She peered through the peephole and a large bouquet of flowers met her gaze, varied in type and color, exotic and domestic, wild and garden -- topped by a shock of dark blonde hair going every which way.

"Connor?"

He lowered the flowers and leaned close to the fisheye lens, making her giggle. "How'd you guess?" His voice was muffled.

She opened the door and beckoned him inside. "The phfft hair. Windy outside?"

He tamed the hair slightly with his fingers. "Just a bit. These are for you."

"Thank you, I assumed as much. What is it this time?" She took the offering and his brief kiss, and she led the way into the kitchen. A large vase was filled with water for the flowers and she made a few minor adjustments to the blooms.

"Can't I just bring you flowers?" He leaned casually against the doorjamb, forcing her to squeeze past him into the hall that led back to the living room. She knew he did that on purpose, the big tease.

"You can, but halfway through dinner you'll make some remark about our first month anniversary of our second date, or third week anniversary since we went to the opera and I didn't hate it. Then there was the apology for the waiter that spilled the wine ..."

"These are just because."

"Connor!" She looked around the small apartment and wondered where these were going to go amongst all his other offerings of the past two weeks. Anything older than that was gone. There just wasn't room.

"All right," he capitulated. "It's been two months since our first date."

"I thought that was last week." She shifted two vases to make room for the third.

"That was our first meeting, and the outing included your friends. It didn't count as a date."

"Oh, that date."

"Yeah, that date."

Two months before ...

Breathless from the walk home and the climb up the stairs, the young woman dropped grocery bags as she scrabbled for her keys in her pocket, the phone ringing on the other side of the apartment door.

"Hello?"

"That's a sexy sounding hello."

She was taken aback for a moment, and almost hung up the phone, but she recalled the accented growl. She had been dreaming about that voice for the past week.

"Oh, it's you." She pulled the groceries in from the hall and locked the door.

"You're giving me a complex, you know. That's the second time you've dismissed me with that remark."

She laughed, remembering the moment in the hotel lobby. "You're already complex, Mr. MacLeod. Just how did you get my unlisted number, Connor?"

The sound of his chuckle made her heart skip a beat. "Your matchmaking friends -- both of them gave it to me separately. I thought they were their numbers until I saw they were the same and in New York. I took a chance."

"I'll deal with them later then." She mentally made a note to send flowers or chocolate ... and chocolate, she amended. "How are you?"

"I'm fine. How is your ankle?"

"Almost fully recovered, thank-you-very-much."

"And your dignity?"

"Still bruised, apparently." She answered wryly. "You're not going to let me forget that, are you?"

"Not if I can help it. Do you think your dignity is up to dinner?"

"I'll have to ask it." She paused then continued. "It wants to know which night."

"Is tonight too soon?"

She thought of the frozen dinner in the shopping bag and blurted, "No, it's not too soon, unless you're planning fancy. I'd prefer something casual tonight."

"Casual it is. I like casual. Shall I pick you up in an hour?"

"Yes, I'll see you then." She hung up the phone, and picked up grocery bags, only to drop them when the phone rang again. So much for the dozen eggs!

"Hello?"

"They gave me your phone number, not your address," Connor chastised gently.

She laughed and supplied him with the necessary information, then cradled the phone in its place. A shower and a dozen outfits later, scattered all over the bedroom, she was ready.

Or so she thought.

"Two months? Has it been that long? Sometimes it seems as if the time has flown, other times like I've known you forever." The flowers in place, she turned to greet him properly with a nearly satisfying kiss. "Mmmm. I really could get used to this."

"So could I," he agreed. That's how it should be, Connor thought, each moment fleeting, but together they form eternity. It was how he had felt about his Heather. And their eternity had not been long enough. This one was still delightful: playful one moment, serious the next, keeping him on his toes. He wondered how long they would have together -- an interlude or a lifetime. There were no searching questions about his past, other than the casual getting to know each other, and he had been able to deflect the questions back to her. At some point he would either have to come clean about his immortality, or say goodbye. But not tonight, and probably not tomorrow. The end would come soon enough, but why tempt fate? There had already been some close calls, including that first date.

Connor parked outside her building, and looked up. Top floor she had said. And there were six floors. This could get old real fast, but he was still thinking she might be worth it, and he was willing to find out. She had seemed vulnerable and independent at the same time when they first met the week before in Scotland, and instinct told him there was strength below the surface. Six floors? A lot of strength. He ran up the first two flights of stairs, moved swiftly to the third and fourth floors, and trudged up the last two flights. She opened her door before he could ring the bell.

"Come in, sit down. Are you okay?"

"I'll be fine. That's some set of stairs."

"It separates the men from the boys," she grinned. "You only had to call me from your cell phone, I would have come down."

"Do I look like the kind that would honk the horn and expect you to come running?"

"No one ever looks that way except in high school, when they're trying to avoid the girl's parents. If we have a nice time, I don't want you not calling me because of the stairs."

"I'll let you know when I'm ready to give up on the climb. I enjoyed our time together last week, and I think it's worth a little effort to know you better."

