, she thought, "God, I've missed this." She leaned in for a kiss and he obliged. Setting himself back in his chair, he pulled her onto his lap.

"Um-hmm, it was nice seeing everyone again.

He mockingly pondered that for a moment and said, "I must admit it's your best color."

After Christmas, the snow melted and things went back to normal, but Buffy and Angel carried with them a renewed sense of hope. Mahleah continued to anticipate the arrival of Phillip Johnson and the hope it would bring some closure to her past.

One night as Mahleah took a late night stroll through Sunnydale, she heard the sounds of fighting. Looking into the distance, she saw a dark-haired girl about Buffy's age in close combat with a group of vampires. She was putting up a tremendous struggle, but was also greatly outnumbered.

Mahleah strode into the fray, katana in hand. "Hey, why can't you guys pick on someone your own age?" she yelled at them.

Two of the vamps turned from the girl and started for Mahleah. She grinned at them, kicked a stake lying at her feet up in the air, caught it, and thrust it into the chest of the vampire on the left. The one on the right she neatly decapitated at the same time.

"Sorry boys, I'm afraid I was too old for you," she murmured. "Hey," she called to the brunette still struggling with the remaining monster, "I think you dropped this." She tossed her the stake, which was promptly used.

Mahleah turned and started to walk away. The girl ran up to her, "Hey, thanks for giving me a hand back there."

"You're quite welcome."

"I'm Faith, and you have to be Mahleah."

"That's right. Goodnight, Faith." Mahleah started walking away.

"Hey, that's it? What, am I not good enough to hang out with, or something?"

Mahleah stopped and looked at the girl. "Buffy's mentioned that you liked to be left alone. I try to respect people's privacy."

"Cool. Buffy's talked about you, too. I see she wasn't exaggerating. I thought the story about how you slew eight vampires one after another, boom…boom…boom…was a little shaky, but I'm happy to say I believe it now."

"I'm glad you approve."

"Oh, yeah, in fact, could you use another student, 'cause I'd really like to do some training with you."

Mahleah studied her intently, "Buffy also told me you have problems trusting people. Is that true?"

"No, no problem 'cause I trust myself and who else do I need?"

"If a student cannot trust her teacher, she learns nothing."

"Hey, I don't have to trust you, to learn how to fight better."

Mahleah frowned, "Why do you wish me to teach you, Faith?"

"Because you're obviously one of the best fighters around, and you're already teaching Buffy, so why not me, too?"

"Any other reason?"

"Yeah, I want to be able to kick more demon booty, what's wrong with that?"

"I'm afraid I can't help you, Faith."

The girl was stung, "Can't or won't?"

"I can't help you, and I won't hurt you."

"Hurt me?" Faith scoffed, "not likely."

"Possibly not, physically," Mahleah agreed, "but I have no desire to make you a more efficient killing machine."

"Oh, and what's Buffy? I know she gets all snuggly with Angel, but the last time I checked, she was still a vampire slayer."

"Yes, she is," the Immortal agreed, "but I'm more concerned with Buffy as a person. She's been in a great deal of pain and I've been trying to help her restore harmony to her life."

"Yeah, everyone's concerned about Buffy," Faith said in a dismissive fashion. " 'Cause heaven knows she has problems."

"Not really," Mahleah observed. "After all, what's really happened to her that's such a big thing? So her friends get hurt a little, they're fine now. Okay, Kendra was killed but you're here to replace her, right? The police know that she wasn't Kendra's killer, so she can quit ducking every time she sees a cop car. She was fighting with her mom, but they've made up and her mom even knows about the slaying, so everything's cool there. She's been readmitted to school, so she can graduate along with the rest of her class. So, what's her deal? Yeah, her lover turned evil and she had to waste him, but he's back now with his soul intact. What more could she want out of life? It's true she can't have sex with Angel, but there are plenty of boy toys out there to take care of those needs, aren't there?"

"That's what I'm saying," Faith agreed.

Mahleah shook her head, "Be careful, Faith. Jealousy is a demon that will swallow you whole before you have time to slay it."

"Jealous, you think I'm jealous of Buffy? I feel sorry for her. She's always so uptight, and worrying about things that are unimportant."

"Like love and friendship? If you can't trust anyone, you can't ever have those things."

"Hey, I don't need them, and I don't need you, either. See ya."

Mahleah grabbed her arm, "You're starting down a very dark road, Faith, and soon you'll come to a cross road. If you continue the way you're going, darkness will be your friend, or rather you'll be its slave."

"Darkness is already my friend, and where do you get off judging me? You've always had money, people who cared for you. You had Duncan MacLeod and that Mark guy. How can you possibly know where I've been much less where I'm going?"

"My mother died when I was two, and my father was an alcoholic who neglected me until I was sixteen. My first serious "adult" boyfriend tried to eat me, a stalker followed me around the world, I lost more friends than I can count, and Duncan MacLeod deserted me for over a year. My relationship with Mark was far from perfect. He had major issues with my Immortality. In fact, it was after a particularly nasty fight with him that I found myself traveling that same dark path you're treading now, and if I hadn't trusted friends when I hit the crossroad, my life would be very different now."

"You have a dark side?" Faith was intrigued.

"Everyone does," Mahleah told her. "Darkness can be quite seductive. Something I've never admitted to another soul was that when Duncan became temporarily evil after a Dark Quickening, a part of me was still attracted to him."

"No kidding," said Faith, impressed the Immortal would tell her this. "Hey, I've got some doughnuts back at my place. Would you like some?"

"Sure," Mahleah assented, and they walked off together.

*****

These would be Buffy’s last months of High School, and she knew there were major decisions to make. Thanks to Mahleah and Giles, her SAT scores were high enough to ensure her acceptance to any college she wanted to attend. She was thinking about a new school that her mom had gotten brochures from recently when she joined the gang for lunch one day. Their topic of conversation, however, stopped her in her tracks.

"Serial killer? We have an honest-to-goodness, old-fashioned, presumably human serial killer in town?" she asked incredulously.

"That’s right," Xander nodded. "A real Jack the Ripper type."

"How do we know it’s actually a human being murdering people?"

"The wounds were made by a knife rather than teeth or claws," Willow explained, "and the killing didn’t start here. Apparently, the killer has been leaving a trail of bodies through three states and last night, he killed a woman here in Sunnydale."

"He?" Buffy asked.

"Well, the clues point to a man. There have been a few sketchy, eyewitness reports of a strange man being seen in the area."

"There’s also the choice of victims," Oz added. "They’re all female singers."

"You knew the woman from last night, didn’t you?" asked Willow.

"Yeah, her name was Gayle. She wasn’t the greatest singer I’ve ever heard, but she put on a good show."

"Looking at her picture in the paper tells me she was a real hottie," Xander observed, "and so were the other women."

"So this guy targets sexy women singers." Buffy said thoughtfully. "Maybe we can set a trap for him."

"No offense, Buff," Xander told her, "but I think you’re out as bait. I mean, you’ve got the babelicious part down, but we’ve heard you sing."

"Not me."

"Then who?"

"Mahleah," she looked at him as if the answer was quite obvious.

"Mahleah’s definitely hot enough," Oz observed, "but the singers who were killed sang rock not Broadway. She’s got a great voice, but can she jam?"

Buffy smiled confidently, "O, ye of little faith. I think you’ll find that she’s capable of rising to the occasion. Oz, your band is playing at the Bronze for the next two weeks, right?" When he nodded, she asked, "How about giving Mahleah an audition tonight?"

"Are you sure Mahleah would even agree to be bait? I mean, she does prefer to keep a low profile," Willow pointed out.

"Leave that to me," Buffy promised. "She’ll be there."

Actually, it wasn’t as easy as she’d first thought. When she mentioned the idea to Mahleah, the Immortal was not ecstatic.

"Buffy, I don’t think I’m the woman for you." She held up the tiger- handled katana so that Buffy saw that the eyes were even more luminous than before. "Phillip could show up at any minute and I have to be ready for him."

"Mahleah, please, no one else I know sings. We need your help. Is looking for one extra bad guy going to keep you from fulfilling your mission?"

"It might. I might unexpectedly change history."

"No, you won’t," Buffy exclaimed. "Look at Tora now, I think she’s trying to tell you something."

As Buffy pointed out, the right tiger’s eye was black, indicating that taking part in the Slayer’s plan was something Mahleah was supposed to do.

Mahleah sighed. "All right, Buffy. I’ll try to help you find your serial killer."

"Oh, there’s one other thing," Buffy squirmed.

"What?"

"You’ll have to audition for Oz’s band. He’s not convinced that you can rock."

The singer chuckled, "I think that boy’s in for a surprise."

When Mahleah showed up for the audition, they were all shocked. Gone was the simple, conservative, but elegant clothes Mahleah preferred. Instead a leather jacket, thigh-high boots, black bra, and tight mini-skirt were the order of the day. Her makeup was much heavier, but luckily years of theatrical experience saved her from looking terrible. The heavy mascara and deep red of her lips seemed to change her into a different person.

The guys just stood there with their mouths hanging open. The girls suppressed a twinge of envy and complimented her. Mahleah took it all in stride. She walked up to the band, held a quiet discussion with them, and then they all launched into a lively rendition of P.J Harvey’s "Rid of Me."

Buffy and friends watched and listened with amazement. Was this tough, husky-voiced woman the same person who had sung songs from My Fair Lady and Les Miserables?

"I think we’ve found the perfect bait for our serial killer," Xander managed to say.

"I just hope we find him quickly," Buffy responded. She had a strong feeling that time was rapidly running out on Mahleah’s stay in Sunnydale.

That night patrons of the Bronze were thrilled to discover the Dingo’s new lead singer. Mahleah enjoyed herself immensely. It had been several years since she had the opportunity to sing with a rock band and it reminded her of her younger days.

In her long lifetime, she had frequently sought the company of actors, writers, musicians and their like even if at that time she was not pursuing the arts herself. Music had been her first love in life and remained her refuge and release. In what she considered her first life, before she traveled back in time, she had enjoyed writing as well, but after traveling to the past, she only allowed herself the luxury of writing a journal entry if something upset her deeply and even then she took care to burn everything when she finished. She had no wish to leave written records of herself scattered throughout history. Performing, therefore, became her escape. She loved acting, but after all, on stage, she dealt with borrowed thoughts. She was creating another character and expressing feelings belonging to that fictional being. Singing was where she found her own catharsis because she sang with her own emotions.

She found it appropriate to find herself once again on stage before a crowd of young people in what, she felt in her bones, to be her last days in Sunnydale. Her set was necessarily short, since preparations for the new band member had been rushed, but electric. She’d promised Oz a long rehearsal after the club closed which would also make her more appealing as bait on her late trip home.

