Part 3

**********

Paris, 2001, later that evening

When Gabrielle walked through the broken down door of the old chateau she could sense that there was someone already there. Another vampire, in her home, in her territory. She froze in the doorway, reaching out to touch the mind of the intruder and finding only blankness, relaxing a little at the implication. The only vampire whose mind was closed to her was that of her Maker, which meant that the one laying in wait for her had to be Lestat.

She followed the feeling of presence, through the high ceilinged main room, opening a side door to the chamber she had claimed as her own. A fire burned merrily in the hearth, illuminating walls lined with bookshelves, the firelight playing crazily off the crystal chandelier that still dangled above. The chair by the hearth had its high back to her and she could see denim clad legs stretching out from it, booted feet resting on the ottoman. She shrugged out of her black leather coat, carefully laying it across the small table nearby, before settling herself into the wingbacked chair near the bookshelves.

"So, Lestat, to what do I owe the honor of your presence?" she asked, her voice heavy with sarcasm.

The booted feet hit the wood floor with a thud as he leaned around the side of the chair, long blonde hair falling errantly across his too handsome face, the deathly whiteness of his skin accentuated by the firelight. A crooked smile curled his lip, his blue eyes bright with humor.

"Ah, mother, it’s Christmas! It would be remiss of me as a son to not pay my own flesh and blood a visit on the holidays, would it not?"

She gave a short bark of laughter. "Since when do you do anything that convention would expect of you?"

He stood up and crossed the room to her, kneeling by her feet and taking her hands in his own, his face the picture of innocence. But innocent he was not, and hadn’t been for a couple of centuries. She looked down at him and gave him a halfhearted smile, before her gaze swung back to the fire, the vision of her Scotsman still in her head.

"Something is troubling you, mother. Care to tell me what it is?"

She felt him squeeze her hands lightly and she turned her attention back to him. He always had been perceptive when it came to her moods, too perceptive at times, but she didn’t mind this time. She had to tell someone about her strange Scot and Lestat had been around. Maybe he could shed some light on the mystery, or at least tell her that seeing mortals rise from the dead was a sign of early vampire senility.

"There’s a man, a mortal, that I killed over a hundred years ago." She stopped, her eyes unfocused as she remembered the first time she had see the Scot, so long ago, in Texas.

"And?"

Gabrielle shook her head, clearing the vision, before staring her son straight in the eyes to let him know she was being serious. "I killed him again tonight." She waited for him to say something, to tell her she was crazy, to offer some kind of explanation, but he just stayed silent, holding her gaze. She sighed in irritation. "Tell me, Lestat, do you know of any mortals who cannot be killed, who rise from the dead?"

He was silent for several moments, then finally asked, his tone curious, "Did he carry a sword?"

She gave him an incredulous look. "Yes, he did. How did you know?"

"The headhunters." Lestat stood abruptly, striding over to stand in front of the fire. He leaned on the mantle, his back to Gabrielle.

Gabrielle stood too, moving over to stand behind Lestat. "The what?"

"Headhunters." He turned to face her and she could see the slightly amused expression on his face. "They’re not mortal. They run around chopping each other’s heads off, it’s the only way they can be killed. It’s some kind of game to them."

"How do you know this?"

"Tried to make a meal out of one of them about a hundred years ago. Unfortunately I was still there when he woke up. Scared the hell out of me, too. At least you had quite a few years in between the time you killed him and the time you saw him next. Try having what you thought was a corpse come back to life on you and explain in no uncertain terms that he was really not appreciative of being killed by you. He already knew that we existed."

"Well, this one didn’t." She walked away from him then, grabbing her coat off the table and slipping it on, a single thought running through her head.

A human that could not die.

"Where are you going?"

She halted, her back to him. She could feel his eyes on her, knew that despite his devil may care attitude he was concerned for her. "I have to find him."

"What? Have you become infatuated with him, mother?" Lestat gave a derisive laugh.

She whirled around to face him, something in between hope and pain welling inside her. "Think of it, Lestat. A human that cannot die!"