"That's sweet of you to say. I may regret saying this, but all week I wished I had given you my number. I guess I'm just old-fashioned. You never asked for it."

Connor's hopes for a meaningful relationship soared. He had felt there had been a connection between them, but she had made no move to insure that he had her unlisted phone number.

"I almost called your shop a few times, but the only reason I could think of would be to return your handkerchief, and I ... wanted to keep it as a memento. Silly, I guess."

"Silly? You? Not a down-to-earth woman like you. I'm a firm believer in mementos." He wondered what she would think of his secret room! Pack rats, the two of them!

"I'm ready to go, if this is suitable for what you have planned." She held her arms out and glanced down at her outfit.

"You'll need a jacket or sweater, but who said I had anything planned? There is something to be said for spontaneity."

"I'm game ... I think."

"Well, Let's get your dignity in gear then!"

"Don't make me have second thoughts," she warned.

"The only second thought I want you to have is of me," he steered her through the door. "And the third ... fourth ..."

Her exasperated chuckle made him laugh with her ... made him want to laugh with her for a long time, a very long time. "Then wow me with your spontaneity, Connor."

Dinner at a small Italian restaurant was a pleasant t�te-�-t�te as their corner booth assured them of some privacy. As the evening went on they moved closer to each other until dessert, which they shared with laughter, playfully arguing over the last mouthful of the caramelized mango and ice cream.

"What about dinner?" she asked as he helped her slip on her jacket.

"We'll eat at the game."

"I'm hungry now, I had to skip lunch."

"We'll pick up some burgers for you then."

"Sounds fine. Are you sure you don't mind?"

"Believe me, you'll know it when I mind. Until then, your wish is my command."

She never thought she would be this comfortable with anyone on such short acquaintance, but he treated her as an equal, neither above nor below him, pampered, but not placed on a pedestal. He gave her respectful attention when she talked, and soft touches when she made him laugh. She loved listening to him talk and to his laugh. He was reticent about his childhood, but he spoke with authority about antiques and history.

His eyes were soft as he leaned against the table to listen to her talk about her childhood, and she wondered if he was thinking of his own childhood in Scotland, school holidays and chums. He had changed the subject so fast; she didn't dare bring it up again. She contented herself to watch him talk, to watch his fingers play with the stem of the wine glass. The dinner date was over too soon, but the waiters were hovering; they were among the last to leave the restaurant.

"Wait, I need my purse."

"I'm buying dinner."

"You really don't want to come between a woman and her purse. Keys, money for a taxi if I get mad at you or separated. I.D. for when I go buy the beer for you so you don't miss any of the game and they card me. They do sometimes, you know."

"All right, all right. Go get it. Make it snappy, parking will be a headache."

Parking ...

He tempered his stride to match hers as they hurried through the parking garage. Always aware of the surroundings, Connor suspected they were being followed when an occasional footstep did not match their own. Senses heightened, he strained to listen and he heard the footstep again. "Do you dance?" he asked the woman by his side.

"Dance?" She sounded confused by the out-of-the-blue question.

"Yes, dance!" He grasped her hand and twirled her around, casting a casual eye behind them. The man was in a letter jacket that had seen better days, ripped jeans and a baseball cap pulled down over his eyes. His hesitation told Connor everything he needed to know. "Just stay out of the way," he warned her, and he pushed her away from the approaching danger.

Facing the mugger still some yards away, he stood his ground. "You'd do well to leave us alone."

"Just give me your wallet, dude, and I'll leave you alone. The girl is another matter. Hey mama!" A knife glinted dully in the florescent light and Connor's jaw tightened as he sized up his opponent.

"You can't say you weren't warned," Connor growled, quickly shrugging his jacket from one shoulder and wrapping it around his wrist as a shield. The swarthy man with the knife closed the distance, but not quickly enough -- Connor was ready for him. He blocked several feints of the knife, and when the man lunged, Connor blocked and stepped to one side, receiving a small slash on the back of his hand as he protected himself from serious damage. He locked the man's wrist with his free hand and forearm, a powerful grip that had once known the daily grind of a smithy -- he only had to apply the proper pressure and he could snap the man's arm, or twist the arm in such a way to dislocate the shoulder.

"Drop it, or I'll break it!" The hiss was a promise, and his hold tightened when the man struggled. "Drop it, damn you!" He dug his fingers into the man's wrist and the knife clattered to the concrete. Connor kicked the blade away, towards a parked car and out of sight. He released the man with a shove, and stripped the jacket from his arm. "How tough are you without the knife, dude?" Connor flung the jacket away, and prepared his stance. "Got the balls to try it with your bare hands?" he goaded. He was in the mood to teach a lesson, and was more than a little disappointed when the would-be mugger turned and fled after the first few punches.

"Connor?" He turned to see his date coming toward him, a worried frown on her face. "You're bleeding!" She reached toward his bloodied hand, but he moved it behind him.

"It's his blood, I think I gave him a split lip. I'm fine."

"Let me see," she insisted.

"If you want to play Florence Nightingale, you can run after him."

She looked in the direction of the retreating figure, disappearing into a distant stairwell. "No thanks, I forgot my running shoes. Let's get out of here."