She watched the crowd with interest and saw amusedly that Cordelia had a new admirer whose persistence didn’t seem to be daunted by her steady stream of putdowns.

Later, she saw Faith dancing wildly to the song "Chinese Burn," and smiled. She should have guessed that the aggressive, high-octane number would appeal to the newest Slayer. Glancing over at Buffy, she saw that her student was enjoying the raucous song as well. All of the Slayerettes were out on the floor, in fact, even Cordelia who had managed to give the brush-off to the guy shadowing her every move.

One member of Buffy’s inner circle stood out by his absence, however, and she scanned the crowd in search of him. Angel sat at the gang’s table alone, ostensibly keeping an eye out for suspicious behavior from any of the Bronze’s patrons. His eyes had stopped scanning the room, though, and were focused rather intently on Buffy.

Mahleah’s heart ached as she saw the emotions passing across his face: longing, sorrow, desire and love. She inwardly resolved that if given the opportunity, she would try to help Angel. It was the least she could do for him.

She sighed, looking away for a moment and when she turned back, the vampire was looking at her. She stared at him sadly for a moment, then smiled. "Chinese Burn" wound to a close, and she instinctively turned to softer material. She was only working with a few of the Dingoes, right now, and she was going to give Oz a break, and do a few ballads that wouldn’t require his guitar. They began rehearsing "Temple," by Beverly Klass. After a few false starts, the song sounded pretty good.

Oz went to Willow, and they made their way to the dance floor, oblivious to the fact that they were the only couple on the floor. Buffy and Xander sat down next to Angel.

"That’s a nice thing to see," Buffy commented softly.

"Yeah," Xander agreed, halfheartedly.

His friend sensed the reservation in his declaration, but didn’t ask about it. Xander would have to make his own peace with this situation.

Willow was aware of nothing but the happiness she felt at being able to dance with Oz again. She drifted to the music, her head lying on Oz’s shoulder.

Oz knew that Xander was watching, but felt at ease. Seeing Willow with Xander had scared him for two reasons: fear of losing her, and fear that the wolfish side of his nature would break free to hurt the people responsible for his pain. It had taken all the self-control he possessed, but the human had won. Now, he had Willow back.

His only emotions toward Xander right now were gratitude and pity. Gratitude because Willow had seemed to work through the crush she’d had on her childhood friend. He no longer sensed any hesitations from her: no tension because she wasn’t sure what she wanted. That’s why he felt sorry for Xander. He could tell that Xander still had feelings for her, but he was suppressing them right now, because it would have caused her pain.

"Sorry, man," Oz thought to himself, "you may have known her longer, but I saw her first."

Xander sat beside Buffy and felt very confused. He felt like Adam and Eve after they bit the apple. He would never be able to look at Willow the same way again. Things seemed to back to normal between them, after all she had made her final choice, but he was having to feign more disinterest than he really felt. Yet, he knew without a doubt, if he wanted to keep Willow in his life at all, then he would have to accept the fact that she loved Oz.

He sighed and looked over at Buffy. There was the other woman he had pined for, and been rejected by. He didn’t hold it against her, now. He knew that there wasn’t room for anyone in her heart but Angel. He wasn’t sure what they would do, though. They didn’t exactly have a future together. He noticed Angel watching Mahleah on stage, and turned his own gaze toward her.

Well, he knew he didn’t have a chance with the Immortal, but he could still have his fantasies. He was still eighteen after all. His mind replayed the kiss she had given him, and he settled back with a sigh. Until the right woman came along, fantasy would have to do.

Angel smiled inwardly as he noticed Xander’s attention wander from Willow to Buffy and then to Mahleah. It wouldn’t do the teenager any harm to focus on the older woman for a time. She obviously thought the attention harmless, and Xander didn’t really seem to expect anything from her.

On stage, Mahleah began a new song, another slow ballad, with a smile and a nod at the dancing couple. Tonight was Angel’s first opportunity to hear her sing, and he had spent several pleasant hours in the Bronze tonight. If only there wasn’t a serial killer on the prowl, he could have relaxed and truly enjoyed the performance.

These words hit home for him. The relationship between him and Buffy truly was a strange love. "Strange, doesn’t begin to describe it," he thought. It had been strange in the beginning when he, a two hundred plus year old vampire fell in love with a sixteen year old Slayer. Now, he had returned from Hell to discover that everything had changed. Buffy had kept him from killing himself, but he wasn’t yet convinced that she had done herself, much less the world, a favor.

It still seemed too much to bear: he had lost his soul in the one moment of joy he’d had in two centuries, and was to be forever forbidden to find it again. Yet, that was not as painful as the memories of the atrocities he had committed to the only people who had treated him kindly. He sighed, unsure of what the future could hold besides more pain.

His attention focused back on the singer, and he felt ashamed of himself. Yes, he had experienced sorrow and pain, but he didn’t think he had the strength that had seen Mahleah through several thousand years of loss. She had seemed very relaxed and at home on the stage, but he thought he saw past the cracks in her armor. These last few slow songs were pulling memories out of her subconscious that she was barely able to suppress. He decided that he’d stop by her house later and see if she wanted to talk.

Once again, the song changed, and Mahleah sang.

Why did you believe them all?

The biggest problem for her with singing was that it forced her to deal with emotions she wanted to bury. Music brought everything to the surface and she couldn’t push it back down and still be honest in her performance.

This song was the most painful of all the ones she had sung tonight. She tried to remember the first time she had heard it herself – she thought it was in an episode of a television show, but it had been so long that she wasn’t sure. She hoped that she hadn’t picked a song that hadn’t been written yet.

Involuntarily, her mind went back to the night that it all had came unglued. When Whistler pointed out to her that she was standing there naked, she’d realized she was cold. She ran into their bedroom, which no longer contained any of his possessions. She grabbed the pillow he’d been using, and sniffed it. His scent was gone as well.

She started pulling on clothes, the thicker the better. She was freezing. One layer seemed to do no good, so she donned another, then another. She found herself in three layers of clothes but still feeling like she had been dipped in ice water. She’d never been so cold in her life, in fact, it was a joke among her friends that she was the warmest person they’d ever met. A little voice inside her head told her that would no longer be true.

It was right. From that day on, she fought the cold constantly. She knew it was psychological, but that didn’t make her any less miserable.

Another memory invaded her conscious mind: she had managed to steal onto the barge a few hours after Duncan had left Paris. Using the invaluable skills she’d first picked up from Amanda, she unlocked the door and let herself in. She’d wandered for an hour lost in memories, just reveling in the ability to see his things. She could still smell his familiar scent – a smell she could never quite identify, but one she associated with strawberries. It had been an incredible moment of weakness that she reproached herself for, but couldn’t make herself leave.

She sighed inwardly and finished the song.

She released the last note, then looked down at Oz, "Hey, man, if we do all these songs tomorrow night, the kids will be sobbing into their cappuccino. Get up here and give us some guitar, so we can rock this joint."

Mahleah made it home that night without incident. After she walked in the door, the phone rang. It was Buffy using Cordelia's cell phone.

"No action tonight," the girl announced. "Nobody's spotted anything funky."

"Well maybe we'll have more luck tomorrow," Mahleah told her.

"Yeah, Faith and I are going to go snooping around a little before we call it a night. See ya."

"Goodnight."

She hung up and sighed. It was definitely time for a long, hot shower. She couldn't remember the last time she'd worn this much makeup. First, though, she would make a fire. Sunnydale was still unusually chilly, although the snow was long gone.

She'd just dried off and donned a pair of satin pajamas, when the doorbell rang. She hurriedly pinned her hair on top of her head, and ran down the stairs, throwing on a black and gold kimono.

"Could this be the killer after all?" She thought, as she tied the sash. "Or worse, Phillip?"

She picked up her katana, just in case, and moved to the door. "Who is it?" she called.

"Angel," she heard.

Relieved, she unlocked the door and let him inside.

"Expecting someone else?" he commented, upon seeing the sword.

"Well, one never knows, especially since I'm supposed to be bait for a serial killer. Won't you sit down?"

They both took their seats. Mahleah tucked her legs under her and commented, "You know, I think one reason that Buffy scares vampires so much is that they're accustomed to being the hunter not the hunted. Now, we Immortals are used to being both predator and prey."

He agreed and then studying her by the glow of the fire remarked, "I see you've cleaned up."

"Oh, I had to get rid of my war-paint," she said airily. "Not to mention all the mousse, gel, and hairspray. It's nice to feel clean again. You know I had to go on a special shopping trip to get all the necessary bait ingredients? I didn't own enough trashy clothes to fulfill my new role. The interesting thing is that before my little extra-temporal field trip I could have gone to my closet and found plenty of things to wear."

"Really?" he said, grinning.

"Really, oh not that I went around looking slinky all the time, but it was a nice change every now and then. Of course that was when I actually had people I wanted to impress. Nowadays I try to blend in, not stand out."

Angel chuckled a little, "I'm afraid there's not much you can do about that. You can dress down but that does nothing to hide the woman inside. You’ll always stand out, Mahleah. You’re too beautiful, too graceful, too dangerous, and too tall, for people not to notice you."

Mahleah clapped her hands to her cheeks. "Oh, goodness," she said, turning a faint red. "I didn't even know if I remembered how to blush, but obviously some part of me still does. Well," she cleared her throat, "as entertaining as this has been, I'm sure you didn't come here to flirt with me. So, what's on your mind, Angel? I warn you I'm not giving away any more free samples. One taste per customer, you know. Actually, you're luckier than most. I'm poison to all other vampires--if they even attempt to drink me, they die, I see to it personally. What brings you here so late?"

"I was concerned," he said simply.

"What, you think I can't handle a serial killer?"

"No, I'm sure you can. I was just worried about recent events in general. Things are getting pretty frantic around here for you. You have your own problems to work out and it could get messy if everything should happen to collide."

"True, but I think I have things under control right now."

"I'm sure you do. I just thought maybe you'd like to talk about it."

"Talk about what?"

"You've spent centuries waiting for this moment, looking for closure and now it's almost here."

"And you want to know how I feel about it?"

"Only if you want to talk about it. You seemed to be rather sad tonight."

She scrutinized him for a second. "I refuse to get excited. I can't afford it. Things can, so easily, slip out of my grasp. They have before."

"Back in 1780 when you failed to kill Phillip?"

"Yes, that one little screw-up cost me over two hundred years."

"You don't sound very bitter."

"Oh, I dealt with that grief a long time ago, Angel. After all, that mistake happened only a couple of decades after you were made into a vampire."

"But don't you wish..."

"Don't I wish that I'd managed to get there sooner? That I'd managed to take Phillip's head? Of course I do, it's only natural, but dwelling on what could have been gets me no closer to what can be. I had no idea how long I'd have to wait for another chance. I'm actually relieved it's only two hundred years. It could easily have been four or five hundred."