Lestat shook his head, his eyes sympathetic. "He’s no more human than you are."

She nodded jerkily, smiling tightly. "I know. That’s what I’m counting on."

*********

Seacouver, 2002, New Year’s Day

Duncan heaved the safety gate upward, striding into the loft and carelessly throwing his duffel bag somewhere toward the vicinity of the couch. He stood motionless for several moments, surveying the large room with shadowed eyes, not feeling at all welcome, and with sudden clarity knowing why.

It’s empty, soooo empty.

"Hi, honey, I’m home!" His voice echoed eerily through the room, sounding vaguely sinister, but there was no answer. No joyful cry at his return, no one throwing themselves into his arms, no one to leave messes for him to clean up. Nothing. They were all gone now, and he was alone.

He hated being alone.

Oh, sure, later on that evening Methos would show up, ostensibly to visit, but really just to raid his refrigerator. Duncan made a mental note to pick up some beer, lest Methos be affronted over the lack of hospitality. And Connor was supposed to stop by too. He hadn’t seen his kinsman for several years, so when Connor had called him and told him he was going to be in this neck of the woods around the New Year, Duncan had leaped at the chance to visit his old friend. But Connor was a loner, preferring not to get involved. Connor kept his distance even from those he cared about, and despite their close ties, their relationship didn’t do much to soothe the ache of loneliness in his heart that had started with Tessa’s death and widened when Richie had left.

And Methos. Well, Methos was just, well, Methos. Probably his best friend in the whole damned world, but not someone he could share the beautiful things in life with. Not someone he could get close to both mentally and physically. And definitely not someone he could cherish and comfort in the night.

He wasn’t sure if he would ever have that again. He was not a masochist by nature, and the pain of losing someone you loved that deeply....How many times had he gone through this already? Debra, Little Dear, Tessa. All he really wanted was someone he could spend the rest of his life with. An image of Amanda filled his mind, laughing, loving, getting herself into trouble. There was a part of him that still loved Amanda deeply, but he knew that he could never be truly happy knowing that one day it might come down to one of them taking the other’s head.

There can be only one.

It was a damning phrase. Damning them all to an existence of loneliness and fear, hatred and paranoia. And no one as yet had figured out the point of it all.

He sighed heavily, glancing once more around the dark and empty room. He could feel the walls closing in on him now and with a muttered oath he turned and strode back to the elevator, knowing he had to get out of that depressing place, at least until this evening. He decided that now would be a good time to get the beer.

It was almost dark when he returned to the loft. As the elevator came to a grinding stop, the familiar buzz of a nearby Immortal played through his head. Logic told him it was probably Connor or Methos, but caution had his sword drawn before he lifted the safety gate, his fears banished when he heard the familiar English accented voice.

"Ah, the other MacLeod! That is beer you have in that bag, right? Your refrigerator is woefully lacking."

Methos greeted him at the gate, plucking the bag out of his hands and fishing in it for a beer, tossing one across the room to Connor, who lounged in a chair in front of the television, before crossing into the kitchen and depositing the rest in the fridge. He returned with one in hand for himself, then sprawled elegantly across most of the couch.

"I hope you don’t mind," Connor said, "but we let ourselves in."

Duncan shrugged. "As a friend once told me, ‘Mi casa es su casa’." The room didn’t seem as disheartening now and Duncan felt his mood brightening. He crossed the room quickly, enveloping Connor in a bear hug, lifting the shorter man off his feet.

"Ok, ok, Duncan, put me down before you break something!"

Duncan complied, slapping the older man on the back. "It’s good to see you, Connor!"

"It’s good to see you too, Duncan!" Connor’s smile suddenly faded, his eyes filling with sympathy. "I’m sorry about Tessa."

Duncan swallowed around the sudden lump in this throat and gave Connor a curt nod. "How did you find out?"

"Richie told me, several years ago."

