If Tomorrow Never Comes -- by Debi Moseley

STANDARD DISCLAIMER AND APPEASEMENT TO EVIL SPIRITS:

Maeve is back again. The woman simply will not leave me alone, but I don't mind. I am enjoying the stories she tells me and, so far, many of you seem to be as well. For that you have my enduring and humble thanks. The stories previous to this one in the Maeve Kiernan saga are available on my website

( http://www.geocities.com/area51/chamber/8057 ) or ask and I'll be happy to forward them to you.

What?? Oh, yes, the disclaimers. Okay. Basically, it goes like this. If you recognize a character, concept, or situation in my story from the television show, Highlander, the Series, then I have no rights (nor do I claim any) to said detail. However, Maeve Kiernan, Loki the (wonder) dog, Jim Curtis, and any others that you don't recognize from the series are mine. I didn't ask permission to use the music, either, but I do credit the lyrics as they appear. Please don't sue. It won't do you any good anyway. I don't have anything.

Please do not post or archive this story anywhere without my permission; I like to know where my stuff is going. As always, please fire away with comments, praise, criticism (as long as it's constructive; don't just say, "It sucks!" without telling me why. How else am I ever going to learn?) to [email protected].

Many, many thanks go to Diana Gordic for her help above and beyond the call in editing and nudging this story. So much might have been lost in this cluttered attic that is my mind had she not encouraged, bugged, niggled and generally cajoled me in some of the directions I went with this. I am and always will be eternally grateful. Additionally, I'd like to thank Mary Galasso, who took this story in a totally new direction that I never would have thought of on my own, plus helped me out immensely in clarifying the process that one must undergo in order to teach, and Cheryl Bruege for her excellent turn of phrasing that clarified and refined some key passages. Their advice was invaluable, therefore any mistakes and/or inconsistencies are my fault alone. And, thanks to Jette Goldie for providing the idea of an Immortal being addicted to the Quickenings. It had been stated before in the series, but it was in a story of hers that the connection was made. For that, I am grateful.

I have casting ideas, faces I kept in my head while writing this, to make the characters seem more real. I see Antonio Banderas as Castillo; his intensity and sensuality lend themselves to Castillo's personality. Jim Curtis is Sam Elliot. His laid back attitude (until it's time to take action) is perfect. His wife Carol has Madeline Stowe's face and strong will. I hope this helps you visualize the characters the way it did for me.

RATING- PG: Some violence, a few profanities.

If Tomorrow Never Comes -- Part 1 of 7

"Let me say this first;

If I ever lose my faith in you

There'd be nothing left for me to do."

"If I Ever Lose My Faith" -- Sting

Early morning sunlight was just beginning to seep over the horizon, flowing like multihued melting wax across the languid tops of the waves. Maeve sat at the edge of the dunes, resting after her run and waiting. Loki lay dozing beside her, ears flicking to and fro with the sounds of seabirds and other things only dogs can hear.

A shadowy shape surfaced at the edge of the ocean and began to rise from the surf, water running off his skin in tiny streams, cascading from his hair. Maeve smiled and watched appreciatively, taking a rare moment to adore the man simply as a splendid physical specimen. The sun, just rising behind him, made his skin seem all the darker, and the sheen of seawater on him enhanced that illusion. From within the depths of the dark shape, two points of light were apparent, shining in good humor at her. He shook his head as he approached her, droplets flying and sparkling from his hair, which was beginning to curl rebelliously. He caught her rapt expression and asked, "What are you smiling at?" with a grin of his own.

Maeve sighed. Appreciation of his mere physical beauty was over for a time; it was now being supplanted by the man's wit, which always seemed to be in ready supply.

"My Celtic sea god, rising from the surf, straight from the shores of Tir Nan Og," she grinned and handed him a towel, linking her arm with his as they turned toward the boardwalk. Loki darted past them to wait at the bottom of the stairs, wagging as he watched them.

"Why didn't you come in?" Duncan asked. "The water was perfect." He paused at the shower mounted at the foot of the patio.

"Two words: salt water."

Duncan snorted, exasperated. "I don't understand why you live at the beach and don't swim in the ocean. It's like owning a car and refusing to drive." He looked down at her curiously, letting go of her arm to step under the shower head to rinse off.

Maeve moved back out of range. "I love the ocean. I love the smell of it, listening to the waves as I fall asleep, watching the sunlight on the breakers. But I hate the feeling of salt drying on my skin, the way it makes my eyes burn. Besides, I happen to be rather fair-skinned. I sunburn, MacLeod. You know that."

He slicked his newly wet hair back off his face and they resumed their course back to the stairs. "Yes, I do. But it heals. And the sun is barely up."

"Why should I subject myself to avoidable pain and suffering if I don't have to?"

They continued to bicker good-naturedly all the way to the sixth floor and on into the shower. There, though the friendly argument continued, it was soon joined by a new activity that left little breath for talking.

"So, what's on the agenda for you today?" While they were lounging over breakfast, Maeve noticed that Duncan had gotten dressed right after their shower, while she still lingered in her robe. She was also aware that he was chomping at the bit to do something. He didn't adapt to the kept man role very well, and she had no intention of letting him stay that way. He would find an outlet for his considerable energies, though she tried her best to keep those fires well fueled and used. The man was fairly bursting with something today, though, she could feel it.

"Oh, nothing much. Got some business. I'll be back in a few days." Duncan was so offhand, his attitude began to set alarms off in Maeve's head. Giving him a quizzical glance, she leaned across him for another piece of toast and sat back, regarding him intently.

He noticed her expression and said, "What?" with such innocence that she laughed out loud.

"I know you can lie better than that. You can't have survived so long without having learned how." Maeve suddenly couldn't conceal her concern. "It's not business with one of us, is it?" she asked plaintively.

"I really do have business," he insisted reassuringly, "not with one of us, but I'm still not telling you what's going on. It's a surprise. Call it a late Christmas present." He stood abruptly, drained the last of his juice, and gave her a quick peck on the forehead. "Gotta run. My flight leaves in a couple of hours, and it's a long drive to the airport." He rose from his seat, grinning at her, then picked up an overnight bag from the hall closet and went out the door.

Maeve sat, staring at his retreating back in amazement, still reeling from his whirlwind departure. She was vaguely relieved, but still confused. She hated being confused, despite having a great deal of experience with the sensation.

"MacLeod!!!"

He reappeared in the doorway to find her waiting just inside.

"What?"

"You forgot something."

"What?" he repeated.

"This."

Maeve wrapped her arms around him and kissed him thoroughly, giving him a goose on the rear for good measure. Before releasing him, she whispered in his ear, "Please be careful."

He squeezed her back, nearly crushing the breath out of her.

"I will." Duncan reluctantly let her go and turned to leave again. He called over his shoulder, "I'll be back, day after tomorrow, the next day at the latest."

"Call me when you get there, wherever *there* is. And any other time you have a spare minute," she urged.

He paused, giving her one last smile. "I will. I love you."

"Ditto," she replied with a wicked grin of her own, before turning to go back inside.