"Don't you ever get impatient?"

She looked away for a moment than said, "After the first hundred years or so I started wishing he would hurry up, but then I became resigned to the fact that my stay in the past was going to be lengthy. So, I decided to make the most of it. I fulfilled a lot of childhood dreams, got to see history in the making--always being careful not to interfere with it, of course. I spent centuries meeting people then I would isolate myself for a while because the endless cycle of life and death was becoming too much to bear."

"I know," he responded. "Sometimes it's easier not to get involved. It's so hard to watch them grow old and die."

"Everything dies eventually, Angel, even things that don't age, and their deaths are often the sadder because they're so unprepared for them. Mortals know they're going to die, but we of the longer life spans tend to be completely shocked if someone kills us. Like Davinia, we tend to think we're invincible, nothing can hurt us, but we both know that's patently not true."

"But at least you have a purpose. I mean, you know why you're here. That must be a comfort."

"Yes, it is," she said. "I can understand how frustrating it must be to have no direction in your life--to be pulled along with the current having no destination in mind. When coupled with regret and guilt, I imagine you feel pretty lost."

He looked away, unable to look her in the eyes.

She rose, then sank down again on the floor in front of him. "Angel, the pain we inflict on ourselves can be far worse than any other torture ever devised. I know that you're terrified that you were brought back for some dark purpose, but I don't believe that's true."

"How do you know?" he challenged.

She smiled gently. "Because if there's one lesson I've learned in life it's that we have choices. I chose to be where I am, and do what I'm doing, as did Phillip."

"What about MacLeod? What did he choose?"

"He chose to love me, to pursue a relationship with me and all of the consequences that would follow. He also didn't kill Phillip when he had the chance. Our choices determine our fate. You have choices of your own to make, Angel, and I believe that they'll lead you down a path you might not expect, but not the one you fear." She stroked his hair comfortingly, like she would a child. "You see, you have a good soul."

"Do I?" he asked, with a tinge of bitterness. She exhaled, then stood up, walked to the fireplace and leaned an arm on the mantel, staring at him with fond exasperation. "You're quite the brooder, aren't you? If it weren't for three things, I'd be able to shake you out of this Heathcliff mode for a little while at least."

"How?" She chuckled throatily, "Oh, Angel, the best cure for the mood you're in is a good fight and a night of rowdy sex. Believe me when I say, I learned that the hard way. The key is to pour all of your frustration into one night's activities and in the morning set yourself a new course and follow it. Unfortunately for you, it's not a viable option."

"For three reasons," he countered.

"Number one, I'm in love with someone else, and hope to be reunited with him soon. Number two, you'd lose your soul. Number three--and certainly not the least important reason--you love someone else and sleeping with me would hurt her."

"Sums it up in a nutshell," he said tightly.

"Except," she said thoughtfully, "I'm not completely sure about number two."

"You don't think losing my soul would be a valid reason?" he asked incredulously.

"Oh no, I think it's a damn fine reason, you see I don't sleep with men without a soul. A girl has to have some standards," she flashed him a wicked smile, and then resumed, "What I mean is, I don't think sex with me would cost you your soul. It's not the act itself that is the problem--it's breaking the happiness clause. I don't think there'd be any danger of that."

"You don't think very highly of yourself, do you?" he asked dryly.

"Oh, I have a healthy evaluation of my sex appeal and I assure you that in my time I've given many men, as Xander would put it, a happy. I'm saying it wouldn't happen with you because of reason number three. You'd feel terrible about betraying Buffy. I doubt you'd enjoy it at all. On top of that, your fear that you could lose your soul again added to the guilt you feel over the last time it happened would tend to preclude any happiness."

"I guess we won't have sex then," he said evenly. "It doesn't sound too appealing.

She began walking around the room musing, "Guilt over the last time it happened...You were the adult--the much older adult. You think you should have prevented it from happening. That's the reason you've not been the slightest bit angry with Buffy for sending you to hell, you think Angelus deserved it and you did as well, for losing control. You think it's your fault it all happened."

"It was my fault," he swallowed. "I could have said no, I could have not touched her..." his voice trailed off.

She stood, studying the anguish in his eyes, and suddenly understood everything. "You were weak. You wanted her at that moment more than you wanted a new day to begin. You loved her so much that not having her would have been more unbearable than a bath in holy water, so you took her, and that's what you can't forgive yourself for isn't it? Despite all that happened and the unbearable price others had to pay for your desire, there's a part of you that wouldn't change it if you could. You know now that night is probably the only one you'll ever get to make love to Buffy, and there's something inside you, the human part of you, that says Jenny's life wasn't too much to pay."

"Stop it!" he screamed, covering his ears, and falling to his knees on the floor.

Instantly, she was there with him. "Angel, look at me. Look at me!" she commanded. Did you know there was a happiness clause in the curse? Did you know that by making love to Buffy you were going to hurt her?"

He looked at her, his eyes wet with tears. "No," he whispered hoarsely.

"And didn't you love her more than anything else in the world?"

"I still do," he forced himself to say.

"Then forgive yourself. What happened is not your fault. You couldn't have stopped Angelus, could you?"

"No, but..."

"No buts, you couldn't have. There was no way for you even to try. It's right to grieve for the dead, but sooner or later you must let them go. They can be neither hurt nor helped anymore. Let go of the ghosts, all of them. The people you've hurt are beyond caring now."

"What about the others?"

"The living? Well, it's true you hurt Giles almost more than he could bear, but he has forgiven you. I know that because he told me. He realizes Angelus tortured him and killed Jenny, not you. He's a good man, and he's forgiven you. Buffy's forgiven you, too. She loves you and you're tormenting her by keeping yourself on your rack of guilt. Let it go, Angel. The past is gone and nothing can be done about it, but there are plenty of tomorrows coming. The only true amends you can make for yesterday's mistakes are to make the tomorrows better."

He had completely broken down and she pulled him, sobbing, into her arms. Her hair had fallen down, and he buried himself in it, clinging to her. She stroked him soothingly, holding him to her and rocking him gently. "Ssh, mo' mauverneen, it's going to be all right."

She continued talking to him in the language of his childhood, petting and rocking him until his sobs subsided. Softly she crooned an old Irish tune, "Siul a ruin" and glanced down to see that he'd fallen asleep. She kissed the top of his head lightly, then sat watching the fire burn as he dosed.

About twenty minutes later, he woke to the sound of a log popping. She let go of him and he stood up saying, "My mother used to sing me to sleep with that song. I'm not sure how you knew, but thank you."

She smiled, remembering a day in the eighteenth century when she'd seen an Irish mother with lovely brown hair and familiar eyes singing the tune to her baby boy. "How do you feel?" she asked.

"We've come full circle," he observed, "only last time I asked you that question." He was quiet for a second and then said, "Would it make sense if I said I felt a little cleaner?"

"Absolutely," she said cheerfully.

He offered her a hand up and she added, "Now if you're up to it, we can try my cure."

He blinked at her, and she laughed, "Don't get all worked up over how you're going to have to let me down easy. I don't mean sex, I mean the first part of the prescription--a sword fight."

"A sword fight at this hour of the night?" he protested.

"Since when is it too late at night for a vampire to fight? Are you in danger of getting burned by the sun anytime soon?"

"No," he admitted.

"See, come on, it will be fun." She picked up the ubiquitous Tora and led him to the dojo, switching on a light. "Choose a weapon," she said gesturing to the walls.

"So, you really meant what you said about this being a cure for what ails you, huh?" He asked, examining the swords.

"Yep, though as I said I usually take the full dose, but sometimes half a dose works just as well. I prefer to fight first when I feel that way, so I can get rid of the violent side of my aggressions before I get to the bedroom. I don't mind it rambunctious but I'm not into pain."

"Check," he said pulling a much plainer katana from the wall.

"Oh, and do control yourself. I give you fair warning, if you go from doll face to vamp face I'm using the hilt of my katana as a club between your eyes."

He frowned, "I can control myself."

"Good," she pulled off her kimono, revealing her black pajamas. She took a fighting stance and he mirrored her.

"Doll face?" he queried.

She grinned, "En garde."

They touched blades but he had another question, "So, do you do this often?"

"You'd be surprised."

"Would you really have killed me…" he started.

"If you had come looking for blood," she concluded. "Yes, probably. I think I was mighty generous in giving you one donation, so if you’d gotten gluttonous we’d be fighting for real right now."

"Well then, I’m glad I’m on a diet," he said with a straight face.

"So am I."

Buffy and Faith had managed to take out a couple of vampires while on patrol, but had spotted nothing else suspicious. Faith still made Buffy a little edgy, but she was beginning to like her. They said goodnight and Buffy started for home. She started wondering, though, if the killer followed his victims home and broke in on them while they were sleeping. She decided to check out Mahleah’s house one last time before heading to bed.

She was surprised to see a light on in the dojo. She walked up to the window and stared as she saw Angel and Mahleah sparring. Angel was still in his street clothes, but Mahleah was wearing black satin pajamas and apparently not much else. Her feet were bare, her toenails painted blood red, and her hair was falling down in a helter-skelter fashion. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes flashed as she laughed. Buffy looked at Angel. He, too, was smiling. Their sword strokes were merely a blur, nearly impossible to follow.

Suddenly, Mahleah hooked her foot behind Angel’s leg and pulled forward. He landed on his back. She stood over him and Buffy could see they were both laughing. Angel managed to kick Mahleah’s legs out from under her, and pinned her to the floor with his body.

Buffy couldn’t stand to watch any more and left.

The following evening found her at the Bronze once more performing with Oz's band that called itself "Dingoes ate my Baby." Nearing the end of her last set she stepped up to the mike, she said, "Thanks for being so good to us. We've not had very long to get used to each other and we appreciate the warm response you've given us.

"Before you leave though, I’d like to sing a song for a couple of friends."

She replaced the keyboard player and began playing Sarah McLachlan's song "Angel." Buffy shivered and looked at her partner. Wordlessly, he opened his arms in invitation and she went to him. Their bodies swayed gently to the music and she laid her head on his chest listening to the sound of Mahleah’s voice.

The refrain seemed to wrap around them. She wanted to raise her head and speak but couldn’t think of what to say. So much lay between them… so many things she longed to say, but they felt stuck somewhere between her heart and her mouth.

She risked a glance upward and saw equal uncertainty in his face. They had been avoiding any talk about either Angel’s suicide attempt or its miraculous prevention. They had both said things that night they might prefer to ignore but only at the risk of damaging their fragile relationship. Now, Buffy was also feeling uncertain about what she had witnessed the night before.