Duncan felt the ache in his chest coming back at the mention of Richie. "Yes, he told me that he had run into you then." After the Dark Quickening, after Richie had fled for his life from Duncan, Richie had come across Connor during that time he had spent on his own. "Have you seen him lately?" Duncan had to ask, had to know if the boy was all right.

Connor nodded. "About a year ago."

"Did he tell you what happened?"

Connor met Duncan’s gaze squarely. There was no condemnation there, no blame. "Yes."

"I actually thought I’d killed him, until I realized it was only Ahriman trying to drive me over the edge." But by then it had been too late. Richie had been able to forgive him once, but this last attempt to take his head, even though Duncan had thought he was a demon, had shattered the trust between them forever, and Duncan hadn’t seen Richie since. In the end, it was probably better that way, for Richie’s sake.

"Your friend Adam here tells me that you had another run in with the lovely Gabrielle."

Duncan unconsciously rubbed at his neck. "Yeah, you weren’t there to make good on your promise to keep her from biting me again."

"Heh, heh, heh. Was she surprised, to see you again?"

"Very."

"I wish I could have seen that." Connor’s expression suddenly became serious, his eyes darkening as he looked at Duncan. "Unfortunately, you have other problems."

Duncan knew that look, knew that whatever news Connor had to impart on him was of a deadly nature. "What? Or maybe I should say, who?"

Connor took a long drink of his beer before answering. "There’s an Immortal looking for you. Wants your head something bad."

Duncan laughed mirthlessly. "So what’s new?"

"This Immortal is a woman. Rumor is she’s looking for revenge."

There was a chuckle from the direction of the couch. "Amanda must have found out you cancelled your credit cards."

"Me--Adam!"

Methos held his hands out in a warding off gesture. "Sorry. So, Connor, what is this woman’s name?"

"She calls herself Talitha."

Beer spewed out of Methos’ mouth, causing the two MacLeod’s to stare at him in undisguised interest. He coughed and spluttered for several seconds, but Duncan could see that it wasn’t humor that had brought that reaction in his friend. Quite the opposite. Methos looked stunned.

Methos finally composed himself enough to ask chokingly, "Did you say Talitha?"

"Yes." Connor set his beer on the table and leaned forward in his chair. "You know of her?"

Methos closed his eyes briefly, letting out a loud exhalation of air before looking at Duncan with what could be considered panic in his eyes. "Yeah, yeah, I know of her."

Duncan was getting impatient. "Well, who is she then? Why would she want revenge against me?"

Methos was silent for so long that Duncan moved to stand in front of him, glaring menacingly. "Well?"

Methos sighed, then finally answered. "She’s Kronos’ wife."

"What!?" This in unison from both MacLeod’s. Then, from Connor:

"What kind of insane woman would ever love that butcher?"

Duncan was surprised. From Connor’s comment, he obviously knew who Kronos was, but Duncan had been unaware of this little tidbit. "You knew Kronos?"

"I wouldn’t exactly say I knew him." Anger flashed through Connor’s eyes, his nostrils flaring. "But the bastard killed some people I cared greatly about, tortured another Immortal, a woman named Cassandra that I knew." He gave Duncan a penetrating look. "Please tell me this woman wants revenge because you killed the sick sonofabitch. He got away from me."

"I did."

"Good." Connor turned his gaze to Methos. "How do you know of him?"

Methos swallowed hard, his eyes pleading with Duncan to not say anything. Duncan gave him an imperceptible nod. "I, uhm, had a few run ins with the bastard myself. I was there when Duncan killed him."

"But you knew this Talitha woman?"

"Yes. Unbelievable as it may sound, she really did love him."

Connor made a disgusted noise. "I still would like to know how any woman could fall in love with a raping, murdering bastard."

Methos looked away from him, his eyes fixing on a spot somewhere over Duncan’s head. Duncan could see the pain that flashed through his friend’s eyes, the tightness in his face as Methos replied, "Oh, it can happen, even to the best of women."

Connor snorted, still unbelieving. "So, is she any good with a sword?"