She was quiet on the drive to her apartment. Either she had run out of things to talk about, or she was dwelling too long on the mugging. He feared it was the latter. In New York, stuff happened and you just had to move past it. He insisted on seeing her to her apartment door

"Thanks for seeing me up, Connor."

"It's the least I could do. I can see you're still upset."

"Muggings happen all the time in the city. Tonight has taken away the sense of security I had wrapped myself in. I'll be okay."

"Will you? We could talk, or watch something on TV until you've calmed down," he suggested. "Maybe some music?"

She agreed that some soothing music and conversation might help calm her. They talked into the small hours of the morning about anything and nothing, conversation taking the usual twists and turns. She finally asked him about the Scottish folklore that he had so easily shared during their day in Scotland the week before and he talked until she no longer answered him. She was asleep in his arms on the sofa. He closed his eyes, remembering the last time he had talked when Heather had fallen silent, silent forever except in his heart.

He woke when she stiffened in his arms and he quietly calmed her. "It's okay, you're safe."

"Oh," she softly sighed, sinking back into his secure embrace. "It's you."

Connor's strong arms continued to hold her and they slept on the overstuffed sofa until dawn.

Connor recalled that she hadn't dismissed him with her words that time, not in that tone. Complex was no longer a noun, but an adjective of the future they might spend together. He had done complex in the past -- it always made for interesting times.

"Let's get your dignity in gear, molasses. We don't want to miss the tip off."

"Basketball players," she leered, "wear those shorts, right?"

"Wicked wench!"

"Just the way you like me," she said.

"True," he agreed and he smacked her dignity as she walked past him.

She stopped, turned, and tilted her head. "Just how good are those seats, Connor?"

"They're okay, not the best, not the worst."

"The game doesn't start for another two hours, parking, hard seats, excited fans spilling beer down your neck ... muggers in the parking lot. Isn't it supposed to rain?"

"What did you have in mind?" He grasped her waist and pulled her to him. She wrapped her arms around his neck and grinned at him. "I'm a wicked wench. What do you think?"

"Beer in the fridge?"

"The kind you like."

"Order a pizza?"

"We can."

"Popcorn?"

"Microwave."

"No lines in the restroom at halftime."

"Sheer heaven."

"Your sofa is pretty comfortable."

"Who said anything about the sofa?"

"I thought you were hungry."

"Yes, I am," she agreed, desire for him in her eyes.

It was two hours until the game even started. He chuckled as he swooped her into his arms. "My very wicked wench!"


*~fade~*

She had witnessed his healing, something small and insignificant, but enough to tell him it was time. Connor MacLeod had brought her to his secret place to tell her everything, to let her decide if they would have a future together. He did not doubt their feelings for each other in the mortal world, but his was a world of immortals, a world rife with danger. Only she could make the decision, he would not force her to stay, he could only hope she would of her own volition. She had shown him her strengths and revealed her weaknesses, trusting him not to judge her harshly. Now it was her turn to judge.

She listened intently to him as he explained who he was, and what he was. She wanted to believe, needed to trust him completely, but did she dare? If it was truth, she wasn't sure that it would set her free, but instead it was likely that it would entrap her in the snare of a secret life with this man. She should have known when she first laid eyes on him that he would be dangerous to know. It was her own fault they had met in the first place. Her own stupid fault -- and she wouldn't change that for the world -- her world at least. She still wasn't sure about his.

After two weeks in England and half a week in Scotland, she really should have known better. She looked left and stepped off the curb in Glasgow, and in the same split second, punctuated by a car horn, thought, "Idiot!" Time seemed to gear down into slow motion: the screech of the tires, the roar of the engine as it raced past, the spray of water drenching her, all culminating in an abrupt halt when her backside met the curb.

"Are you all right?" an oddly accented voice asked her, and time returned to normal as her eyes focused on the stranger as he knelt down, reaching out to touch her. "Did he hit you?" His face was lit by the taillights of the Land Rover idling near by, and by the headlamps of an approaching car. She took the handkerchief he offered and wiped the water dripping from her face. Of all the places to put a pothole!

She could see his concern -- and something else -- but she didn't try to figure out what was behind those hooded eyes, she only hoped it wasn't laughter. Her butt hurt! "I'm okay, really. I just twisted my ankle and bruised my ... dignity."

"American." He nodded. "I thought so. Look ..."

"I know, I know," she stopped him with a raised hand. "Look left, stupid."

"No," he corrected her. "I was going to offer to escort you to wherever you're going. And it's 'look right'."

Before she could assimilate his words into thought, or any sort of response, her heart still pounding from the near miss, her two friends rushed from the pub. "Hon! Are you okay? Are you trying to get yourself killed?"

"No, just trying to get across the street to our room." She looked back at the man in front of her. "Got it. Look right, stupid." She held her hands palm up and studied them, sighed and shook her head. She always had to think about which was which. Her complacency almost cost her a bundle in hospital fees or funeral expenses. "I'll get home and be looking right all the time. I'll probably be creamed by a taxicab."