Suddenly, Mahleah segued into a different McLachlan song, "Fumbling Toward Ecstasy."

The drummer decided to join in and added a soft insistence to the chorus. Buffy looked at the singer who smiled at the girl, and repeated the chorus with delicate insistence, "I won’t fear love."

"Mahleah’s an incredible woman," Buffy began with hesitation.

Angel smiled in agreement, "Yes, she is."

"She’s good at so many things: acting, teaching, dancing, singing, fighting… but I guess she’s had a lot of practice considering how old she is. I mean, you’re even young compared to her."

He looked amused at her choice of words. "Yes, she would be considered ancient by most standards."

"Do you consider her ancient?"

Angel realized where the conversation was going. "You have nothing to worry about," he told her. "You are the one I love, not Mahleah."

She swallowed. "I know, it’s just you two have so much in common, and she’s seen and done so much…."

"This is not a competition," he told her seriously. "What would make you think that I would pick Mahleah over you, or for that matter that Mahleah would want me when she might have MacLeod soon?"

"I saw you last night at her house," Buffy confessed. "You were fighting and it was beginning to look like foreplay."

"Love is patient, love is kind.

Buffy thought over Angel’s quote for a moment, "Shakespeare?"

Angel smiled. "No, the Bible actually, but the point now is: do you trust me?"

She didn’t hesitate in her response, "Yes."

"Good, then you don’t even have to ask. I thought of that verse after Mahleah told us her story."

"I can see why. It kind of strikes close to home, doesn’t it? I mean our lives are such disaster areas that we tend to think any minute could be our last."

"It could," he reminded her.

"True, but maybe we should look past that. I mean, now we have two new rules to live by. We shouldn't fear love and we shouldn't forget what love is. Maybe we won't have centuries like Mahleah and MacLeod, but that just means that we should appreciate the time we do have."

Mahleah looked out at the dancing couple saw them kiss briefly and smiled - her message received.

In a dark corner of the Bronze, two men watched the proceedings with interest. One was fairly young, sporting an earring and a ponytail. The other, older man, was more conservatively attired in a suit that might have come straight from Rupert Giles’ closet. The tattoos on their wrists testified to their reason for being at the Bronze. Earlier, before Mahleah began singing, the two Watchers had been having a heated discussion.

"I’m telling you, Vernon, it has to be her," the young man argued vehemently.

"It can’t be," Vernon stated flatly. "I just left Mahleah in the middle of the Appalachian Mountains. This woman, whoever she is, cannot be her. Look at her hair... Mahleah cut hers some time ago and it’s nowhere near that long now."

"Maybe it’s a wig," the other man suggested.

"Possibly, Jack. I would say whoever she is, the resemblance is uncanny, but she’s not my Immortal."

Vernon and Jack looked on as Mahleah finished talking to the band and stepped to the mike. When Vernon heard her singing voice, he gave a double take, started to stand, but sat back down in disbelief.

His companion looked at him in concern. "Are you okay?"

"No," the Englishman whispered so faintly that Jack had to lean in closely to hear him over the music. "This can’t be happening. It’s impossible."

"Are you now saying it is Mahleah?"

Vernon nodded unsteadily.

"Are you sure? I mean, you’ve told me ever since you arrived how wrong I was -- that woman couldn’t be Mahleah, you said. Why are you changing your mind?"

"Her voice," the Englishman’s own voice was raspy. "I’ve heard her perform many times and I would recognize her voice anywhere."

"Could she be faking it?"

"I don’t see how." They sat in stunned silence for a time just listening to her sing.

"There are a few discrepancies," Vernon said hesitantly. "This voice sounds richer; more experienced. I wonder if this has anything to do with the breakup with MacLeod. She hasn’t sung in public since Richie’s death. I don’t think Mark, her new boyfriend, even knows that she can sing."

"Well, you’re her Watcher. If you verify it’s her, that’s good enough for me."

Vernon scowled. "To tell the truth I’m not entirely sure. I think we’ll need additional confirmation. I’m going to call Joe Dawson."

"Good idea," Jack agreed. "He’ll want to know about this anyway, since there’s a serial killer running around here whacking female singers."

Now, at the end of Mahleah’s performance, Vernon had returned to their table after calling Seacouver, Washington.

"So, what did Joe say?"

"He thought I’d gone insane until I held out the receiver and allowed him to listen to her singing."

"That changed his mind, huh?"

"Yes, it did. He said he’s going to send someone out here to investigate more fully."

"Investigate? He’s not coming himself?"

"No, he says he’s sending an expert."

"An expert on Mahleah? I thought you and he were the only ones in existence. She’s not that old, after all."

"Yes," Vernon nodded absently.

"So, who could he be sending?"

"I wonder," the older Watcher mused.

*****

Four nights later, Mahleah was up on the stage, giving a rousing rendition of another P.J. Harvey song, "Long Snake Moan." So far no one had fallen for the trap. She was beginning to wonder if the killer had moved on, or if she had lost her touch. Well, she hadn’t if the reactions of her audience were anything by which to judge. They had embraced her act with enthusiasm from the first night.

She looked around the room. Buffy and her friends were split up around the club watching the patrons, except for Xander who had been scarcely able to tear his eyes away from Mahleah all night. Even Cordelia was here, although most of her efforts were put into trying to get rid of her persistent admirer, who'd insisted on following her everywhere she went the entire week.

Every night, Mahleah walked home alone, followed as covertly as possible by the faithful "Scooby" gang. Nothing out of the ordinary had occurred, either serial killer wise or with Phillip, and yet the stones in her sword were saying that her old enemy could show up at any moment.

Winding up the raucous song, she sighed. She’d played the sexy, come-hither vixen to the max for almost a week and decided to give it a rest for awhile. After a few minutes’ conversation with Oz and his band, they launched into a song Mahleah could put her heart into: "With or Without You."

Buffy out in the middle of the crowd felt a pang of sorrow. She knew that in telling her story, Mahleah had reopened old wounds. She hoped that the stones were right and soon her teacher could return to her old life.

She moved off the dance floor, keeping her eyes on the crowd when she spotted a familiar face. As unobtrusively as possible, she made her way toward him.

"Hey, Whistler," she greeted him. "What words of wisdom have you got for me today?"

"Maybe I just came to hear Mahleah sing," he suggested.

"Nah," Buffy dismissed that idea. "You’re always up to something. When you appear, things happen. So what’s going down tonight?"

On stage, Mahleah had begun another U2 song, "One." Buffy knew from experience her teacher’s love of the Irish band, and figured Mahleah was getting personal.

"On the other hand," Whistler said, catching her attention again, "maybe I wanted to see that."

He nodded toward the door, and when Buffy followed his gaze, she gave a start. A tall, dark, very handsome man had just entered the Bronze. She recognized him instantly though she had only seen his picture once, and he had since cut his hair. "MacLeod," she gasped.

"The Highlander, in the flesh," Whistler agreed.

"What’s he doing here?" Buffy demanded.

"My guess would be that he heard the music and recognized the singer," Whistler said unperturbed.

"I mean, what’s he doing in Sunnydale?"

"I believe it’s called following the hand of fate."

"Hand of fate, nothing," Buffy scoffed. "The only hand I sense in this is yours."

She looked up to see if Mahleah had noticed the new arrival. Indeed, the singer could not tear her gaze away from him.

"Who’s that Mahleah is staring at?" Willow had appeared at Buffy’s side.

"That, girlfriend, is Duncan MacLeod of the clan MacLeod."

"Really," Willow was thrilled. "Maybe now we’ll find out why they haven’t gotten together yet."

Buffy had not told anyone the rest of Mahleah’s story, and she felt strongly that the Immortal would not want it repeated, so she kept silent. Glancing to her other side, she saw that Whistler was gone. "Oh man," she complained, "just when I’d hoped to get some straight answers out of that guy."

Xander walked up to the girls. "Have you seen the dude that’s carving Mahleah up with his eyes?" He asked. "I think we may have a winner in our freak-of-the-week contest."

"He’s not the serial killer," Willow told him. "He’s Mahleah’s fiancé."

"She’s engaged?" he gasped. "Why does this always happen to me? I meet them, fall for them, lose them."

"Through no fault of your own," Buffy retorted.

On stage, Mahleah looked at Oz. "I need to leave."

"Sure," he replied. "Are you okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost."

"I have," she said lightly. "The Ghost of Christmas Past."

She left the stage and slipped out the back door, hoping against hope that he wouldn’t see her. It didn’t work.

"Mahleah, stop. Please talk to me."

She reluctantly turned around. "Mac."

"What are you doing in California?" he asked her. "I thought you were back home with your father."

"I was," she stammered. "I just needed to get away for awhile."

"Why wouldn’t you return my phone calls?"

"I needed some time to myself," she said, wishing desperately for the right thing to say. "How do I prevent myself from changing history?" she thought.

"Why are you here, and why are you dressed like that?"

Mahleah looked down at her "bait" outfit, consisting of a skintight red dress cut down to here and up to there. She was bra-less and the tops of her stockings and part of her garters were plainly visible.

She stopped on the sidewalk. "I don’t look attractive?"

"Attractive? Yes, you look attractive in a trashy, streetwalker fashion. Good Lord, woman, you’re a walking aphrodisiac."

She stepped in closer and drew herself up to her full height, which in her heels was considerable. He could smell vanilla and peaches and smiled inwardly. Some things never changed. She always preferred to smell more like nature than any man-made perfume. Now, she stared him in the eyes and said, "I apologize if I appear to have stepped out of a wet dream, but these are my working clothes."

She turned and continued on her way, moving with an elegant gracefulness that took his breath away. She may have dressed like a cheap slut, but she moved with as much dignity as any queen.

He shook himself and rushed to catch up to her. "Where are you going?"

"Home."

"You should be more careful," he warned her. "There’s a killer in this area."

She laughed once. "I know."

Light dawned on him. "So, that’s what you’re up to. It’s a dangerous game."

"I can take care of myself," was her response, "besides, he’s not going to attack me with you providing an escort."

She had been walking quickly and now arrived in front of her house. Striding up onto the porch, she unlocked the front door.

"Aren’t you going to invite me in?" he inquired.

"I don’t know," she said truthfully.

"Mahleah, surely we can work something out. I know you said the last time we met that you needed to find yourself, but I’ve never seen you so self-confident. Are you and Mark still together?"

She was standing with her back to him, facing the door. He’d reached out gently stoking her hair and as he asked the last question, his fingers had found a spot on the back of her neck that he knew only too well. His thumb brushed it and his other fingers lightly brushed the fine baby hairs that grew just above it, making her tremble.

With a mouth suddenly gone dry, she said, "Yes and no."

"Is he in California, too?"

"No."

"Do you expect to see him in the near future?"