Methos jerked his head back toward Connor. "Sorry?"

"Is she any good? Can Duncan beat her?"

Methos smiled wryly. "Yes, and maybe. Kronos trained her. She’s been alive a long time. She’s good, very good, better than Kronos was. The only kind of woman he would have had any respect for was one who could kill him if she wanted to." He sighed and stared at Duncan. "But that’s not the main problem. He is." He gestured toward Duncan with his beer bottle.

"Me?" Duncan was offended.

"You. You and your overblown sense of honor over killing a woman. Even if you can beat her, you won’t be able to bring yourself to kill her. The eternal boy scout, that’s what you are."

"I’ll kill her if I have to."

"You’ll have to."

"Why?" The idea of killing what he considered the gentler sex, Immortal or no, had never set well with Duncan. If there was any way to leave the woman alive, despite her poor choice in men, he would.

Methos set his beer down and stood up, moving to stand directly in front of Duncan, staring straight into Duncan’s eyes. "Because, MacLeod, if you don’t kill her, she will kill you. And you, my friend, are too important to lose."

Part 4

*********

Seacouver, 2002, later that night

Duncan woke with a start, sitting bolt upright, sweat soaking his skin, plastering his short hair to his scalp. The dream was always the same; Debra, Little Dear, Tessa--all dead, only this time by his hand, and him drowning in their blood. He ran his fingers through his hair, breathing fast, trying to calm his racing heart.

"Bad dream?"

The words were spoken softly from somewhere near the window. Duncan rolled over, the blanket tangling around his legs, reaching for his katana where he kept it next to the bed. It wasn’t there.

"Looking for this?"

There was a flash near the window, moonlight on steel, his sword held carefully by the figure leaning in the window frame. He caught a glimpse of blonde hair and for a moment thought it was Gabrielle, but the voice had been male, the body taller and wider. The intruder tapped the hilt of the katana against the palm of his hand for several seconds, then strode over to the bed, stopping a few feet away. Duncan’s eyes had finally adjusted to the darkness and he could see the man assessing him, an amused half smile quirking his lips. Blue eyes glittered in the darkness.

"Who are you?" he asked hoarsely, his mind already churning over the next move he would make, one that would lead to getting his sword back.

The stranger only shook his head, waggling a finger in his direction. "Ah, ah, ah, mother would be most upset if I had to damage you in any way. She seems to have become rather fond of you, and I tend to like to keep her happy." He smiled, teeth glinting wickedly in the moonlight. "Now, if I give this back to you do you promise not to try to use it on me?"

"You’re a vampire!"

"Bright boy!" The vampire extended the katana toward Duncan hilt first and Duncan’s hand brushed cold fingers as he accepted the weapon. "Now don’t make me do anything that would displease Gabrielle. Mothers are the worst at laying guilt trips on you."

Duncan just sat on the bed, the katana held loosely, staring intently at the vampire in front of him. He had spoken of a mother, of Gabrielle as his mother, and truthfully, Duncan could see the resemblance. Same blonde hair, same blue eyes. But while Gabrielle had frightened him, this new vampire flat out terrified him. He knew deep in his gut that this vampire would kill him in a heartbeat, really kill him, if he wanted to and have no qualms about it.

"Gabrielle is your mother?"

"Yes." The vampire wandered back over to the window, staring out at the street below.

"I thought vampires couldn’t have children, at least in myth."

"We can’t."

"Then...someone made you...both into vampires?"

The vampire pushed away from the window, was at Duncan’s side so fast Duncan didn’t see him move. Duncan was pressed back against the headboard, the vampire’s face only inches from his own, those blue eyes afire with preternatural light as fang teeth were shown in a sinister smile.

"No," the vampire half whispered, "someone didn’t make us both into vampires. Someone made me, and I made Gabrielle."

Duncan was stunned. He wondered what it would take to make a vampire turn his own parent into another vampire. What had Gabrielle done that would make her son inflict such a thing on her?