Impatiently blaring horns in the narrow street caused the man to straighten and look down at her. "I must go, I'm blocking traffic. You'll be okay with your friends?"

"We'll take care of her," the statuesque blond assured him, waving him away. "Hon, you should move to Atlanta with me -- we don't have as many taxis as New York. Your odds of survival would increase dramatically."

"My hair would frizz in the constant humidity."

And that was that. By morning, she could hardly hobble down the stairs for breakfast, even with a bandage strapped around her ankle. "I can't walk, we only have a few days left, you'll just have to go to without me today. Go." Her friends were easily persuaded and they rushed off for their jackets, fanny packs and cameras.

She wistfully watched them head out the door for the day. This was meant to be the trip of a lifetime, and it had been, but her last few days would be spent nursing her ankle, and she would miss everything they had planned. Even if she was better the next day, she knew she would have to take it easy and they had planned a lot of walking. What a disappointment! At least they had already seen Edinburgh and Stirling. She made her way to the sitting room, unwilling to tackle the stairs quite yet. She pulled the hand washed monogrammed square of white linen from her pocket and studied it, willing it to tell her the secret behind the stormy eyes.

He wondered if she comprehended exactly what a life with him would mean in the long run, because Connor MacLeod was no longer interested in a short-term romance with her. Some relationships had been brief from happenstance, but if given the choice, he would have remained at the side of each woman he had chosen for her entire life. Short-term liaisons certainly peppered the last four centuries, but on occasion he had found choice women he had desired to share his life. Yes, this one was worth choosing, one that would stand by him -- he hoped for a very long time. He hadn't been looking for a new relationship when he met her, but there she was, sitting on the curb in Glasgow, looking like a street urchin with a dirty face. Waving off her brush with death with self-deprecatory jokes. A sense of humor was almost mandatory in dealing with immortality.

Connor MacLeod drove away, glancing in the rear view mirror, only to see the women supporting their friend who was rubbing her bruised ... dignity, and he chuckled. She was lucky, that was certain -- that sports car ahead of him had been traveling too fast for the narrow streets. From his higher vantage point in the Land Rover, he had seen the accident waiting to happen as she looked the wrong way, and he had leaned on the horn to warn the woman. He was late for a dinner date with an old friend; otherwise, he would have parked the car and spent a little time with her and her friends. Three peas in a pod they weren't. A tall blond, a petite redhead, and she was in the middle, average in height with short brown hair. Average. Unremarkable next to the other two, but there was something ... So why did he want to see her again? Was it her quirky little grin when she mentioned her dignity? Maybe it was the immeasurable relief he felt that the car ahead of him hadn't hit her. Then again, the blonde had mentioned New York. Perhaps he just wanted to know more about the waif on the side of the road. He could think of a dozen reasons to go back, and only one why he shouldn't.

The next morning, with a handful of flowers collected from the garden of his friend, he entered the lobby of the small hotel and he espied her sitting in one of the deep armchairs. He stepped in front of her, silent until she looked up.

"Flowers? Oh, it's you." She sounded surprised as she stuffed something into her sleeve.

"I came to see how you were feeling this morning."

"I've been better, I've been worse," she grinned. "Thank you for asking. I'm just taking it easy today."

"And your friends?"

The look in her eyes faded slightly. "You've just missed them. If you hurry, you could probably catch them at the train station."

"Why would I want to do that? I came to see you."

He had rendered her speechless then, as he had now. She didn't know what to say as a multitude of questions whirled in her mind. What? How? When? No, he had answered the when. And the where. In 1518, in Glenfinnen, on the shores of Loch Shiel. But why was such a man interested in her? Sure, their relationship was going surprisingly well, and ever since he had taken care of her when she was sick, he had been hinting at his uniqueness without spelling it out until now. Revealing this secret life indicated the trust he had in her, and she felt honored by that trust, and she loved him even more for it.

"I apologize, I guess I'm just not used to the attention when they're around. Won't you sit down?"

Connor sat and they spent some time chatting casually about her trip to the British Isles, and about New York. When her friends breezed in half an hour later, she asked what had happened, and then belatedly and somewhat reluctantly introduced them to Connor.

"We just missed the train, and decided we would try to rent a car instead, hon. Are you game? At least you'll be able to see some of the countryside."

She was torn. Scotland or Connor? He immediately solved that by offering his own vehicle for their outing. The other two jumped at the chance, none of them that proficient at driving on the left, and it was settled.

They enjoyed the day together, Connor pointing out sights of interest, and staying with her while her friends explored ruins, castles open to the public, and churches. On occasion, wheelchairs were available to rent, and Connor dutifully pushed her around a museum or garden. She became used to his touch on her shoulder to get her attention, and she would follow the direction he pointed, absorbing the history of each place, although sometimes she only saw the long slender fingers. She could only guess that her interest in him had something to do with her dreams the night before.

She watched that same slender hand resting on the back of the bench seat as they faced each other in the circular room, surrounded by the artifacts of his life. The hand still as he waited for her to speak. No impatient tapping, no clenched fist: just the hand that had taught her love. His eyes looked on her softly, and she remembered how often such a look had turned dark with desire. Could he really ... would he really still want her as time marched on for her but stood still for him? Would the desire still flame in the decades to come?