"No," she answered truthfully.

He pushed aside the veil of shiny hair covering her shoulders. The red dress dipped low in the back as well, and he kissed between her shoulder blades. She thought her knees were going to buckle.

"Please, mhuirnin," he said with a husky voice. "It’s been so long."

"It’s been so long..." the words reverberated for her. It had indeed been a long time since she had been with this man. She knew she had no guarantees that when she killed Phillip she would be returned to her own time. If not, this could be her last chance, because if she had to she intended to disappear.

There were a million reasons for and against taking such action. She was afraid to look at Tora because she knew what she was going to do. Turning, she flung an arm around him her other hand reaching for the doorknob. She kissed him fast and furiously, as if to make up for all the lost years.

The knob turned in her hand and they tumbled inside, trying to keep their balance. MacLeod heard something crash to the floor and started to turn.

"It's unimportant," she whispered. She continued to pull him forwards, kissing him. She slid his jacket off and tossed it aside without looking.

They crashed into furniture and could hear things breaking but really didn't care. She unbuttoned his shirt and let her fingers roam over his chest. He responded by pushing away the fabric barely covering her right breast. The tight dress protested and she heard a rip. That was fine, too.

She gave a little hop and wrapped her legs around him. His mouth found her breast and then asked, "Where is your bedroom?"

"Upstairs."

He started for the staircase and up they stumbled. Every couple of steps, he would shift her weight in his arms to prevent dropping her and her dress had ridden up in the process. Now, every time he moved, their lower bodies slid across each other. She couldn't stand it anymore and stopping him halfway to her bedroom, slid out of his arms. Her fingers found and unfastened his pants. A second later, her lips had followed her fingers and found him.

He cried out, then gathered enough breath to say, "Upstairs?"

"No," she let her weight go back on the steps and pulled him down to her. "Here."

"This is not going to be very comfortable," he protested weakly.

"Don't care," she panted, and bringing his fingers to her flimsy lace panties, used his hand to rip them away. "I want you now," she said hotly, and pulled him into her. There was nothing gentle about it.

*****

"Why didn't you tell us she'd already left?" Xander demanded of Oz.

"She was in a hurry to be gone," Oz said reasonably. "Hey, the lady's perfectly capable of taking care of herself."

"I don't like it," Buffy said frowning. "I'm going over there. What if the killer decides to make his move tonight? We're supposed to be her backup."

*****

Mahleah groaned as she met MacLeod's thrust. Her inner muscles contracted around him, as she pulled his mouth down to hers. She was going to have quite an assortment of scrapes and bruises when she moved from this spot, but it was well worth it. Besides, one of the perks of being Immortal meant that carpet burn was very temporary. She wordlessly urged him to hurry, fully intending when she got him upstairs, to make love to him slowly, employing all the arts she had learned in several thousand years, but for now, she just wanted it fast and deep.

*****

Buffy, quite concerned, especially when she discovered that the Immortal had left her coat along with Tora behind, had made up her mind to go to Mahleah's house. She wasn't sure if she was worried more about the killer or what seeing MacLeod would do to the woman. The others decided to accompany her, even Oz who had finished playing for the night, and they all started down the street.

*****

Mahleah stood up, gingerly shaking out the kinks in her joints. She walked to the head of the stairs and unzipped the remains of the dress, letting it fall to the floor. As Duncan watched, she stood there clad only in her garter belt, tattered stockings, and a few wisps of lace that used to be her panties. She looked down at him, and raised an eyebrow mischievously, "Are you coming?"

*****

Buffy and friends stood outside Mahleah's house in amazement. The front door was standing wide open.

"There's a light on upstairs," Xander reported.

"The serial killer could be in there right now carving her up into a million little pieces," Willow fretted.

"Well, that's a million less than I'll leave him," Buffy said grimly. She stepped into the house and surveyed the scene grimly. Saying the house was a wreck was putting the case mildly.

"Well, we know she didn't go without a fight," Oz said.

Buffy put a finger to her lips. "I hear something upstairs. I'm going to check it out."

"I'll go with you," Xander announced, and they started up the stairs as quietly as they could go.

Willow had walked around the couch and picked up a dark blue man's jacket lying on the floor. "Guys," she whispered furiously to Buffy and Xander. "This may not be what you think. I'm nearly positive this is the coat Duncan MacLeod was wearing tonight."

"Huh?" Xander had stopped midway up the stairs, intrigued by a scrap of something lying on the carpeted step. He picked it up and examined it closely. "Lace," he muttered. "If I didn't know better, I'd say it came from…oh, Buff, we might want to leave."

Buffy had made it to the top of the stairs before pausing, but even in her single-minded determination to rescue her teacher, she couldn't ignore the remnants of the red dress lying in the hallway.

Oz looked up from beside the stairs. "Here's a shoe," he offered, holding one of Mahleah's red pumps.

The noises Buffy had heard earlier were growing louder and with utter embarrassment she realized what they were. She heard a male voice say, "Mhuirnin," and started down the stairs quickly. As she stopped to collect Xander, both teenagers heard a woman groan in ecstasy and call out, "Duncan."

"Right, time to go," Buffy mumbled, and they all fled, locking the door behind them.

******

Several hours later, Duncan had fallen into a light, if contented, sleep when he felt something was wrong. Opening his eyes, he discovered Mahleah watching him with the small illumination coming from the skylight over their heads. He realized she was crying silently. Her entire face was wet and tears fell in steady streams from her eyes.

"Ciamar a tha tu, mo chridhe?" he asked, startled. "What's wrong?"

She shook her head, "Nothing."

"It's something, or you wouldn't be crying as if your heart was breaking." He pulled her to him. "Why the tears?" He pushed her hair back and started wiping away the moisture.

"Why do they have to be tears of sadness? Don't you think they could be tears of joy? There have been times I thought I'd never see you again, much less be able to lie here and watch you sleep."

"Why on earth would you think you'd never see me again?" he asked, astonished. "Surely you didn’t think I would be so angry over your declaration of independence that I'd never want to be near you again?"

"No," she said softly. "Please, Duncan, just accept things the way they are for now. There are questions that I can't answer, and if you insist on asking them, you'll force me away."

"You mean questions like who taught you the new tricks in your greatly expanded sexual repertoire?"

She smiled, "Yeah, questions like that. No, it wasn't Mark, and all I'll say on the subject is that I've been with a lot of men since you, but none of them could compare."

"You surprise me," he said dryly. "Surely lovers that could teach you those maneuvers could satisfy you."

"Oh, sure," she dismissed airily. "They satisfied my carnal lusts with little problem. Unfortunately, there was an empty spot right here," she tapped her chest, "that wasn't filled until tonight. It sounds pretty sappy, but it's true."

"It just means you love me," he said simply.

"More than you know, m'annsachd, my best beloved," she replied. He kissed her softly. She leaned into him, inhaling deeply.

"What are you doing?" he asked with a chuckle.

"I’ll never get enough of that smell," she said simply.

"What smell?" he was curious, especially when she blushed.

"I don’t know why but you’ve always smelt like strawberries to me. It’s probably psychological, but it’s one of the things I’ve missed most. What’ s so funny?"

He was chuckling harder now. She scowled at him until he rolled her beneath him. "I’m laughing because you’ve always reminded me of strawberries. Not your smell, though." He inhaled deeply. "That’s like peaches. It’s more your taste, which would make sense – they are your favorite addiction."

"Second favorite," she purred, then laughed. "So when you see strawberries, you think of me, huh?"

"Well, let me double-check my hypothesis," a wicked gleam had appeared in his eyes. He leaned in and kissed her slowly, savoring every moment. "Mmm," he murmured, "delicious, but I need further tests."

"Further tests, hmm?" she smiled, enjoying this. Her tears were dry, but her eyes still sparkled.

"Yeah, in fact, I think I see a scrumptious ripe berry right now." He’d moved down to her breasts. "Begging me to taste it."

She frowned playfully at his choice of words, "Begging?"

His smile was sensuous and promising, "Crying out for me, actually."

"You’re getting smug in your old age," she said, but anything else was swallowed by a loud gasp, followed by a moan as first his tongue, then his teeth, made up for his quip. After a few minutes of ecstatic torture, he looked up. Her head was thrown back and her eyes were closed.

"Don’t go to sleep on me," he teased.

Her eyes opened, "No worries, mate. You do realize that you are going to pay dearly for this, I suppose."

"I’m counting on it, but I’m ready for the best part of the meal now."

"Indeed."

"Oh, yes. Any strawberry connoisseur knows that the best most sinfully tantalizing berries are the tiny ones that grow wild. They’re hard to find, but impossible to resist. No flavor on earth, compares to their sweet tartness."

He licked his lips, and she felt a quiver of anticipation and suppressed any feeling of guilt or fear. She would enjoy tonight and pay for the consequences tomorrow.

Thanks to Betsy, as it was in one of her wonderful stories that I first encountered the quote "Absence is to love as wind is to fire…"

Since the next day was Saturday, they slept in quite late. When Mahleah awoke, she smiled at the Highlander, "It's been a long time since I woke up with a man in my bed."

He looked at her strangely.

She understood and laughed, "Oh, I had lovers; they just didn't stay the night."

"Your idea, or theirs?"

"Well, let's just say I usually asked them to leave if they didn't offer. Would you like some breakfast? I'm ravenous for some reason this morning."

He watched as she confiscated his shirt. She was humming something that sounded somewhat familiar. He asked her about it.

She looked a little startled, "Oh, was I humming?" She thought about it for a minute and gave a shaky laugh. "Oh that was just ‘Iris’," she told him.

"’Iris’?"

Her mouth quirked upwards around the edges momentarily. "You really should pay more attention to popular music, Mac."

"Okay," he accepted the mock rebuke. "So, how’s it go?"

The smile faded completely, and she cleared her throat, then sang softly,

"Sounds sappy," he teased her.

"Oh, it is," she agreed. "Just a catchy, sentimental, slightly bittersweet love song."

"It’s also the closest I can come to telling you the truth, m'annsachd," she thought.

When she went down to the kitchen, she heard a knock on the door. She told MacLeod to see whom it was, and if by chance the callers were a bunch of teenagers, to show them in. A few minutes later, Buffy and friends entered the kitchen.

Xander whistled, "Wow, somebody pinch me, because I'm sure I’m dreaming this." Willow gave his arm a hard pinch and he yelped.

Buffy looked at the bare-chested Scot and remarked, "The pickings are pretty lush from our perspective, too, Xand."

Mahleah smiled comfortably, "I'm real, Xander, but I can see if we want your eyes to resume their proper place in your face and not fall out of their sockets I'll have to put on more clothes than Duncan's shirt. Remember what I said about staring, boy-o."