-----------------------------

Duncan settled into the plane seat and pulled the brochure out of his inside jacket pocket. It was announcing an antiques shipment that was being liquidated at auction in Miami. There promised to be a huge selection and prices well below market value. Maeve had a big house to fill, with the restorations drawing to completion, and she had not a stick of furniture for it. Duncan intended to rectify that situation.

He was excited about wading into the fray of the antiques market again. It had been a long time since he had done any serious buying or had a chance to exercise his expertise. There was almost a sense of ritual combat in the bidding and wagering that went on at these events. This would be fun.

-----------------------------

It had been a few days of viewing and bidding, and now the sale was over. MacLeod was satisfied with his purchases, knowing for certain that a few of the pieces he got at far below their actual value. He had grown used to and even began to enjoy the groans of the other bidders as he decided on a piece and didn't let anyone outbid him. He was especially proud of the large Mission dining table and chairs. He knew they were well over a century old and he had snapped them up for a song. He picked up his claim slip and went to pay.

"Well, Mr. MacLeod, I'd say you've done quite a day's work here," the cashier commented in a friendly manner. He was mildly surprised when the dark, good-looking man didn't even blink at the total he was given. The fact that he produced a credit card to pay for the purchase with no thought whatsoever spoke of a considerable but understated wealth. The man had bought enough furniture and various decorative pieces to be starting his own shop or…

"Furnishing a house."

That explained it. The cashier had seen many wealthy men go through here, making purchases. It had been largely due to the revitalization of the city, especially the South Beach area. This guy was probably some fashion designer and was setting up his boyfriend in some serious style.

"Must be quite a house."

"Yes it is." MacLeod signed his name to the charge slip and removed the customer copy, pocketing it carefully. He glanced around and asked, "Could you tell me where I could rent a trailer?"

"You probably need a semi to haul all of that."

Duncan smiled. "I'm shipping most of it, but there are a few pieces I want to take myself. A surprise."

The cashier produced a phone book. "The best shipper for your stuff would be Cray's." He pointed out the number to MacLeod. "It'll cost you, but there won't be a scratch on anything when it arrives, even if you bought it that way. The local U-Haul is right up the street."

Duncan thanked the man and made his calls. By that night, he was on the road, heading up I-95 toward Maeve.

-----------------------------

In the wee hours of the morning, MacLeod was humming along the interstate, lost in his thoughts and trying to pick up a new station on the radio. Passing a billboard advertising the joys of a long-closed water park in the middle of nowhere, he felt the Recognition. It was a flash, nothing more, but he began to look apprehensively into the surrounding woods streaking by. There were no cars coming from the opposite direction, so it must have been behind him. His suspicions were confirmed when, in the rearview, he saw headlights come on and pull out from behind the billboard. Then, atop the vehicle, blue and red rotating lights came on, reflecting crazily over the landscape. Muttering a curse to himself, positive he hadn't been doing anything to warrant a stop, Duncan reached into the back seat, to reassure himself that his sword was easily available. He pulled over, waiting tensely for the patrolman to approach. He was trying vainly to see if there was a camera attached to the dash of the patrol car, feeling the sensation of another grow stronger by the second. Duncan's Immortality was his only offense.

He appeared to be a young Hispanic man, tall and lean. His badge read, "A. Castillo. Florida Highway Patrol." He eyed Duncan through the open window, almost swaggering in his stance. He seemed very accustomed to the position of superiority over his stops.

"License and registration, please."

Duncan handed them over, waiting, expecting something, but not quite sure what yet. He was hoping to play it cool and get out of this problem with some grace, especially since he couldn't tell if there was anything recording his performance. Considering the circumstances, he was almost positive that this particular officer would not have activated the battery of devices that documented the Highway Patrol's stops.

After glancing over Duncan's identification, the cop said, "You're quite a way from home, Mr. MacLeod. May I ask what your business was down south?"

"I'm an antiques dealer. I just came from the auction in Miami."

The cop looked down at the citation book that Duncan was sure he wasn't really writing on. There wasn't any statute against being an Immortal that Duncan was aware of, though this man seemed to think there should be. The officer then glanced back up.

"Step out of the car, please. Do you have any weapons or drugs in the car?"

Duncan complied, reluctant to reveal the existence of the sword. The patrolman undoubtedly had already realized that there was a sword present somewhere, yet Duncan didn't want to antagonize him, either.

"Only an antique katana. It's in a case."

"Point it out."

Duncan did so, and Officer Castillo opened the case, reverently sliding the katana free. He swung it experimentally a few times, testing the heft, while Duncan looked on, growing more nervous by the second.

"This is stolen property," Castillo informed him, holding the sword in an en garde position. Duncan backed up a step, keeping his eyes on Castillo, but using his peripheral vision to scan from side to side, weighing his options.

"That sword's been in my family for generations," he said, for the benefit of any possible recording devices. "I have documentation on it."

"And, you're hauling drugs out of Miami."

Duncan snorted derisively. Damn the recording. It was time to survive. "Would I rent a U-Haul to do it? Give me a little credit." He stood his ground, trying to reason with the man. "If you want to challenge me, do it right. We'll go out into the woods and take care of business properly."

"Place your hands on the vehicle, spread your legs."

Duncan looked around again. Obviously, reason wasn't working here. It was very early in the morning and there was no one around for miles. There would be no witnesses to an assault on a peace officer, and Castillo would have no proof after his Immortal healing did its job. Duncan hoped his hunch was right that the on-board camera in the car had been deactivated.

MacLeod leaned forward to put his hands against the car, then used the car to push off, spinning around in a kick that caught the officer high on his left cheekbone.

To his credit, Castillo held onto the sword and kept his feet under him. Before Castillo could recover, Duncan stepped in close, where the katana would be least effective, and smacked him under the nose with a swift heel of his hand. Castillo staggered back, dropping the weapon to hold his face. This time he lost his balance and fell back onto the asphalt, life fading.

Duncan's mind rapidly calculated the possibilities and decided he couldn't risk a Quickening here for several reasons. One, he wouldn't kill the man while he was down, and Duncan didn't really feel like waiting around for him to recover to challenge him properly. Two, on a clear night like tonight, it would be highly visible for miles around. There were people traveling on the interstate at this hour. Granted, the Florida weather did change rapidly and the lightning could be attributed to a storm, but it wasn't worth the risk to make himself that vulnerable. Third, he was unsure if the officer had radioed in his position and Duncan's identity. The result would probably have him being relentlessly pursued as a cop killer, and he'd have to change identities, maybe even leave the country for a generation or so. That would upset him, as well as Maeve. He would be forced to give up his new life here with her, a life that he had barely begun to explore. No. The risk of leaving this Immortal to recover was paltry compared to what Duncan could lose.

Duncan watched the cop's body relax into death and approached cautiously, getting his hands under the officer's arms and dragging him back to his cruiser. While he was in there, he reassured himself there were no devices recording the incident. He arranged Castillo on the front seat and shut the door. Duncan wasted no time in starting his own vehicle and making even more rapid progress north, heading for home.