"Do you remember when we met?"

"I was just thinking of it."

"I thought there was something behind your eyes when I sat on that curb in Glasgow. I realize now it was timelessness: years of knowledge and experience, years of being alone, either by choice or necessity. If I can be here for you now, I will be. You've given me more than you could know, and I want to share the future with you, whatever it may be, however long it may be for us."

Connor grinned and moved closer, snaking his long arm behind her. "Are you proposing to me?"

"Propositioning, laddie." She grinned back and swung her legs across his, not quite in his lap, but very comfortable. "In thirty years, do you really want to be introducing me as your wife?"

"Yes, I do."

"Oh! I was thinking more along the lines of a personal assistant."

"Personal assistant? I think I like the sound of that" His finger stroked her cheek and then lightly touched her lower lip. "You would assist me ..."

"Very personally," she said as she cupped his face with a tender hand. "Care to interview me for the position?"

"Can you start immediately?"

"Mmmm," she answered him with her mouth on his.

He pulled his head away briefly. "You're hired," he rasped, and lowered his lips back to hers.

Unkempt

He sat on the edge of the sofa, his tie consigned to the pocket of his jacket, the vest undone, and his shirt tails untucked. The woman, deep in the cushions where she had flung herself, eyed the stubble of at least several days. "No one," she chastised wearily, "should look so damn good so unkempt."

"It's a talent I've learned to cultivate. It saves time, not to mention razor blades."

"Time? You apparently have all the time in the world."

"No one has all the time -- it only seems like I should. I may only have tonight. We may only have tonight," his soft rasp coaxed.

"You sound like a soldier being shipped out to war."

"War usually comes to me. I would think you would realize that after our little run-in tonight."

"You may have told me about your Game, but until tonight, it was just a fantasy you were living. God, how do you stand it?" She shivered recalling the fear, the danger, the intensity of it all.

"One day at a time. The same as the rest of humanity. So, you finally believe me? Do you want me to leave?"

"Leave? When we may only have tonight?" She held out her hand in invitation and watched his smile begin in his eyes.

His chuckle was brief, his expression telling. "We may have tomorrow as well."

"I hope so," she admitted truthfully. "I certainly damn well hope so."

Satisfaction

He trudged up the stairs from the deserted subway station, exhausted, still trembling slightly from the Quickening. He wanted to put as much distance between himself and the headless corpse laying down below on the tracks.

The other immortal had appeared out of nowhere as he had left her place, and after a few moments of trying to talk the s***shead out of combat, Connor had shrugged, and gone with him into the subterranean tunnels. Like the young guns looking to make a name for themselves by killing an established gunslinger, this one had been inexperienced in the art of immortal combat, although his use of a single shot antique gun hidden in his sleeve had slowed Connor down ... for a moment.

Only a moment.

The young punk didn't last long under the onslaught of swift moves from the katana Connor wielded with graceful fury.

And the quickening lasted just about the same amount of time. A few moments. "Not much there," Connor had thought. "Quickening or brains."

Three. Two. One. The final step, and he was brought up short by movement ten feet away, under the harsh glare of the street light. He leaned against the stair railing, and the wall, and considered the woman in front of him.

"You're out late."

"I looked out to watch you go ... You drove here, so I knew you weren't about to take the subway home."

"Bright girl. What if he had come out instead?"

She pulled the handgun out of a pocket in her jacket.

"That wouldn't have stopped him."

"According to what you've told me, it would have slowed him down long enough for this." The meat cleaver she pulled out looked just nasty enough to make Connor wince.

"That probably would have taken a while to hack his head off."

"And he would have felt every blessed stroke of it, too."

"It wouldn't have brought me back."

"No, it just would have brought me some satisfaction."

"Satisfaction? That's what you want?"

"Connor, walk me back, and maybe we'll both be satisfied."

"I could do that." And he peeled himself away from the wall, feeling his strength returning.

Handle With Care

"Immortals, schmortals," Connor mumbled to himself. "I didn't believe Duncan when he said they were suddenly coming out of the woodwork. It must be some magnetic pull to quickenings. Unexplained explosions and beheadings and it becomes a headhunting convention overnight!" He let himself into the store and made his way to his home above, tossing his keys on the kitchen island. With a dark ale in hand, he eased himself onto the sofa and the remote flipped on the television to CNN, but he didn't hear much of what the newscaster was spouting. "God! A meat cleaver! The woman is certifiable. Adorable, delightful, but certifiable." He couldn't wait to see her again!

Her bravado at the top of the stairwell leading to the subway had slipped unquietly away once the passion they shared had stilled. The enormity of what she had planned became a heavy weight that squeezed the tears from her, and he had quietly wiped them away as they fell, holding her until the tremors stopped. His constant vigilance, his sudden snapping "Get out! Now!" as he reached for his companion of almost five centuries, the violence she had witnessed, whether a swordfight and quickening, or his taking swift and sure action against a mugger, all had a part in her final request as he left. "Someplace we can be alone, just for a while."