Leaving the others to watch things in the kitchen, she went up to her bedroom with Buffy following.

"God, what a hot…"Xander began. MacLeod cleared his throat. "Skillet, a really hot skillet on the stove, so breakfast can be made."

MacLeod turned back to the pancake batter, "Yeah, and she's a really good cook, too."

"Mahleah, how do I say this delicately: what the hell are you doing?"

The Immortal glared at her, but the Slayer didn't back down. Mahleah wilted and lost some of her happy glow.

"I don’t know," she said, softly.

Buffy's mouth hung open. "Oh, okay, just as long as we're on the same page here."

Mahleah sat down on a chair and stared at the very rumpled bed. "I wasn't expecting this. I've been feeling very vulnerable lately, and then he walks in the door. Buffy, I just couldn't say no."

There was an awkward silence, then the girl replied, "I understand."

Mahleah looked at her and smiled ruefully, "Yeah, I guess you do."

"So, what do the stones have to say about this little twist in the fabric of the space-time continuum?"

"To be honest, I've been too much of a coward to look," Mahleah sighed. "I knew that if they told me I was upsetting history, I'd have to stop. I really didn't want to do that."

"Aren't you forgetting something. You left your katana at the Bronze last night."

"I know, and that wasn't all. In the middle of the night, I realized I'd left the front door standing wide open. I came downstairs to close it and found someone had beaten me to it and returned my coat. Thank you, by the way. I brought it back upstairs with me and laid it over there. Tora’s still in it because I couldn't bring myself to look."

"I will," Buffy declared, and walked over to the coat. Mahleah steadfastly looked away, not wanting to see the results of her failure to resist temptation.

The Slayer looked at the tiger's eyes in confusion, "Um, Mahleah, didn't you say if the left eye is black, history is screwed up, and if the right eyes is black, history's okay?"

"Yes."

"Well, I think you're going to have to see this to believe it."

Mahleah gathered her wits together and walked over to Buffy. The girl held out the katana. "Both eyes are black."

They stared at the tiger. The eyes were not just black; they were practically onyxes.

"So what does it mean?" Buffy asked.

"I'm not sure," Mahleah confessed. "She's never done that before."

"Well, what's your best guess?"

"I think," Mahleah said hesitantly, "that it means that while no damage has been done to the timeline yet, if I'm not careful I could seriously wreck things. Let me hold her."

Buffy handed her the sword. Mahleah stared at it intently for a long moment and suddenly the eyes were ruby red as before and glowing luminously.

"Wow, what did you do?"

"I vowed not to reveal anything about who I really am to Mac. I'll let him continue to think that I'm the younger Mahleah of this time. God, I never thought I could be jealous of myself, but I am."

"Well, that's all worked out, so I'll let you get dressed," Buffy decided. "By the looks of those rubies, things are going to be jumping in Sunnydale tonight."

After she left, the Immortal looked at her reflection in the mirror. "I have changed things, though."

*****

A catchy guitar riff underscored Mahleah’s voice as she sang, "You’ve got this strange effect on me and I like it." "It could be my theme song," he mused somberly.

Phillip Johnson should have been jubilant, but wasn't. Before all of his planning and hard work could pay off, MacLeod had shown up once again. He hid in the shadows outside the Bronze like a sulky spider, listening as the object of his obsession sang once more to the Highlander. Her voice, strong and seductive, carried through the open doors to his ears. He detected sadness in the sound mixing with the passion and inwardly sighed.

He'd hoped that by eliminating Duncan MacLeod, not only from the world but from her memory as well, he would finally win her affections. His whole scheme at Sunnydale had been foolproof, he'd reasoned. She would have one last chance to come to her senses and realize how much better he was than the Scot, and how much he loved her more than MacLeod ever could. Good God, he was attempting to reorder history because of her.

He didn't know how she'd managed to travel back in time and it bothered him. He'd been concerned that she would be able to travel back to any time, stop him no matter where or when he might go. Yet lately, he had become convinced that her trip to the past was one-way. She'd been living in the past since 1780. He figured that if she stopped him from killing MacLeod this time, he'd just go back to a time when she wouldn't be around to get him.

He congratulated himself on having smoked her out of her hiding place. He knew that eventually when she discovered who the targets of the serial killer were, she'd involve herself. She might not even know it yet, but he'd had an old friend of hers in Seacouver killed. He ground his teeth, realizing that particular murder may have been what drew MacLeod to California.

His tool, Brad, was very malleable and there were no problems convincing him to concentrate on certain types of women. He had a harder time trying to keep the idiot from pursuing Mahleah. He wanted that privilege for himself, if she rejected him once again.

Little did Brad know that he was the perfect scapegoat. If Mahleah were receptive to his overtures, he would help her "hunt" down the killer. If she refused, he would kill her himself, and make sure the police found Brad over her headless corpse.

Those had been his plans. Then, MacLeod had spent the night at her house. Now, he just wanted both Mahleah and MacLeod dead. "Sing," he muttered under his breath. "Enjoy it. These are the last happy moments of your lives."

He nodded to Brad who, as arranged, closed in on his prey.

*****

On the stage, Mahleah paused for a moment as if collecting herself, and kicked off her shoes. She gazed out at the crowd of young people and realized that compared to her everyone there was young, which included both her lover and a two-hundred-year-old vampire. She had made a discovery last night when she’d watched Duncan sleeping and the song she was about to sing captured that feeling uncannily. She steadied herself and nodded to the keyboard player.

"If I should die this very moment, I wouldn’t fear. For I have never known completeness like being here: wrapped in the warmth of you, loving every breath of you. Still my heart this moment or it might burst."

Duncan really was trying to pay attention to the patrons of the Bronze. His instincts were telling him that trouble was in the air. Yet, for him Mahleah’s very essence filled the room. He was amazed at the richness in her voice. He’d always been aware of her talent, but tonight she was overwhelming him. She seemed to be imbuing the music with a desperate longing that he was at a loss to understand. Despite the warnings his jangled nerves were sending him, he was riveted to the spot.

A lonely drumbeat joined the melody as she pleaded: "Can we stay right here till the end of time, till the earth stops turning. Wanna love you till the seas run dry. I’ve found the one I’ve waited for."

MacLeod wasn’t the only person mesmerized by Mahleah. On the side, also on the lookout for trouble, Buffy heard the anguish underlying the message of the song. She swallowed, remembering a couple of quotes she’d encountered during her studies with Mahleah. One was "the course of true love ne’er did run smooth." The other said that, "Absence is to love as wind is to fire; it extinguishes the small and kindles the great."

She glanced momentarily across the room. Angel was watching Mahleah as intently as everyone else in the room. She smiled inwardly. Since the reappearance of Duncan MacLeod, she was no longer troubled about Mahleah’s effect on Angel. She knew, now, that there had been no reason to be upset to begin with and realized that it was easier in some ways for Mahleah to talk to Angel. At least he’d had a bicentennial.

Angel was, for once, oblivious to Buffy’s scrutiny. Instead, he was intensely aware of the painful beauty coming from the stage. He had heard the expression "soulful" many times, but this was its apotheosis. His heart ached as he realized the implications of Mahleah’s outpouring of emotion.

"Here is true peace, here my heart knows calm – safe in your soul, bathed in your sighs." An electronic dance beat began punctuating her words at intervals. "Wanna stay right here till the end of time…till the earth stops turning. Gonna love you till the seas run dry. I’ve found the one I’ve waited for – the one I’ve waited for."

The song kicked up its intensity level by morphing into a full-fledged dance song. Mahleah closed her eyes and swayed to the beat. "All I’ve known, all I’ve done, all I’ve felt was leading to this," she declared, then repeated the verse. Her body seemed to be moving involuntarily. When her vocal got a break, she found herself lost to the pull of the dance.

The audience went slack-jawed in appreciation, but she was unaware of their presence. This moment was hers. The frustrations, anger, passion, sadness, joy, pain and love that she’d been experiencing for so long were finding a release.

Angel hadn’t expected this from the Immortal, but the dance seemed emblematic of her life. It was a transfusion of many styles, many places, and many times. He detected influences from India, Morocco, China, and Spain before he started losing count. It was timeless and modern at the same time, like the woman herself: a perfect blending of music and movement.

MacLeod wasn’t sure about the motivation for this spectacle but he recognized it. "Duende," he murmured.

Brad found himself to be the only person present not transfixed by the stage show. He gratefully seized the opportunity to close in on his victim.

Cordelia had been as spellbound as everyone else around her, until she felt a sticky wetness suddenly spill down the front of her one-of-a-kind designer dress. She looked down in horror. Some idiot had slopped their cappuccino all over her, and to add insult to injury it was now trickling down to her you-have-to-ask-you-can’t-afford Italian shoes. She let out a little shriek of anger and headed for the lady’s room, unmindful of the smirking figure behind her.

Onstage, Mahleah pulled herself out of a twirl and faced the microphone once again. Her long hair tried to continue its forward momentum and she tossed it back absently. She finished the song with two more repetitions of the chorus, "Wanna stay right here till the end of time…till the earth stops moving. Gonna love you till the seas run dry – I’ve found the one I’ve waited for."

She took a breath, realizing for the first time, that her entire audience was staring at her, despite the fact that her intention had been for them to dance. They applauded loudly to her consternation. She felt a bit shaky and decided she needed some air, desperately. She told Oz she was going on a break and he nodded.

She grabbed her coat and found herself walking into the alley followed by Angel.

"Should you be out here by yourself?" he asked.

"Funny, I was under the impression that was the function of bait," she said, a little sharply.

"What’s wrong, Mahleah? Is it MacLeod? The two of you made love last night, didn’t you?"

She stared at him in surprise. "I should have remembered I’m in a small town where nothing is a secret. Yes, we made love and no, I don’t know what the hell I’m doing, okay. I know it’s a hard concept to grasp, but I’m only human myself. Everybody’s been coming to me for advice lately. What do I know? I’m not perfect. I still screw up like everyone else. So, who told you?"

"Nobody, I knew from watching the two of you together."

"It’s that obvious, huh?"

"It is to someone who recognizes the situation," he told her.

"Angel, what am I doing?" she looked at him and he was startled at the expression in her eyes. "I haven’t changed anything catastrophically yet, but I will if I’m not careful."

"Is that what the stones say?"

"Yes, but that’s not all. I have changed things you see, just not in a way that will affect the big picture. Mahleah, if you’ll allow me to address my past self in the third person, didn’t see MacLeod for several years but, by my actions in the past twenty-four hours, I’ve changed that. I don’t know what will happen now."

He observed her for a moment, and then said, "You weren’t expecting him, were you? You forgot that the reason Phillip’s coming here is to kill Duncan. You were prepared to finish things with Phillip, but not with MacLeod."