If Tomorrow Never Comes -- Part 2 of 7

for disclaimers and credits, see Part 1

"If it's a future world we fear

We have tomorrow's seeds right here

For you can hold them in your hand

Or let them fall into the sand."

"Straight To My Heart" -- Sting

Maeve was delighted with his surprise and became a benevolent tyrant on the jobsite at her house on the river-- after she admonished him for spending such an extravagant amount on her. Over the final week of the renovations, Maeve and Duncan dove in to work full time along with the contractors, finishing drywall, painting, laying tile and whatever else needed to be done. Due to the arrival of the furniture, the exterior was put on hold and the interior was finished in record time. Maeve happily drove Duncan absolutely mad with her exacting directions on the layout and placement of the pieces. More than once, she had changed her mind and rearranged everything, making Duncan scream with frustration deep in the privacy of his own mind. It took most of three days for the inside to be put in order, then they tackled the rest of the exterior. At long last, the house was finally finished. Maeve and Duncan set about transferring their clothing and necessities from the condo to the house, anxious to move in.

The landscape crew had planted some specimen shrubs around the house, but most of the property was left as it had been found, the majority of it heavily wooded with oak, pine, magnolia, palmetto and wax myrtle. Only part of the river frontage had been bulkheaded, enough to put in a dock and boathouse. The barn was finished and several acres of pasture fenced, with Fortunato gleefully racing and bucking over his new home. The stallion hadn't seen much of his mistress lately, aside from hasty cleanups and deposits of feed. Maeve had been way too busy with so many things, including scolding the workers for feeding an alligator living in the St. Johns River right behind her house. She promised the guilty party that if the 'gator ate her dog she would catch it and deposit it in the perpetrator's bathtub late one night. She was very convincing and the 'gator was soon forced to feed itself again.

The time had come for a party. If anyone deserved one, it was Maeve. Still, it meant more work, but with such a beautiful new home to show off, it didn't really seem that much of a hardship.

Duncan hadn't yet told Maeve of his confrontation with the Immortal cop on his way home. It seemed a random encounter and he pushed it to the back of his mind. With all the activity, the time never seemed right to mention it and he soon dismissed the matter. If the officer threatened again, then he would deal with it.

-----------------------------

Duncan came into the offices at the park with a sheaf of invitations in his hand. He passed them out to all the veterinary staff and left one tacked to the bulletin board.

The Recognition was drawing him toward the hospital area. Peering past the quiet nursery, he saw the surgery door ajar. Duncan went to stand at the opening. Maeve was inside, gowned, gloved and masked, rooting rather invasively through the entrails of an anesthetized wolf.

"Lose something?" he asked flippantly. She looked up at him, leering behind the mask.

"He found something. Sometimes I think we should put the human guests behind fences and let the animals run loose."

"Now, Dr. Kiernan," the technician, Karen, admonished her sarcastically, "What kind of attitude is that to have? Those people pay our salary." Her voice took on a mock preaching tone. "Why without them --"

"Yeah, right," Maeve interrupted. "Who was it I heard bitching about 'bloody tourists' and traffic first thing this morning?" It was her turn to start sermonizing. "Why, if it wasn't for those people spending their vacations here in our fair state --"

"All right," grumbled the other woman good-naturedly. "Thou hast a point. Doesn't mean I have to like 'em though."

"Eureka!" Maeve crowed. She pulled a small oval object from the wolf's depths and dropped it on the tray, where it landed with a clink.

"What is it?" Karen and Duncan chorused.

Maeve answered them with a question. "Now, tell me Karen, are peach pits part of this animal's daily feeding? 'Cause, if it's been changed and they are now included with the regular ration, I'll quit complaining about the idiots in the park that throw things over the fence and I'll get in a cage myself."

"Now that I'd like to see," Duncan said softly, but loud enough that both women heard him clearly. Maeve glanced up and he saw the tops of her ears flush red.

"Promises, promises," she muttered.

"Peach pits weren't part of the diet last time I checked," Karen said, watching their interplay with interest.

"Someone tossed it into the enclosure?" Duncan asked, incredulously.

"Sho' 'nuff," Maeve replied. "Sometimes I wish I could set up a sniper post, high in the trees, and pop the idiots in the ass with a pellet gun when they do stuff like this."

"You'd certainly have one of the best-behaved zoo-going populaces in the country," Jim said from behind Duncan, who turned and shook his hand in greeting. Leaning just past Duncan to get a clear view into surgery, he asked Maeve, "Almost done?"

"Just have to lavage and close."

"Good deal. Carol and I are going to lunch. She should be here by now."

A child's outraged shriek was heard from the hallway.

"That would be them now," Maeve laughed.

Jim winced. "I really wish children came with a volume control."

"Amen, brother," Karen echoed.

Duncan smiled at their camaraderie. "I'll be in your office, Maeve." The mention of food in conjunction with the surgery was not exactly conducive to his appetite.

"Wuss," he heard her accuse under her breath as he left.

On his way down the hall, he met Jim's wife, Carol, passing with their four year old daughter, Kimberly, under her arm. Kim squalled and flailed, three bright red scratches down one arm.

"Need some help?" Duncan offered.

Carol had met him once before, over dinner at a local restaurant, and had been immediately smitten with his looks and charm. She was a sensible woman and very happily married, but she couldn't help how her heart quickened when such a handsome man smiled at her. She accepted his offer gratefully.

"Thanks. I told her to leave Fiona alone, but Kim never listens. Has to find out for herself."

Kimberly wailed again. "Kitty scratched my arm!!!"

"I know," her mother reiterated in an even voice, "but I told you to let her alone. She was tired of you mauling her!" Carol led the way into the ward and sat Kim on the table in an exam room, rummaging in the drawers. Duncan stood by, waiting for instructions.

"What's that?" Kim asked, momentarily forgetting about her bleeding arm.

"What?" he echoed, unsure of what she meant. She pointed at his throat. He reached up and touched the silver pendant that Maeve had recently given him for his birthday.

"My birthday present. It's called a claddagh." He leaned close to show it to the child. She touched it, looking to him for the okay. He nodded and she traced her stubby fingers over the heart, hands and crown.

"It's pretty. Like you."

Duncan heard a gentle snort from Carol and he smiled. "Thank you. I think you're pretty too."

"Just like her father," Carol murmured. "Dive right in. I think she has a future as an investigative reporter." She washed the scratches, Duncan holding Kim as she squirmed and yelled again. Carol finally dried her arm and wrapped it lightly. She held out her hands and Kim scooted back, into Duncan's chest.

"Unh uh. I like him." She twisted up to look Duncan in the face. "Are you 'n May married?"

He shook his head. "No."

"Good," she said. "Will you marry me? My birthday is today."

"Kim!" Carol exclaimed.

Duncan grinned at the precocious girl. "Maybe we should wait until your next birthday. Ask me again then."

"Okay," Kim replied to him, satisfied for the moment. Duncan scooped her up and they set off back down the hall to the offices.

Carol stepped on his toes deliberately. "Don't encourage her," she warned. "That kid has got the memory of an elephant. She'll call you on it, I guarantee." They entered the offices.

"Will she live?" Maeve was sitting back at her desk, pretending to pore over some paperwork.