The vampire suddenly grasped Duncan’s head between his hands. Gabrielle’s son was by far stronger than she was and Duncan knew with a certainty that he would not escape the vampire’s grip. He finally remembered that he still had his sword in his hand, but before he could bring it to the vampire’s neck one of the hands holding him swatted it away to clatter harmlessly on the floor, the hand resuming its grip on him in less time than it took him to blink.

"You think my immortality a curse?" the vampire snarled. "You think that this is something I didn’t want?" He rested his forehead against Duncan’s cheek, his breath cool on the tender skin of Duncan’s neck. "Tell me, Duncan," he murmured in the Immortal’s ear, "just what would you do if someone you loved were dying? What would you do to save them? What price would you pay?"

Duncan remembered a similar conversation, years ago, with Methos, when Alexa was dying. Methos had gone after the Methuselah Stone with the hope that the magic it supposedly housed would keep Alexa alive, make her immortal. If he had had a chance to save Tessa, any chance, would he have?

"So you made your mother into a vampire. So she wouldn’t die."

"Make no mistake, she knew what I was offering, she took it willingly."

"And are you offering that to me now?"

The vampire chuckled against Duncan’s throat, sending nerve-wracking vibrations throughout his entire body. "I’m not even sure it would be possible to work the Dark Trick on one of you. To my knowledge it’s never been done. But even if I wanted to, which is tempting mind you, just to see if it would work, Gabrielle made me promise to keep my teeth off you. She’s marked you for herself."

"Indeed I have, Lestat. So if you don’t mind, I think it’s time for you to leave."

Lestat didn’t move. "But mother, I was just getting to know you’re new friend."

"I appreciate that you found him for me," Gabrielle’s voice with tight with menace, "but favored among our kind or not, I am still your mother. Now go!"

Lestat let go of Duncan, a wicked grin curling his lips, fang teeth evident and retreated a few steps. He turned toward Gabrielle, bowed low at the waist and blew her a kiss. "As you command, mon cher,." The next thing Duncan knew, he was gone.

It was really starting to unnerve Duncan, this popping up as if out of thin air thing. He was used to feeling other Immortals before he saw them, not having them appear unannounced, unseen and unheard at his bedside in the middle of the night. He would have to speak to Gabrielle about such mundane things as knocking on a door.

He remembered that she was there, then, and swung his gaze to where she stood at the foot of the bed, watching him. She was framed in moonlight, her eyes bright, her skin ghostly pale. She was waiting for him to decide, to make the first move.

As he looked at her the full import of what he was seeing finally registered with him. Standing before him was an incredibly beautiful woman, an immortal woman, someone who wouldn’t grow old and die, someone who could share his life with him. Mind you, he wouldn’t be able to take her out in the daylight, but then again one day he wouldn’t be forced to make the decision of whether or not to take her head either. And she seemed to want the same thing, someone she could share her life with that wasn’t a vampire. She was giving him the chance to never again be alone.

He held his hand out to her. She smiled, a genuine, happy smile, and let him pull her onto the bed with him. Neither of them said anything--they didn’t need to. His lips found hers, his hands pulling her shirt free of her pants as she pressed him down into the mattress. Her fingers skimmed their way over his bare chest, caressing and kneading, until she freed her mouth from his, sliding down to leave a trail of nipping kisses along his stomach. He wound his hands in her hair, pulling her up so he could look at her face, saw the need in her eyes, the tips of her elongated canines sharp against her bottom lip. She shook her head, trying to deny what he saw in her eyes, what she felt in her body.

"Ssh," he whispered soothingly, kissing her lightly, his nerves afire, his body wanting something that only she could give him. He arched his neck, offering, tugging her head down so that her lips rested against his throat. "It’s okay. I want you to--I need you to--" He groaned in pleasure, straining closer to her as her teeth pierced his skin and she began to feed. He whimpered into her hair, the flesh of her back cool under his hands as he curled into her embrace.