"I don’t know what I was prepared for anymore. I mean I knew I loved him, but after all this time I wasn’t sure if it was still romantic love that I felt. Who would expect to be in love with someone after thousands of years? I wasn’t expecting…"

"Passion," he suggested.

She looked him in the eyes, "Yes. I didn’t even know I could feel that way again. Passion’s not exactly something I’ve experienced a lot of lately." She groaned and hung her head. "I can’t do this again, Angel. I’ve been here before and I don’t know that I’m strong enough to let go again."

He scrutinized her, "You left out a few details to Buffy, didn’t you? You glossed over the fact that MacLeod knew you as a woman in 1780. What happened, Mahleah?"

She paced a few steps away from him, stopped and started talking with her back to him, "I told you that as Duncan was growing up, I posed as a man and joined his clan. I was his first sword-master. I taught him the basics that every Highland lad would know."

"And then?" he prompted.

She laughed, "You’ve lived a while Angel, you know that today’s standards of cleanliness are not the same as those in times past. I was considered eccentric for my quirk of bathing every other day, if not daily, whenever possible. I usually took a bath indoors as it’s generally more conducive to keeping your gender a secret. One day, however, I decided to bathe in Loch Shiel. Duncan went looking for me and made quite a discovery. He kept my little secret, though. I became his closest confidante. After the death of Debra Campbell, he stayed away from everybody for a long time, but eventually came to see me. I comforted him the best that I could."

"You slept with him."

"Yes, I did. Well, it wasn’t like he just leaped at the chance to share my bed as soon as Debra was dead. It was some time later. I was surprised that the stones didn’t tell me no, then."

"They did later, though?"

"Yes. It was after he became Immortal and was banished from the clan. I followed him eventually, but realized one day that I had a difficult choice to make. It was nearly time for him to take his first head and meet Connor MacLeod, his first Immortal teacher. I didn’t want to leave him, but the stones told me that if I didn’t, I would change his life."

"So, you left."

"Yes I did it, but have I got it in me to do it again? God, I am such a hypocrite!"

"How so?" he asked, puzzled.

She turned to face him, "Here I’ve been giving you and Buffy advice on how to stay together but apart, and you see how well I manage to do it. Even though I knew it could cost me everything I’ve worked centuries to achieve, I couldn’t keep my hands off him. Who knows what mischief I’ve created?"

He walked to her and gripped her shoulders. "You’re not a hypocrite, you know exactly what you’re talking about. You loved him but knew that to continue to be with him would only hurt him in the long run, so you did what was best. No one blames you for last night, Mahleah. You two deserved it. If you need to leave him again, though, you’ll be able to do it."

"How do you know?" her voice was a whisper.

"Because you love him more than you love yourself," he pulled her into a comfortable hug. "I just hope if I ever need it, I’ll have your courage."

"You will," she whispered into his ear.

"Hey, what’s going on?" they heard behind them. Turning, they saw Duncan MacLeod coming forward.

Duncan had felt an unpleasant stab of pain when he saw Mahleah in the arms of the tall, dark, and handsome Irish vampire. They had been introduced earlier and MacLeod had instantly recognized Angel as the mysterious stranger who had saved Mahleah’s life twenty odd years ago. Previously the idea of Mahleah letting any vampire near her would have struck him as ludicrous. After surviving two attacks, Mahleah’s feelings toward such nightwalkers were generally full of loathing. Yet, there she stood with her arms around him, her neck tantalizingly near his fangs. Instinct told him that he could trust Mahleah’s life to this vampire with a soul, but his heart froze at the thought of seeing them so close. He had considered last night to be reconciliation, but maybe it was only a fond farewell. Could Angel, who was over two hundred years old, be the reason she was in Sunnydale, the mystery man who had taught his lover to do things she’d not known before?

Angel looked at him, understanding the other man’s jealousy. "Have you seen Buffy?" he asked.

"She was near the stage when I walked out," Mac told him.

"Thanks," Angel went inside.

MacLeod looked at Mahleah, "So, he’s in love with Buffy?"

"Uh-huh."

"Even though he’s a vampire and she’s the Slayer?"

"Umm-hmm."

"So, I guess acting jealous right now would only make me ridiculous?"

"Yep."

"Okay, just checking."

They stood hand in hand, contentedly looking at the stars, while he gave an inward sigh of relief.

"I’ll be loving you always, with a love that’s true, always," she sang lightly.

"So, what happens when you find your murderer?" Mac asked.

"What do you mean?"

"With us?"

"Oh, I don’t know."

"Is that one of those questions I’m not supposed to ask?"

"Sort of."

"If you want to stay here for a while and teach, I’d be happy to move."

She stared, "Really?"

"Really. I can see you care very much about these kids, especially Buffy, and I think they need you."

She was touched, "Thank you, Duncan." Reality started sinking in, and she added, "We’ll just have to see after we finish this little task."

"Right," he nodded. "I love you."

She melted, and he leaned in for a kiss, when the back door of the club banged open and Xander ran out to them.

"Sorry to intrude, folks, but it seems Cordelia’s disappeared and we’re afraid that Jack the Ripper may have her."

"There was someone with her earlier," Mahleah remembered. "She couldn’t get rid of him."

"That’s our guy, no doubt," Xander agreed. "Buffy told me to give you a message: ‘Whistler’s in town; check the stones.’ I hope that makes more sense to you than it does to me. Buffy, Faith, Giles, Willow, and Angel have all went out looking for Cordy, and I’m about to go myself."

"Mac," Mahleah turned to him. "Would you go with Xander? If Cordelia has encountered the serial killer, she may need your help. Xander can give you the details on the way."

"What about you?" MacLeod asked.

"I need to find Whistler. Besides," she pulled out Tora and studied the luminous red tiger-eyes, "I have a very old debt to collect. Go."

They left and Mahleah set out looking for either Whistler or Phillip. Before she had gotten very far, she found the short demon waiting for her.

"I want some answers," she told him, pulling back her hair. She was ready to fight.

Buffy ducked down an alley and was rewarded by the sight of Cordelia struggling with the guy Buffy had seen earlier. Cordelia sported a nasty bruise on her face and was desperately trying to keep the man’s right hand from getting too close, for it held a wicked looking knife.

Buffy rushed in and kicked the blade out of his hand. He reached for her, but she evaded his clutch and punched him in the face. He fell back against a building. Buffy closed on him, as Cordelia croaked, "Kick him, hit him, smash him into the mud."

*****

"So, Mahleah was dressed like that because she was bait to catch this killer, and you think he went after your ex-girlfriend instead?"

"That’s about it," Xander nodded. "I guess you’re the big love of Mahleah’s life. Maybe you can answer the question we’ve all been wondering: how come the two of you aren’t married yet?"

"What?" MacLeod asked just before he froze. "Mahleah, is that you?"

A figure stepped into the streetlight. "Hardly, MacLeod."

MacLeod stared at the stranger, before he recognized him. "Phillip Johnson," he declared. "I told you to stop following Mahleah around."

"You’ve got it backwards," the man grinned. "She’s following me, but this time she’s going to be too late."

"This time?" Something clicked and MacLeod was confused. "Wait a minute, you challenged me over two hundred years ago."

*****

"What’s going on?" Mahleah demanded. "Where’s Cordelia? Does the serial killer have her? Is he Phillip?"

"Yes, he has her, but Buffy’s taking care of him right now. No, he’s not Phillip but he’s working with Phillip."

"Why would he do that?"

"Since you screwed up back in 1780, Phillip’s known you’re in the past trying to stop him. He’s decided to try one last time to win you over and if you refuse, his plan is to kill you and have it look like the other guy’s handiwork. He told the freak not to lay a finger on you, so the guy went for Cordelia. Would you like to have some more answers, because you should know that Phillip and MacLeod met about five minutes ago and as we speak, Phillip’s getting ready to shoot him."

"No!" Mahleah ran as fast as she could in the direction Xander and MacLeod had traveled.

*****

Buffy had subdued Cordelia’s assailant and tied his hands with some packing cord she’d found in the alley. She and Cordy were marching him to the police station when Buffy spotted the flash of metal on metal. She pushed the killer, whose name she’d learned was Brad, toward the sound.

She saw MacLeod fighting an unknown man and from the looks of things, he was about to win. Then she heard the shot.

*****

Mahleah, too, had heard the sounds of swords clashing and was hurrying to find them when the shot rang out. "Duncan," she murmured and ran even harder.

She found herself in a clearing and saw MacLeod on his knees, obviously in pain. Phillip held a sword over his head, but before she had time to react a blur came from the right.

Buffy plowed into Phillip and knocked him several feet. She kicked the gun out of his hand, and the sword quickly followed, then punched him in the stomach and he doubled over. She was about to hit him again when she noticed that in the fight something had dropped from his arm and she’d stepped on it. She picked it up gingerly.

"Please say this is not the freaking MCD," she said in dismay.

He grabbed his sword and she prepared to hit him again, when Mahleah’s voice stopped her.

"No, Buffy, this isn’t your fight."

The female Immortal had paused long enough to see that MacLeod had died from the gunshot. She’d straightened his body, smoothed his hair, and gently kissed his lips. Now she stood up and walked toward Buffy and Phillip.

Buffy held up the ruined time device. "I’m so sorry," she said.

"It’s not important, Buffy," her teacher told her.

"Oh, but it is," Phillip disagreed. "You need me, Mahleah. I can build a new one. Without me, you’ll be stuck in the past with no way of getting back to your own time except wait-wait for even more centuries to pass before you can get your old life back."

"If I have to relive those centuries, so be it," Mahleah said calmly. "As for my old life, it was destroyed the moment you changed history the first time. This isn’t about returning to the future you stole from me, Phillip. It’s about setting things in the past right, and correcting a mistake I made a long time ago by not killing you."

"You’re not perfect," he crowed, "I got away from you."

"I don’t mean in 1780. I mean when I had pity and let you live the first time I found out you were murdering people: a mistake that I will not repeat. This ends tonight. Goodbye, Phillip."

"Goodbye, Mahleah," he answered.

They circled each other warily until she could hear Miyamoto Musashi scolding her in her mind. "It is foolish to stand toe to toe and not be able to get the job done…"

Following the master, she led with her body and spirit and the cockiness began to melt from Phillip. She’d cut both his arms and a tendon in his right leg. Now she brought Tora up and let her bite into his fingers. His hands opened, dropping his sword, and the katana cut through his mid-section.

He gasped and stumbled away. She followed, but not quickly enough. He pulled two short swords from his coat. He could barely hold on to one, but he was healing. She frowned and reached into her left pocket. As she reached him, he, regaining a little confidence, swung both blades at her. There was a flash of silver in the moonlight, as she unsnapped an asp and used it to deflect the second blade. She had intended to use it if attacked by the serial killer, but it still had its uses.