"I don't know," Carol confessed dramatically. "We may need to amputate."

Duncan sat Kim down and she immediately went in search of Maeve's office cat, Fiona, again. The calico was lying in a chair in front of the window, sunning herself, and jumped, startled, when Kim's hand closed on her tail again. The cat sighed and flopped her head down, gazing at her torturer in resignation. Carol called the girl, and she reluctantly returned to her mother's side, releasing the cat.

"So you guys'll come to the housewarming, right?" Maeve asked.

"Wouldn't miss it. We'll even come a few hours early, help you get set up."

"That's not necessary--" Maeve tried to protest, but Carol wouldn't hear of it.

"It'll be fun. I haven't done much party stuff since Kim came along, at least nothing that didn't involve clowns, pony rides and unbreakable dishes. And earplugs," she added.

Maeve thanked her profusely. In truth, she was beginning to wonder if she had bitten off more than she could chew. As a great planner, but not the greatest in executing said plans, she was having her doubts about getting everything done properly and on time. All the supplies had been bought and stores laid in; preparations would be down to the wire and she was glad to have extra hands in the work.

"Where'd my wayward husband go?" Carol asked Maeve.

"To the fax machine. I think he's got a horse running at Hialeah and had to rush his bet in."

Carol grinned at Maeve. "I wouldn't put it past him." She started out the door, Kim in tow. "I've got a hot date with him."

"Oh?" asked Duncan.

"Yeah," Carol grinned. "Lunch at McDonald's and then off to the Discovery Zone for a few hours of trying to burn some energy off this enthusiast." Kim jumped up and down excitedly, blonde pigtails bobbing, and raced off in search of her father to hurry him along. Carol smiled at Duncan. "Thanks for your help. It made triage go much smoother with the distraction."

"My pleasure," Duncan replied with a half bow. A childish squeal echoed down the corridor, and Carol waved quickly, then dashed off after her daughter.

Duncan turned to Maeve. "I hope you don't mind, but I left some invitations in the neighbor's mailboxes."

Maeve got up, abandoning her forms, and sidled over to him, kissing him soundly. "Not at all. That's a wonderful idea. You're so good to put up with all my foolishness."

"Yes I am," he replied, and kissed her back.

A throat was cleared in the doorway behind them. They both started, grinning sheepishly.

Jim leaned in. "You guys want to come along? I know it's not the Ritz Carlton, but…"

Duncan and Maeve looked at one another, then nodded.

"Sure, thanks," Duncan replied, and they followed Jim out the door.

-----------------------------

The doorbell rang and Maeve called from the kitchen to MacLeod, "Can you get that, please?"

Wiping his hands on a towel, he went to the front door and saw Jim and Carol standing on the front steps, through the door's sidelight. He also heard a shrill voice that belonged to neither of the visible adults. Opening the door, he stood aside to let them in. A small figure darted past him, and he scooped the four-year-old up in his arms, airplaning her around the room.

"WHHHEEE!!!" she shrieked.

They heard Maeve's announcement from the kitchen. "Kimberly's here!"

The three adults headed that way, Duncan tucking Kimberly under his arm like a sack of potatoes, tickling her ribs. She giggled and flailed, kneeing him smartly in the back, making him wince momentarily. Digging at the child's sides one more time with his fingertips, he let her go and she raced into the kitchen to hurl herself at Maeve's knees, hugging them fiercely. Maeve squawked in surprise and tottered, unable to use her hands to steady herself because she was up to her elbows in shrimp.

"Hi May!!!" the little girl greeted her at full volume.

"Hi Kim!!!" Maeve returned fire at the same decibel level, and was released as the child scuttled away to seek Loki. Jim and Carol deposited the grocery bags they had brought along, and Duncan went to assist Jim in bringing in a large cooler from the back of his car.

"Where do you want it, lady?" Jim joked as he opened the cooler to reveal several bottles of various shades of wine, some interesting brands of beer and one smaller, bell-shaped bottle. Jim knew her weakness for Irish Mist.

Maeve spotted the wrapped bottle and waved dismissively at the rest. "Oh, I don't know. Just pour us a bit of that and I'll be fine. You guys can finish the rest of the preparations."

Duncan caught Jim's wrist playfully, taking the bottle out of his hand. "You let her start now and we *will* be doing all this by ourselves." He did remove the wrapping from the bottle and poured a small glass.

Maeve made a rude noise at him. "I can have a nip of liqueur; it won't kill me. Besides, you guys are doing the grilling; as I recall, most men only cook when it involves danger and open flames." Still wet to the elbows with shrimp, she gazed longingly at the glass Duncan had poured. He raised his eyebrows at her, grinning, taking a sip himself; he made her wait before he finally relented and held it for her to have a taste.

Jim protested. "I resemble that remark. Where's the grill?"

Maeve pointed with her chin to the French doors. "Out there, under the lattice by the pool. There's kegs on ice out there and a 'fridge you can put the wine in. Oh, you'll need these --" she dropped the last shrimp onto the platter and washed her hands quickly, opening a drawer and pulling out a huge fork and set of tongs.

"That looks like your old calf-puller," Carol said to her husband, and Maeve cracked up laughing.

"Actually, those are to be utilized as a pig turner. We couldn't get the spit to work so he's roasting on a rack over the coals."

"A whole pig?" Jim echoed. "I thought you were devoted to saving their lives, not roasting them whole."

"Don't get all p.c. on me now, Jim, besides, he threw himself on that fire. Said he was going to end it all, and it might as well be for a good cause." She and Jim grinned at one another like kids.

"What about some of our more, shall we say, enlightened friends that are coming?" Carol asked.

"That's what most of this is for," and Maeve opened the refrigerator to reveal containers of salsa, beans, and platter upon platter of sliced vegetables and large bowls of sauces. "I have do-it-yourself feeding available, skewers and condiments for your dining pleasure, for those who do not partake of animal flesh. They have been told that there will be meat present, if it offends them, they can't say I didn't warn them."

The was a yell of triumph from the living room and Kimberly reappeared, dragging an extremely reluctant Loki by his collar. As the child mauled him, he rolled his eyes beseechingly at Maeve and Duncan. Duncan came to his rescue.

"Hey Kim. Why don't we take Loki outside and throw the ball for him? He really likes that." The girl squealed with delight, and at the sound of the word 'ball', Loki escaped her grasp and went into a frenzied search of the surrounding area, finally rooting deep under the couch for a balding tennis ball. Duncan accompanied the child and the dog outside, Jim carrying a tray of shrimp and the implements of destruction with him to tend the cooking.

Carol put away the rest of the contents of the grocery bags and asked, "What can I do to help?"

Maeve gazed around at the kitchen and thought for a moment. "Well, you can keep me company and -- oh yeah!" she exclaimed. Glancing down at the oven, she vanished into the utility room off the garage and came back with a large tray full of loaf pans, pale mounds of dough peering over the tops. "Help me get these in the oven?"

Carol quickly caught the other end of the tray and the two women loaded the oven. A muffled shriek came from outside and they glanced up, spying Loki being pursued by Kim.