*********

The combination of the smell of burning food and the buzz of an Immortal jarred him out of his early evening daydream. Duncan had fallen asleep, well died really, the night before, nestled in Gabrielle’s arms. He had awoken this morning to bright daylight, only to find her gone from the bed. Panic had set in immediately, until he remembered that daylight would hurt her and she had probably sought out some hidey-hole to stay out of the sun. A diligent search had finally found her, asleep and safe, and he had left her in her refuge.

"You do realize that smoke is starting to come out of the oven, don’t you? Or was that the idea?"

Duncan propelled himself off the couch, his forgotten book sliding from his lap to the floor. He yanked the oven door open, recoiling from the smoke that billowed out, then came to the discovery that he couldn’t find any potholders.

"Methos, would you get me a towel to wrap around my hand? There’s some in the bathroom."

"Sure thing, Mac. You need a fire extinguisher while you’re at it too?"

"Not funny, just get the towel please?"

Methos returned a few moments later with a couple of hand towels and a strange expression on his face. He tossed the towels to Duncan, then stood there with his head cocked to one side.

"You do realize that there’s a woman sleeping in your shower stall, right?" There was a slightly worried undertone in Methos’ voice.

Duncan stared at the remains of his dinner, little wisps of smoke still rising from something that you couldn’t tell what it had begun as. "Yeah, it was the only place she could find that was dark enough."

"Dark enough?" Methos cleared his throat loudly. "Do you mean to tell me that your bloodsucking lady friend is sleeping in your bathroom?"

Duncan gave the charred carcass one last disgusted look. "I know, it’s not too comfortable, so I guess I’m going to have to fix up something nicer for her."

"I hear the mortuary is having a sale on coffins right now."

The look Duncan shot Methos’ way said that he did not find that remark even remotely funny. He stalked back into the living room area and flung himself into a chair, glaring at Methos the whole way.

"You can’t be serious, Mac! She’s a vampire. She’s dangerous! She’s killed people!" Methos shook his head as if trying to deny what Duncan was suggesting.

Duncan snorted in disbelief. "And we haven’t? We, who spend our lives trying to keep from being decapitated by one of our own kind, aren’t dangerous?"

Methos nodded solemnly. "Point taken, Mac. But that doesn’t change the fact that she’s still a vampire."

Duncan made negatory gesture with one hand. "No, Methos, she’s an immortal. She can’t die. And she’ll never be a part of the Game."

"But she’s a killer, Mac, she has to kill to survive."

"So do we. But it’s moot anyway, now. She doesn’t need to kill anyone to survive anymore, she has me."

Methos’ eyes darted to Duncan’s neck, searching, although Duncan knew that the bite marks from last night had healed over by now.

"You let her feed on you."

"I asked her to."

Methos just nodded, his eyes glassy for a moment as though remembering something distant. He finally gave Duncan a wry smile. "It’s quite a high, isn’t it?"

For once Duncan wasn’t surprised. He wasn’t sure anything Methos told him could surprise him anymore. "You’ve been bitten before." It was a statement of fact. "By that vampire you said scared you so badly."

Methos inclined his head in assent.

"I thought you looked familiar."

Two heads whipped around and up to see Lestat leaning against the railing of the steps that led to the roof door. The vampire grinned toothily, then hopped over the railing to drop gracefully to the floor below. He strode over and sprawled on the couch next to Methos.

"If it’s any consolation," Lestat continued, patting Methos gently on the shoulder, "you scared the hell out of me, too."

Methos’ mouth gaped open as he stared at the vampire, no sound coming out, and reminding Duncan somewhat of a drowning fish. The old Immortal made a move as though to get up, but Lestat’s restraining hand on his shoulder stopped him.

"Stay friend, I promise not to bite...yet."

Duncan glance toward the bathroom, where Gabrielle still slept, then back to Lestat, a question forming in his mind. "I thought you couldn’t be out in daylight."

Lestat chuckled, releasing his grip on Methos and leaning back into the couch. "Some of us have more...tolerance...than others. Speaking of which, how is mother?"

Duncan jerked his chin in the direction of the bathroom. "She found a safe, if not really suitable, place."