He dialed a phone number from memory. "Duncan. A favor."

"Anything, Connor. Name it."

A week later, he unloaded the canoe as she gazed at the cabin at the top of the hill. "For us? How long? It was sweet of your cousin..."

"Duncan? Sweet? You don't know your Highlanders very well."

"Only one I want to know. I couldn't handle more than that."

"You could ...but I don't think I'll let you," he said in mock possessiveness. He grinned at her smile and hefted the duffel bag. "He said he stocked it a few days ago for us, so we could stay up here until the food runs out, or until you get tired of me."

"I hope there's a ton of food," she said. "We could stay a very long time."

"I'd like that," he agreed. "This is holy ground. We can relax a bit, although there is the wood to chop, and water to haul..."

"Relax? It sounds like we'll be too tired to do anything but sleep!"

"Actually, I was kidding about the water. We should have plenty of energy for us."

"Works for me," she said happily and she picked up the grocery bags of fresh foodstuffs and followed him up the hill.

After building fires in the bedroom and the room below, he left her to settle in while he honed the axe he needed to split the logs they would use during their stay. The hiss of the whetstone soothed him, the knowledge they were alone relaxed him, and the slight movement of a curtain in the upstairs window made him chuckle. He tested the blade with his thumb and was satisfied that it was ready. He fell into the easy rhythm he had known since childhood, and soon stripped his jacket off, tossing it onto the woodpile. The curtain flickered again. After splitting a few more logs he shrugged off the flannel shirt and it followed the jacket. The tight T and jeans molded to his form, and he pulled the axe from the chopping block. He grinned up at the window, laughing in amusement as the curtain fell back into place. Shaking his head, he returned to his work -- to his pleasure.

~~~**~~~**~~~**~~~**~~~**~~~**~~~**~~~**~~~**~~~**~~~**~~~**~~~**~~~**~~~**~~~**~~~**

She stepped quickly back from the window, laughing as she felt the heated flush rise in her cheeks. Caught, but well worth it. The few months they had together had taught her there was a wiry strength under that slim form, but it took a simple activity in broad daylight to show it to near perfection. She was already relaxing back to the time before she knew, before he told her the truth. She felt honored by his trust, and comforted by his love and concern for her. She knew there was still much she didn't know, but she knew better than to push the issue. After all, sometimes mystery brought spice to a relationship.

She finished unpacking their clothes and she stuffed the duffel bag into the bottom of the closet. The thumping stopped and she peered out the window to see if the insane man was shirtless, but he had pulled the dark flannel shirt on and was picking up a load of split wood to bring in to the cabin. Disappointed, yet relieved, she went downstairs to open the door for him.

"Thanks," he said as he passed by to the wood box next to the huge stone hearth.

"Least I could do. Thanks for the peep show."

"Watching, were you?"

"I thought for sure the last layer had come off."

"Are you crazy? It's freezing out there!"

"Well, I was plenty warm in here," she grinned, fanning herself.

The last piece of wood went into the blaze warming the room, and he turned around, his face half lit by the flames, desire burning in his eyes.

"I'm feeling the heat myself."

"As usual, we're on the same wavelength," she returned, offering him her hand, her heart and anything else he might want or need. She knew he would handle with care.

The Homecoming

He didn�t hear the music on the radio, but his thumb beat rhythmically on the steering wheel of the SUV. He was going to be late. Even planning on traffic delays, he still hadn�t left early enough for the airport, and he cursed at the traffic that couldn�t hear him. She had insisted she would take a taxi back to his place, but he had wanted to surprise her at the bottom of the escalator, just before baggage claim. "I�d like to claim her baggage," he leered in jest to the rearview mirror as he glanced back to change lanes. Some kind soul let him in, and he acknowledged the kindness with a wave of his hand through an open window that was quickly closed against the cold air.

Traffic at the airport was no better, indeed, it was worse, but he waited it out in his higher profile vehicle, watching cars ahead of him being inspected before being allowed into the parking area. He glanced at the clock on the dash, and saw he may have made it after all, if he was lucky enough to find a parking space in the next ten minutes. He could only hope that her flight was delayed, or that she was at the back of the plane, and just waiting for it to clear a little before rising from her seat. Their recent trip to Seacouver had shown him she liked to do that if she wasn�t making a connection. "Connections? Then get out of my way, and I won�t have to run you over," she had informed him with a grin.

The car ahead of him was subject to intense scrutiny delaying him just enough that he needed to run through the parking level, and scurry down the escalator, squeezing past travelers and bags of travelers. "�Scuse me. Sorry. Pardon me." He stopped at the first display for arrivals and scanned it quickly. "Yes!" The flight was delayed. He wouldn�t have to run anyone over to make the connection.

*~~~~*~~~~*~~~~*~~~~*~~~~*~~~~*~~~~*~~~~*

Her fingers beat a silent tattoo on her leg as the plane flew in a holding pattern. They had been delayed in departure for over an hour, but flying east with a tail wind they had made up half that time. However, they had missed their window of opportunity and were forced to wait until there was a runway available for them, and then they would have to wait for an available gate.