The dog stayed just far enough ahead of her to entice her to run after him, but he made sure she never got a hand on him. Duncan rolled the tennis ball to the little girl, and she flung it as hard as she could, sending the dog racing after it again. It rolled over the edge of the deck and into the grass, and Loki crouched over it protectively, tongue lolling and tail wagging, waiting for Kim to try and take it. They rolled together on the grass, and Carol groaned, "She always gets so filthy! I'm positive that everyone thinks that girl never bathes, as dirty as she stays."
"Don't worry about it," Maeve reassured her. "I've got a bathtub and a bed for her when she gets tired. If she gets tired," she amended quickly, watching Kim hurl herself on the dog again. Loki took it with good grace, rolling on his back and wagging his tail, then leaping to his feet and streaking away again. The two women passed a long while watching the antics outside.

"You and Duncan should have kids," Carol told her.

"Neither one of has the time for a child," Maeve protested. "Besides, we can borrow somebody else's when we want, and we get to give them back later. It works out."

Her companion laughed, wiping down the counters and dropping the cloth back in the sink. "But you two would make such great parents. Duncan is so loving and patient." They watched as Duncan pried Kim's fingers from the locked gate of the pool enclosure. The girl's face started to wrinkle into a frown, then he said something to her and she smiled again.

"He's wonderful with children. It's just something that isn't in the cards for us, I'm afraid." She turned to the oven, opening the door briefly to check on the progress of the bread.

The wonderful smell of baking filled the air and Carol sniffed deeply, realizing that Maeve was discreetly changing the subject. Carol honored her unspoken request to drop the matter. "That's making me hungry."

Maeve smiled and glanced slyly over to the French doors, making sure they were unobserved. Opening another oven, she removed a small loaf pan and turned the contents out onto a cooling rack.

"I put this one in for us earlier." A miniature golden loaf lay there, steaming gently. With another surreptitious look out at the deck, she opened the refrigerator and pulled out a dish of butter. She left it on the counter and disappeared into the utility room, returning with a jar of Nutella.

"I have to hide this from Duncan sometimes. He thinks I eat too much of it. Actually, he's right; I do." Maeve grinned and cut the bread, handing the piece to Carol before cutting herself a slice and dipping into the jar of sweet spread. They savored their stolen treat, giggling like children.

If Tomorrow Never Comes -- Part 3 of 7

for disclaimers and credits, see part 1

"Well, the first days are the hardest days,

Don't you worry anymore,

'Cause when life looks like Easy Street there's danger at the door."

"Uncle John's Band -- Jerry Garcia

Maeve sat in a folding chair, leaning back against the wall, her bare feet dangling over the front. Her phone lay beside her, in case someone called needing directions to the secluded location, and a cold beer was in her hand. The grill sizzled gently nearby, Jim proving as competent with running the grill as he was in running the park.

Duncan passed her, on his way to the barn with carrot tops to feed to Fortunato. She raised her bottle to him in silent offering. He made a quick detour to take a drink.

"Thank you."

She accepted the bottle's return and said ruefully, "I guess it's too late to invite Adam and Joe?"

Duncan smiled. "Probably. By the time they'd get here, all the food would be gone."

Maeve swigged from the bottle then said, "Doesn't mean I can't call the bar though. The worst thing that can happen is that they won't be there."

MacLeod just smiled in agreement and headed back out to the pasture.

She picked up the phone and dialed, listening impatiently as the other end rang.

"Joe's."

"Hey, Joe!" Maeve cried, echoing the way her late husband Sean used to greet the man.

"Maeve! Good to hear from you." There was a genuine smile in the man's voice.

"How're things, Joe?"

"I might ask you the same thing," he replied, with just a trace of sarcasm. Joe had gotten a call from Duncan a few days after the Scotsman had left, to tell Joe that he and Maeve were back together, but since then, he hadn't heard much. All the reports he'd received stated simply that things were quiet. Gail, Maeve's Watcher, had spoken to him once since then.

She was, as Maeve had requested, still running the farm back in Washington, but stayed in contact with her subject through phone calls. The calls were, on the surface, about the business of the farm, but the two women knew better than that. It was simply another way for Gail to keep track of her Immortal. Joe smiled, wondering what he had started in the organization since the furor over Horton and Galati had died down. So far, it seemed to be for the better, even if the contact between mortals and Immortals was technically unofficial.

Adam, sitting at the bar, had perked up at hearing Maeve's name and he stared at his friend, trying vainly to understand both sides of the conversation.

"Always the Watcher, eh?" Maeve replied tartly, laughing. "Things are fine here. I'm too late to invite you to my housewarming party, but I wanted to let you know we were thinking about you. And to thank you," she added quietly.

"For what?" Joe asked innocently.

"For being a nosy, sneaky, phone-number-leaking busybody." Then her tone softened and she said, "No one has ever done so much for me, besides Duncan. I just thought you should know that."

Joe was touched by her gratitude and smiled. "Anything for a friend," he told her, and meant it. Adam was beckoning for the phone, so Joe turned it over. "Here, someone wants to talk to you."

Maeve recognized the mellow accent instantly.

"Good afternoon, young lady."

"Adam! How the hell are you?"

"Awful. I've got these friends, see -- I helped them out and haven't heard from either one of them for weeks."

Maeve winced guiltily. "Sorry. I don't suppose the 'I've been really busy' excuse will work?"
"Not a chance," he smiled. "You help someone out and what do they do? Vanish into thin air. And people wonder why I'm so cynical."

Maeve was grinning, but also very contrite as she tried to butt into Adam's diatribe. "I said I was sorry. What language would you like to hear it in?"

"Farsi might be nice," he told her. "Or there's a Japanese dialect I haven't heard in centuries."

Maeve began to rattle off apologies in a dozen languages, garnering a strange look from Jim and Carol. Duncan heard her as he crossed the driveway and widened his eyes at her, trying to make her desist in front of their guests, but she was caught up in the game with the antagonistic Immortal on the other end of the phone.

"Was that a Romany phrase I heard?" Adam interjected. "I'm fairly confident that it wasn't 'I'm sorry,' that you just said."

"You *were* paying attention then," Maeve laughed. "Am I off the hook now?"

"For now, I suppose." He sobered briefly. "Listen, you two take care of each other. And no more of this idiotic fighting, understand?"

"Yes sir," she replied happily. "I doubt we'll ever give up arguing, but I think we've got the rest under control."

"That's my girl. Enjoy your party and have a beer for me. And call home once in awhile. Those of us without lives of our own need our vicarious fix now and again."

"Yes sir," she replied, hoisting her bottle in an invisible salute. "And you take care of yourself, and Joe. I want my friends around for a long time to come."

"Yes ma'am," he echoed, and hung up the phone.

-----------------------------

The other guests began to arrive, most by car, some of the neighbors by boat, each bearing gifts of food and drink. As dusk fell, the party was flowing back and forth between the deck and the inside, Maeve giving several impromptu tours of the newly remodeled house.