Lestat nodded. "So, did the two of you come to some sort of satisfactory arrangement last night?"

"Yes, we did."

Lestat leered at him impishly. "So, do I start calling you Dad now, or what?"

Methos groaned. "Oh gods, I’m not sure I can take this."

Lestat threw an arm over Methos’ shoulders, laughing at the Immortal’s panicked expression. "Oh, come now, you and I are going to be great friends, I can tell!" He turned back to Duncan. "So, pop, just how old are you anyway? Did mother dear snag herself an older or younger man?"

"Just turned four hundred and nine."

"Ah, much older. That’s good. I always was taught to respect my elders."

Both Methos and Duncan turned away from him, their attention drawn elsewhere as the elevator started up and the buzz hit them. Lestat looked from the wary expressions on their faces to the elevator.

"Another of your kind must be approaching, that immortal radar of yours is at work."

Duncan shot him a quick glance as the elevator came to a stop and Connor stumbled out of it, breathing heavy.

"Duncan!" Connor cried hoarsely, sparing Lestat a wary glance, but too intent on his purpose to let the sight of a strange sway him. "She’s coming. Talitha, she’s on her way here!"

"There’s another one downstairs," Lestat said then, staring down at the floor as though he could see through it.

"Who’s this?" Connor asked, indicating Lestat. "He’s not one of our kind."

"No, Connor, he’s one of the other kind of immortals." Duncan was about to explain further when they were interrupted by a voice full of anger and hatred calling loudly from below.

"MacLeod!"

The voice was most definitely female. They could hear crashes and thumps as she overturned benches and apparatus in the dojo downstairs.

"Duncan MacLeod! I’m challenging you! Come out and fight me instead of being the coward Kronos knew you were!"

Duncan rose from his chair, retrieving his sword and heading for the elevator. He was stopped by Connor’s hand on his arm.

"You don’t have to do this, Duncan. Ignore her. Leave."

Duncan pulled his arm out of Connor’s grasp. "I have to, Connor. If I leave, she’ll just find me again, and who knows how many people she might hurt in the process."

"He’s right, Connor." Methos said, coming to stand next to Duncan. "Talitha won’t stop until she kills him, or he kills her. One way or the other it’s got to end now."

Duncan nodded. "Just make sure that if she wins, one of you takes her head before she has a chance to recover from the Quickening." He slipped past them, barely catching their mumbled assent, and entered the elevator.

*********

Gabrielle woke, stiff and cramped, and wondering where she was. She blinked as a showerhead came into focus, felt cold tile under her buttocks, then memory surged back in a single glorious shock. She had spent the night with her beautiful Immortal, her beloved Scot. Too bad she had had to spend the day sleeping in the shower.

She stretched, standing and popping the shower door open, the small bathroom window dark behind the thick towel someone had draped over it. She smiled at the small gesture of Duncan’s thoughtfulness, glancing in the mirror to make sure her hair wasn’t a sight, finding it somewhat amusing to see herself standing there in one of Duncan’s big shirts. She turned and opened the door to the bathroom, wandering out into the empty loft.

"Duncan?"

She glanced over to the kitchen, sniffing in distaste as she caught the faint odor of something burnt, but there was no one there. She wondered where he could have disappeared to, he had promised to be in the loft when she awoke, and she reached out with her senses, searching, until she located him in the dojo below, engaged in a fight to the death with another of his kind.

"Duncan!" The scream tore from her throat as she raced across the room, the time it took for the elevator to reach the dojo a seeming eternity to her. She almost ripped the safety gate off its rollers in her haste to reach the small group in the workout room, skidding to a stop next to a man she dimly recognized as his kinsman from the saloon so many years before. The man stood there, watching the duel impassively, his own sword held loosely in his grip. She was vaguely aware of another man, tall and lean, with short dark hair, also holding a sword, standing not too far away, and her son, watching the whole thing with something akin to merry amusement from the doorway.