She was anxious to get back -- to get back to him. It didn�t help that every song she listened to on the provided headset reminded her of Connor in one form or another, sometimes a phrase, or just a word. If she was this crazy in love with him, what was going to happen when they were no longer together? She wondered if their love would last through the decades, she growing older, he remaining youthful, her body crippled with age, his vibrant and alive. He had assured her of his devotion and love, but she was filled with self-doubt. She shook her head to rid herself of the doubts placed there by judgmental family members at the wedding. "Not married yet, dear?" "Not surprising with your namby-pamby ways. Your sister knew what she wanted and she went out and got it!"

She almost had to grin. Her younger sister, the prettier one when they were younger, but now looking older, married to a lawyer, with three children, had told her in confidence that she envied her single state, able to go where and when she wanted. Her penny-pinching husband kept her in near poverty, she said as she toyed with the expensive baubles around her neck. "I go to a day spa, and he jumps all over me when he sees the credit card bill. Men! Better off without them."

She had to disagree with her sister -- silently of course. She would not be better off without Connor. He filled her life with love and joy, treating her with the respect a knight of old would give his ladylove in a fairytale. It all seemed unreal to her when she stopped long enough to remember what made him unique. There had been little interference from the Game in recent weeks, and they were allowed to behave like a couple in love, pushing the worldly things away to concentrate on each other. Their sojourn to the cabin hideaway had taught them a great deal, discovering strengths, accepting weaknesses, binding them together as one. Marriage vows would only be a formality. She settled back into her seat, concentrating on relaxing tense muscles. Self-doubt faded away. They were bound together, he had promised. She believed him, not because she wanted to, but because her heart saw the sincerity and love in his eyes.

She would have to give up visiting her family, she decided. They were not good for her self-confidence. Friends treated her better, were happier to see her. Her mother had complained the entire time she was there, her father had ignored her, but he ignored most family members. It wouldn�t be a hardship to give them up if she could have Connor. Her friends would be more difficult to give up, and she would find a way to satisfy her need to communicate with them.

*~~~~*~~~~*~~~~*~~~~*~~~~*~~~~*~~~~*~~~~*

Connor paced a bit, keeping an eye on the arrival board. Her flight was finally announced as arrived, and he knew from experience it would still be a time before passengers reached the baggage claim area, but he scanned each group that came through the passageway: he didn�t want to miss her. Her week with her family -- she never called it home -- had been harder for him than he imagined. He hadn�t expected her absence to punctuate the loneliness of his life, but there it was: he had told her they were bound together, and the past week had proven it to him. He had almost flown out to join her, but she had quickly squashed that idea when he mentioned it and Connor had to content himself with their nightly conversations on the phone. He yawned, remembering. The three hour time difference had been damned inconvenient, but each night he had kept her on the phone as long as possible. It was amazing how much more conversation they had when she wasn�t in the room a few feet away, her eyes and her grin inviting him to take her to bed.

*~~~~*~~~~*~~~~*~~~~*~~~~*~~~~*~~~~*~~~~*

She kept her purse tightly at her side, walking quickly with the other travelers, passing some, being passed by others. A motorized cart whipped by, and she gazed enviously at the older couple riding in the back, not for the ease of their passage, but for the hands held together in love. She had missed Connor during her sojourn on the West Coast, and almost wished she had taken him up on his offer to join her. She reasoned that exposing him to her parents would be a mistake, and she knew her sister would make a play for him simply because he was with her. It might have been amusing to watch him put her sister firmly in her place, but she didn�t want to embarrass her sister. Not that much at any rate.

She wondered how long it would take to get a taxi, and she quickened her pace. She wished she had packed light with just a carry-on so she could head straight to a taxi on the terminal curb, but besides the things she had taken, she was bringing back even more. The last of the mementos of her life were packed in two trunks, and there was no need to return to her parent�s house. If she ever went back, she would stay in a hotel, with Connor if he could join her. It certainly would make the stay more pleasant knowing she had him to love her through the nights.

Ahead, she could see families greeting arrivals, children squealing, their noise echoing off the high ceiling, lovers kissing. God, she missed Connor! She searched the information screen for the baggage carousel number and headed toward the far end. She studiously ignored the low wolf whistle, knowing it wasn�t for her, until she heard the chuckle. The laugh that made her insides melt, the laugh that made her grin in response, the laugh that could belong to no one else. She spun around and her squeal rivaled the noise of the children. "Connor!"

His face lit up at her delight and he opened his arms wide in invitation.

She launched herself into those arms and felt his strength as they closed around her, felt his love and desire as his lips met hers in a hungry kiss. "I missed you, Connor. Thank you for this lovely surprise."

He trailed kisses down her neck, finding her erratic pulse erotic. The long drive to the loft was looking even longer. He wondered what she would say to a night in an airport hotel. Her hands, hidden from view beneath his long coat, slipped into the back pockets of his jeans, suggested she would be very amenable to the idea.