The original structure had been built in the early Twenties, but Maeve's remodeling had tripled the floor space while preserving the character of the house. It was a large Mediterranean style, with white stucco walls, red clay tiles on the roof and underfoot. The floors were topped by oriental carpets that were scattered throughout the house. The ground floor surrounded an enclosed atrium, the same red tile on its floor, and a small pool with a fountain bubbled merrily at its center. French doors bounded it, opening onto it from almost every room on the bottom floor. The house was bright, open and very relaxed, decorated in an eclectic fashion. Victorian pieces rubbed shoulders with Shaker and Mission styles, all of them evidence of Duncan's conquests at the antiques auction and some local sales. The walls were decorated with paintings, drawings and dramatic photographs of wildlife, horses and exotic locations. There were arches and nooks everywhere; these were filled with an interesting selection of items -- animals skulls, feathers, masks, and sculptures. A sign, crudely hand lettered on a ragged piece of cardboard, but nicely framed nonetheless, hung over the stairwell. It announced "Abandon hope, all ye who enter here."

"What's that supposed to mean?" asked Karen as they started up the stairs.

Maeve laughed. "This place was such a disaster when I started the work on it I was convinced that it would never be finished. It was abandoned for years before I decided to fix it up. It seemed so hopeless and I complained so much that Dan, my construction foreman, made that sign and hung it over the front door. I liked it, so I had it framed." She waved to a man standing on the patio just outside the French doors. "You and your men take a bow, Dan."

The rest of the guests applauded and the burly blonde man blushed to the roots of his hair as he and four others bowed in unison, as if finishing an encore. Grinning self-consciously from ear to ear, he quickly buried his face in his beer glass again.

Night enveloped the throng and Maeve wandered down with Duncan to the river's edge. The sounds of the woods and river came to them clearly: the call of crickets, an early whippoorwill, the occasional splash, and every once in a while, the distant booming of a bull 'gator. They had set up a bonfire down here, from lumber scraps too small to be used elsewhere and deadfall from the surrounding woods. Soon enough, the days would be hot and humid, but right now, the night air was cool, spring only just arriving.

The fire began to attract guests from the house as people came to stand and stare into the flames, seeing images and telling stories. Still others went out to the dock and sat, watching the moonlight and firelight dancing on the water. Someone had brought a guitar, another a flute, and there were various other musical instruments scattered here and there. The musicians sat down around the fire. Someone would start to play, those that knew the piece would join in, and everyone who knew the words sang.

Maeve settled onto an upside-down five gallon bucket, Duncan standing behind her, his hands on her shoulders, kneading gently. All their hard work had paid off and the party had come off without a hitch. Maeve had worried and fussed so at the preparations that Duncan was sure that Fate herself didn't dare spoil the execution of Maeve's plans.

Kim, fresh from a bath and trailed by her mother, came to stand in front of Maeve.

"I wanna hear Winnie Pooh song," she demanded.

"How do you ask nicely?" Carol chided gently.

Kim screwed her face into a contemplative expression until Carol bumped her softly, rocking her out of her reverie.

"I wanna hear Winnie Pooh song, PLEASE." The word was exaggerated and several of the guests giggled. "C'mon May," the little girl wheedled, "pleeeeaasssseeeee?"

"How can I refuse when you put it that way?" Maeve held her arms out and Kim climbed into her lap, snuggling against her. Maeve kissed the top of the child's head and paused as if in thought. "How does that song go again?"

Kim sighed wearily, as if to say, 'do I have to do everything?'

" 'Cris'fer Robin an' I walk along…' " she sang, her reedlike voice doing a credible rendition.

"Oh yeah. Thanks. You're a pretty good kid, you know that?" Kim nodded sagely and settled down again.

Duncan looked down on them, the old, familiar ache in his heart. The girl was precocious and downright annoying at times, but he would have given everything he had at that moment for her, or one like her, to be their child. Kim and Maeve looked so natural together, like they belonged. His life was much to dangerous to risk exposing an innocent to the dangers of the Gathering. Duncan's head understood that it would never be possible for him to raise a child as his own, but at this moment, his heart really wished that it weren't so.

Karen's husband, Keith, began to pick the old Loggins and Messina tune out on his guitar, the others joining in. Maeve began to sing softly, rocking the little girl in her arms.

" 'Christopher Robin and I walked along,

Under branches lit up by the moon,

Posing our questions to Owl and Eeyore

As our days disappeared all too soon.

But I've wandered much further today than I should,

And I can't seem to find my way back to the wood. ' "

Right after the first line of the song, Maeve had begun to feel the buzz of another Immortal. She knew Duncan had to have felt it too, but he hadn't moved, though he had tensed up involuntarily. She was unwilling to glance around, to search, with this many mortals around, some of whom already thought her more than a bit eccentric. She opted to pretend that nothing was happening, hoping like hell that it was friend, and not foe. There were far too many witnesses around anyway, for anything untoward to happen immediately.

Duncan felt the Recognition and halted his gentle kneading of Maeve's shoulders. He had an suspicion of who it was coming, but he couldn't completely dismiss the idea that the cop had tracked him down. He raised his head to glance nervously back toward the house and then relaxed, smiling.

As Maeve began to sing the chorus, another voice joined hers, taking the higher harmony, a voice she hadn't heard raised in song in many, many years. Maeve felt a different set of hands on her shoulders-- smaller, lighter hands, and she glanced back and up quickly.

Amanda stood behind her, looking down on her and the raptly listening little girl. There was an expression on Amanda's face that was rarely seen there -- a bit of nervousness combined with chagrin. Maeve smiled up at her, touching her hand, squeezing quickly. They continued the song together.

" ' So, help me if you can,

I've got to get back to the House at Pooh Corner by one;

You'd be surprised; there's so much to be done:

Count all the bees in the hive,

Chase all the clouds from the sky.

Back to the days of Christopher Robin and Pooh. ' "

They sang the second verse and chorus again; as the song ended, Maeve stood, carefully handing the mildly protesting child to Carol, before turning to Amanda. The two women faced one another silently for a moment, then embraced fiercely. The guests erupted into scattered applause, no one exactly sure of what had happened, except the three Immortals.

The two women walked arm-in-arm toward the dock, the people sitting there graciously vacating it to give them some privacy.

As they passed him, Duncan asked, half-seriously, "Is it safe to let you two alone together?"

"Never," replied Amanda flippantly, both women pausing, "but probably not for the reasons you're thinking."

He was unsure of exactly how to take her reply, so he stopped, saying, "I'll just head on up to the house. If you need me…"

"Thank you," Maeve whispered and kissed him. Loki trailed behind as she and Amanda walked onto the dock.

"The house is great, Maeve. How do you manage to do it? I thought you were working all the time but you've made this place so beautiful. It's different from the farm in Washington, but it's still 'you', know what I mean? And the water is so beautiful. I thought the place would be full of snakes and bugs, but --"

"Breathe, Amanda. I'm not going to kill you."

Amanda halted her prattling and laughed, some of her tension relieved. They sat down on the edge of the dock, Maeve dangling her feet into the dark water. Loki flopped down by Maeve with a heavy sigh, soon drifting off to sleep. She laid her hand on his head, stroking his ears absently. Amanda gave Maeve a quick glance, appearing to consider what she was about to say.