Duncan’s kinsman gave her a brief glance, which took her in from head to toe, not missing the shirt that barely covered her thighs. "Hello, Gabrielle," he said tersely, then turned his attention back to the fight.

She grabbed his arm, knowing from the wince he made that she was hurting him, but not caring. "Do something! Help him!"

"I can’t."

"What do you mean, you can’t? He’s your family!"

"Because it’s against the rules!" The look Connor gave her was harsh, his voice laced with emotional pain. "One on one. I can’t interfere."

"Even if it means she kills him?" Gabrielle couldn’t believe what she was hearing, couldn’t believe that Connor could just stand there and watch Duncan die.

Connor swallowed hard, his eyes closing briefly. They were shadowed when he opened them again. "Yes, Gabrielle, even if it means she kills him. But if she does, she won’t live long beyond that."

Gabrielle forced herself to turn, to watch the deadly dance that was being enacted before her, and she knew in her heart that she was going to lose this man not long after she had found him.

The female Immortal fighting him was much better than he was. Gabrielle was no expert at swordfighting, but she could tell just looking at the woman. There was a lethal grace about the tall, dark haired woman, the way she moved, her sword weaving in and out in intricate patterns, darting in like a snake striking, leaving a fresh bleeding wound on Duncan each time. Duncan was weakening, blood pouring from numerous cuts, stumbling as he brought his weapon up to defend himself yet again. But blood loss had slowed him down and he jerked as Talitha’s sword drove through his belly, several inches of crimson stained steel protruding out his back.

Gabrielle gasped in anguish as Duncan jerked spasmodically on the blade, his own sword dropping from his fingers to land with an ominous ringing on the floor. She heard Connor’s indrawn hiss of breath as they realized how this was going to end. The female Immortal braced her foot against Duncan’s chest, pulling her sword free and laughing insanely. Duncan’s body collapsed and Talitha readied herself for the final blow.

"No!" Gabrielle yanked the katana out of Connor’s grasp. "You may be bound by your foolish rules and your stupid Game, but I’m not!"

Only her vampiric speed got her to Talitha before the Immortal woman could complete her vendetta. Connor’s blade was sharp and Gabrielle smiled in grim satisfaction as the other woman’s head toppled from her body, her sword falling to lie across Duncan’s still form.

Gabrielle dropped to her knees next to Duncan, Connor’s sword still gripped in her hand. She pulled his head onto her lap, stroking his blood covered face, blood streaking her own face as she cried and clung to him, waiting for him to wake up, murmuring softly to him.

The Quickening caught them both. Electricity shot through Gabrielle as it sought out Duncan, convulsing her and knocking her over. Bolt after bolt, lances of fire burning through her skin, racing along her nerves as they used her body as a conduit to Duncan. Glass rained down on them as the windows shattered violently, chill air rushing in.

Finally, it subsided and she could pull herself back to him, resting her head on his chest, holding him to her. With a rattling wheeze, his lungs filled with air again, his heart began beating again under her ear. She’d listened to many a heart stop beating before; this was the first time she had ever heard one start.

His eyes fluttered open and he stared into hers, smiling. "You saved me," he murmured wonderingly.

"Someone had to," she said softly, caressing his face with her eyes. "Your friends certainly weren’t."

"Ah, but they were bound by rules."

"Stupid, silly rules if you ask me."

Duncan chuckled. "Lucky for me you weren’t."

She kissed him then, deeply, before pulling back to whisper, "The people in my family have a tendency to ignore rules."

Duncan twined his fingers in her hair, pulling her face toward him. "Sometimes that can be a good thing."

They were interrupted by three others all clearing their throats loudly at the same time. Gabrielle looked up to see Connor standing next to them, glaring at her in half amusement.

"Can I have my sword back now?"

Mutely, she handed it over, trying not to laugh as he shook his head in their direction and stomped off. She leaned back down to Duncan, kissed him again "Later, my love, we’ll continue this."

"Later," he agreed softly.

finis
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Copyright 2000 by kyrdwynCDC