"Welcome home," he whispered in her ear as he squeezed her tightly.

Home -- a very good place to be, she thought, finding his lips once more.

Waiting For an Answer

The loft was deadly silent as she pondered his question asked moments after they walked in the door. The pulse beating at the base of her throat throbbed in rhythm with the shallow breaths that let her know she was still alive.

He said nothing more, but his eyes requested an answer. She met his gaze for as long as she could until the intensity of his look forced her to cast her eyes down to their hands clasped together. Slender hands that had caressed her face prior to a kiss, hands that had stroked her fingers when they talked or walked, hands that had taught her that love was the sum of two beings merging body and soul to become one.

�How do I answer that, Connor?� Her eyes met his once more. �You have taught me more than you can possibly guess, and I would leave with you in an instant if it was only my life to consider. But how do I disappear from my friends� lives? They haven�t done anything for me to abandon them so cold heartedly. After being so close even though we live in different parts of the country, I would find it difficult to cut them out of my life so completely.�

�That wouldn�t be necessary, not for some time; perhaps not for several decades. Mortals seem to age at different rates, we can blame my youthful looks on good genes.�

�Oh, I like your jeans,� she chuckled; the glint in his eyes showed his understanding of her humor. �And the white tennie runners? To die for.� She shook her head as she sobered once more. �We�ll work it out?�

�We�ll work it out. I don�t want you to regret anything about our life together.�

�The only thing I would regret is to say �no� to you. There�s no denying that I miss you when we�re apart, and when I�m with you I feel complete. I never thought to feel this way about anyone, because I never really knew what love was until you showed me. I don�t remember being truly loved by my parents and I was so different from my sister. Sometimes I felt like I had been left on the wrong doorstep by the stork or switched in the hospital. My friends, my true friends, were good to me once they broke down the barriers I had so carefully built to protect myself. They were free with their love and concern, but you are the one that hauled away the rubble to smooth the path for me.�

�It was my pleasure to do so, to erase the pain in your eyes. They say love conquers all, but with true love there is no conquering, no taking, only giving and receiving what may be offered.�

�Yes,� she replied, lifting his hand to her cheek, turning her head slightly to kiss it, pressing one of her own to his, stroking the scruff with gentle fingertips, smiling when he mirrored her action. �I give you my heart, Connor, because you have shown me your heart is true. My answer is yes.�

�I�ll receive your heart in exchange for my own.� He pulled her close, holding her until she could feel the music their hearts would make together, a symphony that would take a lifetime to complete.

Stolen Moments

Connor reached for her in his sleep but the empty space next to him brought him from his slumber. He blinked, focusing his gaze on the unfamiliar room, and he remembered. A soft ruffled curtain wafted gently in the breeze from the balcony door -- an ocean breeze, there was no mistaking the sound and the scent. The remote bed and breakfast inn had guaranteed ocean views, and it certainly delivered on that promise. They had arrived late in the afternoon, admired the view, chatted with the owner, and then retired to their suite.

He could see her through the open door, leaning against the balcony railing in the early morning light, and he grinned to himself when he realized the nightgown was growing more transparent as the dawn crept closer. He vaguely remembered the nightgown from the night before -- very vaguely. She hadn�t worn it long enough for it to make a lasting impression on him, but memory of removing it was fresh in his mind, and he wanted to coax her back to bed for a repeat performance. He wrapped the bed sheet around him before stepping out onto the balcony, unconsciously tucking it in a fashion he had learned more than four centuries before.

He slid his arms around her waist and she leaned back into his chest, her head settling on his shoulder with a soft satisfied sigh. Her arms folded over his own, pressing them close, capturing the Highlander as surely as he had captured her.

�Happy?� he asked her softly.

�Extremely. How long can we stay?�

�As long as you like,� he murmured in her ear.

�No, really, Connor.� She refused to take him literally. �How long?�

�We have the room reserved for a week. We can extend our stay, or move on.�

�You don�t have to be back?�

�No, do you?�

�No job to go back to, I guess not.�

A long silence followed as they watched the sky lighten to soft morning colors, a burst of golden clouds heralding the coming sun. �What are you thinking?� Connor asked as they swayed together to the morning music of bird song.

�I�m wondering what my husband thinks of all of this.�

�Husband!� he growled. �You haven�t mentioned that appendage before.�

�I didn�t think it was necessary.�

�Are you going to leave him?�

�I seriously doubt it.�

�I was hoping you�d say that, wife.� With that, Connor stepped backward, taking his new bride with him back to bed, leaving the morning sun to rise on its own.

---

Author's note: Most of these scenes were inspired by frus, thrown in one of our Compound par-tays so I blame my clansibs. Errors are my own, however, and inconsistencies I shall blame on the muses, Connor and What's her name. Dates written:

29 Feb 2003 Deathbed
01 Feb 2004 Dinner Date Until Dawn
31 Dec 2003 Dangerous to Know
04 May 2003 Unkempt
27 Sep 2003 Satisfaction
22 Nov 2003 Handle With Care
14 Aug 2004 The Homecoming
24 May 2007 Waiting For an Answer
20 Nov 2004 Stolen Moments

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