"I guess I should just spit it out," she said eventually. "I'm sorry; I never should have tried to come between you and MacLeod. It's just that -- he's like a safe place for me. I get kinda crazy when I can't have my way."

"Really?" Maeve asked, semi-sarcastically, her smile softening the bite of her comment. "Remember London? I've seen what you're capable of when you want something." She saw the stricken look on her companion's face. "Relax -- apology accepted."

Amanda looked relieved.

"But don't think I'll forget this anytime soon," Maeve continued. "I seem to recall a certain dashing, young leftenant that I brought home and introduced to you. What a mistake!" She laughed, shaking her head ruefully. "The second he saw you, I no longer existed."

"I didn't plan that!" Amanda blurted. "I was just keeping him company while you changed clothes. Was it my fault that he asked me to the masquerade ball before you?"

"I was working on that!" Maeve retorted. She turned and faced her companion. "I don't work as quickly as you, Amanda. I never have and I never will. We're just different."

"That doesn't mean we can't still be friends, does it?" Amanda queried with a worried tone.

"Come here," Maeve growled good-naturedly and the two women hugged. Ever jealous, Loki awoke and pushed his way between them, both women laughing and reassuring him that he too was loved.

Both of them were quiet for a long while. This time, it was Amanda that spoke first.

"Tell me about what happened."

"Huh?" Maeve seemed startled by her question. "About what? When? The last twenty centuries?"

"Mac said there was a reason why you were glad of your quiet life -- well, I called it boring." She smiled sheepishly at Maeve.

"I guess you do want to know about all of it," her companion said softly, barely audible over the breeze.

"I want to understand why you are who you are. I haven't been able to figure it out on my own, so I thought I should ask." When Maeve didn't reply for a long moment, Amanda gave her a little nudge. "Well?"

A ghostly smile played across Maeve's lips, then was gone as she remembered her early life, and death, in Ireland. "It's a long, long story, and not much of it pleasant." Amanda nodded, encouraging her.

Maeve, taking a deep breath, began to tell her the story. She recounted the tale of her nemesis, and his long pursuit of her, from her first death nearly twenty centuries ago, to his death, and that of her husband, just over a year ago.

-----------------------------

If Tomorrow Never Comes -- Part 4 of 7

for disclaimers and credits, see part 1

"I believe there is a power of healing

That comes with experience

I believe in believing your feelings

Even when they make no sense."

"Angels of Mercy" -- The Badlees

Since the two women had gone down to the dock, Maeve had surfaced from time to time: to talk to her guests, to make sure everyone was having a good time and didn't need anything. Amanda had declined to accompany her, opting to remain behind on the dock with Loki. He had taken a liking to the thief, much to Amanda's surprise and reluctant acceptance. She wasn't exactly a dog person.

It was now well into the wee hours of the morning. The door opened and Duncan looked up to see the two women re-enter the house. Almost everyone was gone -- only Carol and Jim were left, helping to clean up. They spied the twosome entering the house and decided to give them their privacy. Quietly they said their good-byes and bundled Kim into the car, Duncan seeing them out. As he reentered the kitchen Maeve and Amanda were laughing and joking quietly, but Maeve's face was red and her eyes swollen. Amanda looked as if she had shed a few tears herself.

"Everything okay?" he asked.

"Everything is fine," Maeve assured him, sliding into a seat at the counter. "We just had a long talk."

"One we should have had centuries ago," Amanda added, sitting at the desk along the wall. She was considerably more relaxed than she had been when she had first arrived.

Duncan still eyed the two women warily, remembering all too well what had gone on the last time they had all been together.

"We should have," Maeve agreed.

He couldn't help looking again at her puffy eyes, which were still quite red. Maeve was very subdued, but she caught him noticing.

"Everything is fine, Duncan. I gave Amanda the unabridged, unadulterated life history of Maeve Kiernan. Every word of it."

He nodded and reached for her hand, enfolding it in his own. Duncan knew how hard it was on her to recount that tale, even in bits and pieces. To tell the whole thing and deal anew with the emotions it dredged up must be nearly unbearable.

"You sure you're okay?"

"I'm fine," she reassured him. "It's just never easy to tell that story, especially since -- Sean--" She trailed off and her head dropped forward to hide her tears again.

Amanda stood and came to her, slipping an arm around her shoulders. Maeve leaned into her, drawing on her strength, still holding Duncan's hand. After a few moments Maeve sniffed and straightened, wiping her eyes. "Sorry."

"Don't be." Amanda reassured her. Looking at Mac over Maeve's head, she told him quietly, "You were right," and gave Maeve a final squeeze before sitting down beside her at the bar.

Duncan gasped in mock amazement. "I was what? I'm not sure I caught what you said. What was that again?!" Amanda made a swipe at him, the two of them effectively crushing Maeve between them.

"Okay, children!" she shouted over the playful squabbling, "I'm overwhelmed by your caring and concern." She wiggled free and slipped off the stool. "And now I'm hungry," she announced.

Duncan released her hand, grinning like a fool, and opened the refrigerator. There were plenty of leftovers. He grabbed a few plates and set some food out on the bar. "Dinner is served," he informed them in an outrageous pseudo-French butler's voice.

This meal was passed much more pleasantly than the ones they had shared at the farm. Both women were relaxed and talking animatedly. Duncan finally began to relax himself. Afterward, too keyed up to sleep yet, everything was cleaned up and they headed for the deck. Passing the desk again, Amanda picked up a piece of paper in curiosity.

"What's this?" she asked, waving it at Maeve.

"Oh, that's for the patron's ball/begfest we're having next month for the park. Even though the park itself has been open for a month or so, this will be the *official* grand opening. We're hoping to get some new members, some contributions and show off the facility."

"Formal?"

"Yes," Maeve replied cautiously.

"I think I just found a way to make up to you, a little."

"That's not necessary, Amanda," Maeve protested. "You don't owe me anything."

"Do you have anything to wear yet?"

"Noooooo…" Maeve replied, even more cautiously.

"There you go, then," Amanda said happily. "We'll go shopping tomorrow."

"Uh oh," Duncan said to no one in particular, looking somewhat alarmed. Both women glanced at him with mild irritation in their faces.

"I have to go in to work," Maeve began, then hesitated as she saw Amanda's expression fall. "But I can sneak out early." Now Amanda's face split in a huge grin. "I'll do this only if you'll come too," Maeve told her.

"You can do that?"

"I'm organizing it; I can do anything I want." Her gaze traveled to Duncan. "Do you think you can handle having two gorgeous women to escort?" Her smile was just shy of wicked-- Amanda's was brazenly so.

He grinned, a huge burden gone now that the two women were friends again. "It's a dirty job, but somebody's got to do it."

Amanda laughed and turned back to Maeve, plans already whirling through her energetic mind. "Great! We'll both get new clothes, maybe do something with your hair -"

"What's wrong with my hair?"

"Nothing. It just needs a little --"

"Nothing too extreme, now. I'm not terribly fashionable, like you. I look silly in all that frou-frou."