He managed to aim a clumsy kick at her side, but as she dodged it, he brought his right sword in toward her neck. She blocked, but didn’t realize his target at first until he had already severed the band holding back her hair. Long, thick locks fell into her face. As she tossed her head, clearing her face he smiled.

She wasn’t the only one with a surprise hidden in a pocket. He pulled out a small vial of pepper spray and squirted it in her face. She let out a startled yelp, which turned into a hiss of pain as he sliced her right arm.

His aim had been a little off. Her eyes were stinging, but she wasn’t completely blind. His cockiness had returned in full force, though.

"I love dramatic irony," he told her. "As many times as you’ve read Hamlet, I bet you never dreamed you’d lose your head over a poisoned blade."

Oh God, she protested wordlessly, no. A slow tingling was starting to creep through her body, though. "I can’t lose now," she thought. "Not when it’s nearly over."

He studied her, chuckling. Her hands opened involuntarily and the asp and katana fell from her grasp. She groaned and sank to one knee, bowing her head.

He was thoroughly enjoying this moment. As he came in closer, he whispered, "Goodbye, my love."

She looked up at him through the long hair that was veiling most of her body. "Goodbye," she repeated. As he neared her, she brought up the sguin dubh, the Scottish knife, she had hidden in the top of her knee-high boot.

He had his arms raised to deliver the killing blow and was completely unprepared when she thrust it into his heart, hissing "MacLeod!" He fell to the ground, stunned.

"Actually, dramatic irony is when the audience has a vital piece of information that the character doesn’t know," she informed him with great satisfaction.

She backed a few paces from him and began doing butterflies, her sword getting faster and faster. Using the momentum she’d built up, she caught the blade in her left hand, and in one flowing motion, spun and cut with both hands. It was over.

She sank to her knees beside her fallen foe, Tora before her and gave a short, heartfelt prayer of gratitude. She saw, suddenly, Whistler coming near her, and then the Quickening hit.

It was not by any means the most powerful one that she’d ever experienced. That would have been the first time she’d killed Phillip and she’d gained the strength of Duncan, Darius, and Methos. This was the strangest Quickening she’d ever had, however. She could feel the ground rumbling under her feet. "An earthquake?" she thought, dazed. "Why?"

Whistler stepped toward her. "Good work, Mahleah," he told her, "MacLeod that was, MacLeod that is, MacLeod that will be."

She looked down. Her body had grown transparent. Startled, her eyes asked him a question and he nodded in answer. Tears welled up from her eyes and fell fast and unchecked.

She looked at Buffy. "Goodbye," the Slayer read on her lips and just like that, Mahleah was gone.

"Slan leat, a charaid choir," the girl whispered. "Farewell, kind friend."

* * * * * * * * *

"Mahleah!"

She woke up with her name ringing in her ears, her body soaked in sweat. She was being shaken.

"Mahleah, wake up," a familiar voice said.

"Mac?" she asked, and opened her eyes.

Above her, Duncan relaxed. "I was beginning to think I was going to have to throw you in a tub of cold water to wake you up," he told her.

She blinked. Memories, or were they dreams, fled from her conscious mind, tantalizing her with elusive fragments.

"That must have been some nightmare," he told her. "You were shaking and screaming like you were having a fit. Are you having second thoughts about the wedding, cariad?"

"Never," she told him and pushed him onto his back. He looked up at her as she straddled his lower body.

"Are you sure you want to do this now?" he inquired. "You have a full day planned tomorrow, and you know how you hate mornings."

"Oh, I’m sure," she told him, licking just below his belly button.

He groaned. "Not that I’m complaining, but you are meeting Buffy at eight thirty."

"Oh, yeah, that’s right," her hands were very busy. "We’re getting measured for our dresses. That’s okay, she can wait."

His breath was getting shorter. "You’re positive?"

"Mmm-hmm," she said, leaning in for a kiss. "I have the weirdest feeling-like I’ve not made love to you in centuries. You wouldn’t want me feeling deprived, now would you?"

"Absolutely not," he agreed, slipping his tongue in her mouth, wrapping his arms around her very warm body and rolling her under him.

The earth continued to move under their feet for several minutes.

"What is this?" Buffy asked Whistler.

"You have to expect a few natural disasters when you see a Quickening on Holy Ground," he told her.

"Holy Ground?"

"Yeah, that’s the great thing about Sunnydale and all of its old cemeteries. Some of them have been lost and forgotten. When you fought with old Psycho-Phil, you knocked him onto Holy Ground. Mahleah had no way of knowing that, of course."

"So, what happened to her?"

"She passed her final test with flying colors. I had no doubt that she would. What are a few more centuries when you’ve already spent thousands of years in the past, and she would have given up MacLeod if she had remained, so as not to screw up everything in the future. The Powers That Be were quite pleased, so they sent her back to her own time."

"Good," Buffy said softly. "I’ll miss her, she deserved to have her old life back. She will get it back, won’t she?"

"That’s up to you," the demon told her.

"What do you mean?"

"You’ll see her again, and when you do, you’ll have a role to play in her recovery just as she played a role in yours."

Willow had been checking on MacLeod’s condition, and was relieved to hear a gasp as air rushed back into his lungs. "He’s alive," she called.

Xander stepped next to Buffy. "So, what do we tell him?"

"Tell him?" she looked at him blankly.

"He has to know something, I mean, are you just planning to leave him dangling about what happened to his fiancée? He’s going to want to track her down."

Buffy yelped, "Oh God, he can’t do that!" Lowering her voice, she murmured, "The Mahleah of this time is involved with, possibly engaged to, someone else right now."

"Mahleah’s engaged to someone else? She’s two-timing the Highlander? Wait, what do you mean the Mahleah of this time?"

Buffy, deep in thought, ignored him. Behind them both, Willow helped an agitated Duncan MacLeod to his feet. Buffy waited for his inevitable first words, "Where’s Mahleah? What happened? That sneaky SOB didn’t get her, did he?"

"No, of course not," Willow tried to soothe him.

An insane idea shot through Buffy’s head. She turned and faced the emotional Scot. "Don’t worry about Phillip," she told him, "he’s dead."

"Yeah, you missed a great light show," Xander added. "There was more commotion than a nudist convention booked at a convent."

MacLeod visibly relaxed, "So, where’s Mahleah?" He scanned the vicinity for her.

"Well Mac, that’s the thing I need to talk to you about," Buffy’s heart sped up. She linked her arm in his and walked him away from the others.

"What’s wrong?" he asked immediately, sensing her trepidation.

She sighed and hoped he’d buy her story. Implausible as it would sound, it was more likely than the truth. "Have you ever heard the old saying that everyone in the world has a double?"

"A doppelganger," he agreed, then frowned. "What are you saying? That the woman I’ve been around for the past few days is Mahleah’s doppelganger?"

"Sort of," Buffy said. She could tell he wasn’t buying it.

"No way," he declared. "She knew too many things about me – personal things that a stranger couldn’t know. For God’s sake, Buffy, she even smelled and tasted the same. That was Mahleah."

"No," not the Mahleah you knew, Buffy concluded in her head but to him, she said, "I didn’t say she was a stranger. In fact, you knew her a long time ago. Her name is Morgaine."

"Morgaine?" he was stunned. "But she didn’t look like…" his voice trailed off as his mind compared the two women. "Okay, they do look alike, but that couldn’t have been Morgaine."

Then he remembered all the strange changes, he had noticed in "Mahleah": the way she evaded questions, the differences in her love-making and the way he’d woken up and caught her weeping, all spilled into his memory and he wondered.

"It was Morgaine, I swear. She told me…" her voice trailed off.

"Told you what?" he frowned. "You’re not telling me everything, Buffy. What are you leaving out?"

She swallowed, "Duncan, I can’t tell you."

"Why not?"

"I promised her."

His frown deepened so she added, "I’m not supposed to tell anyone. It’s not my secret, Mac. Surely, you can understand: I gave her my word."

"I can’t believe it wasn’t Mahleah."

"Believe it, Mac," a figure approached, a man with a cane.

"Joe? What are you doing here?"

Buffy watched with interest. So, this was Mac’s watcher. She wondered how much he had figured out about the situation.

"I came to tell you that I sent Vernon back to the East Coast to check on Mahleah. She’s still there. In fact, she had never left."

"I can’t believe it."

Joe swallowed. "There’s something else, Mac. Mahleah, well, she’s discussing a marriage proposal from Mark."

Buffy felt her eyes get moist. MacLeod bore the dazed expression of one who has just been struck between the eyes with a sledgehammer. She was afraid he might fall over. Luckily, Joe shared her concern and took his friend’s arm. They started moving away.

"She wasn’t going to tell me?"

"Actually, she did try to call you, but since you were here in Sunnydale…"

"And, I’ve actually been with Morgaine?"

"So, it seems."

"I’ve never heard of two Immortals resembling each other so closely. They could be identical twins."

"Well, I think she’s had more than a little practice hiding her identity."

"What do you mean?"

"You thought she was a man when you first met her, right? Mac,"

Joe’s voice was trembling with excitement, "I think Morgaine may be The Actor."

They were getting out of earshot now. Buffy would have loved to hear the rest of the conversation, but Angel came up beside her.

"Quick thinking," he commented.

"Thanks, do you think they’ll put it together?"

"Possibly, but I doubt it."

"Do you think she’ll be all right?" Buffy looked up into his dark eyes, which were actually smiling at her.

"I’m sure she will. She’s back in her own time with the man she loves…"

"Oh," Buffy gave a start. When Angel looked at her with concern, she explained, "What will happen when Mahleah realizes that she’s Morgaine, too?"

"She might not," Angel responded. "There’s no guarantee that she’ll keep her memories of the past."

"I hope she does," Buffy said softly. "I don’t want her to forget us."

"We’ll have to keep the memories for her," Angel said. He took her hand in his and together they collected their friends and started for home.

Buffy glanced back in the direction Joe and his Immortal charge had taken. For some reason, she felt closer to Mahleah than ever. The older woman’s presence still seemed to surround her, to speak to her. No, not to her, she decided, and she wasn’t speaking. Her mind flashed back to several nights ago, before Duncan had arrived in Sunnydale. Mahleah had performed a song at the Bronze that had made Buffy want to weep with its profound grief at the past and its hope for the future. The melody seemed to buzz around her, filling the night air with promise:

"Always and forever, we’ll be free. Always and forever, be with me."

She squeezed Angel’s hand a little tighter and he responded smiling down at her gently.

"We’ll have love aplenty, we’ll have joys outnumbered. We’ll share perfect moments, you and me. Always and forever, you will see. Always and forever, just be with me…."

The end of Recovery.