"Nothing too extreme," Amanda agreed, her hands behind her back, both sets of fingers crossed.

They continued on to the deck, both women still chattering away, arm in arm.

Duncan shook his head with a grin. He would never understand women. He had gone from being the bone of contention between them, to virtually ignored in an amazingly short span of time. He joined them, lounging indolently in the open doorway, content to sit and listen to the debate.

-----------------------------

Amanda and Maeve emerged from the shopping mall, bearing the booty of their latest conquests. A designer dress salon had fallen beneath their onslaught, and several shoe stores had taken the brunt of their campaign. Both were festooned with large shopping bags that contained the elements of style that most women found essential, and most men found baffling. Maeve herself was relatively indifferent to fashion, but had truly enjoyed the time spent with her old friend. Amanda had been amazed to discover that Maeve actually had excellent taste. It was a good bit more classic and understated than Amanda's own preferences, but, as Maeve had pointed out, they were different people.

Maeve opened up the back of the Suburban and they deposited their spoils inside.

"I didn't really like this car at first," Amanda told her, "but it kinda grows on you. It certainly holds a lot of stuff." She brushed off her hands, ready to launch anew her salon campaign. Now all she needed to do was to persuade Maeve to do something with her hair. It was gorgeous hair -- a thick, satiny auburn mass that fell nearly to her waist, but, in Amanda's eyes, it was so plain! It needed something to make Maeve really special for that night.

"I'm not so sure about this, Amanda," Maeve told her dubiously as she was being dragged from the car, where they had locked up their purchases, to a salon.

"It's just a haircut. It'll grow back."

"I like my hair the way it is."

"You need something," Amanda told her. "A new style-- something." Amanda tugged at her hand like a child begging for a treat. "Will you at least go in and look at the photos? You might see something you like."

Maeve sighed gustily. "All right. But no promises."

Maeve and Amanda both were in luck. Maeve found a hairstyle she liked and the hairdresser loved her hair and refused to do anything drastic to it. Amanda was a bit put off at being ganged up on but had to admit that the end result was still very attractive.

Maeve stood, brushing loose hair off her shoulders and looked in the mirror again. "That's great -- Thanks Tanya."

Her hair, instead of being mostly one length, was now lightly layered and feathered softly around her face, setting off and softening her strong features. Maeve smiled at Amanda's reflection in the mirror beside her.

"Well?" Amanda was impatient as usual. She had failed in her attempt to get Maeve to have tips applied to her short, utilitarian nails for the event, so the hair was the best she could hope for.

"I like it. I'd forgotten how heavy it is. My head is several pounds lighter now." Maeve surveyed herself one last time before gathering her things. "I really like it."

They never saw the black Cobra parked across the highway from them, the tinted windows just cracked down, a pair of binoculars pressed to the gap. Castillo sat just out of Recognition range, carefully watching the two women.

-----------------------------

Duncan hurried into the house, nearly bursting with his news. He was excited because he had been asked to teach at the local college. Andrea Hewitt, one of their new neighbors, had approached him at the housewarming party. They had fallen into a long conversation while he waited for Maeve and Amanda. During their exchange, it had come up that he had taught at the university level, and that she was the head of the history department at the community college nearby. One of their professors had recently retired and left her scrambling to fill his position, which she offered to Duncan. He had been overjoyed to accept.

Duncan had just returned from her office, spending several hours filling out papers, formalizing things and touring the small campus. He was going to be their new history instructor. He turned the corner into the living room and his first sight of Maeve stopped him short.

"What did you do to your hair?" He immediately regretted the thoughtless question, but was still wary; every time they had parted in the past, she had cut her hair to a more manageable length. It had made it much easier for her to pose as a man when she needed to. But this was not a utilitarian shortening. It was actually quite attractive, and he hoped he hadn't already destroyed her mood by tactlessly blurting out such a stupid question.

Maeve turned and gazed at him coolly. "In some cultures it's known as a haircut. What do they call it on your planet?"

Amanda snickered while Duncan backpedaled mentally. "I shouldn't have said it that way. What I meant is what, no, why --oh hell," he stopped frustrated. He pulled Maeve close and hugged her quickly. "It looks great," he told her, reinforcing his affirmation with a kiss.

"That's better," she told him, swatting him on the rear, just in case.

"So, what is it you're bursting to tell us?" Amanda asked.

Duncan had almost forgotten in the face of his blundering notice of Maeve's hair. "Right!" He gave Maeve a silly smile. "Honey, I won't be home much from now on. I've got a job." Duncan smiled. "The head of the history department at the local community college got all excited when I told her about being adjunct faculty in Seacouver. It seems one of the history professors had a third heart attack and is taking retirement. They need a replacement fast."
"A professor? Just like that?"
"No. Adjunct faculty. Per course pay, no tenure, no benefits. But if all works out, I might be in line for the position. "
"If you'd forge a Ph.D." Amanda snorted. "Come on, Duncan, you're much too honorable."
MacLeod nodded ruefully. "You're right. But we don't exactly need the additional money or the hospital benefits, do we? And if I do a good enough job, they may never get around to a big job search for a permanent replacement. " His eyes twinkled at the prospect of being in the classroom again.
Maeve laughed. "And how many courses do you have to start teaching immediately?"
MacLeod looked embarrassed. He knew he'd accepted the scholarly equivalent of being had. "Six."
Amanda snorted. "No wonder the other guy had his third heart attack."

Once he had filled them in quickly on the details, Maeve glanced at him slyly and said, "You know you'll have to give up sitting on the couch, watching the soaps and eating bon-bons. Who's going to do that for us now?" They turned as one to Amanda, who eyed them both warily.

"What? I'm supposed to go and get a job now? Why? I think two incomes is adequate to support me in the manner to which I am accustomed. Though," she continued airily, "some things are gonna have to change around here."

Maeve and Duncan watched her, frank curiosity on their faces. Amanda grinned, playing them like a Stradivarius.

"First of all, something must be done about this horrid weather." She turned and gestured through the windows at the clouds rolling in, right on time, for the afternoon thundershower. "This simply cannot continue day after day. Then --" She stopped, interrupted by a pillow from the couch striking her squarely in the back of the head. She whirled, demanding, "Who did that?"

The pair stood, innocently wide-eyed, each pointing at the other. Amanda snatched up the pillow from the floor and rushed them. They bolted, Amanda right behind Maeve. The ensuing melee encompassed all three floors, with pillows being used as weapons. Later, the vacuum bag had to be emptied twice after trying to get the feathers off the floor.

-----------------------------

Once the formalities were taken care of, the college wasted no time in setting Duncan up with a series of classes to teach. He had three humanities classes and two world history classes a week to teach, plus a military history class one night a week. He threw himself into his new role with an almost childlike abandon, poring over old volumes for tidbits to reveal to his students as well as spending hours in front of the computer, putting together notes and lectures. He even involved Amanda and Maeve, quizzing them about personal recollections that he could use to spice up his lectures. He would, of course, pass them off as something he uncovered in research or the like.

He proved an instant hit with his students. No doubt, the women took to him because of his looks, but soon, all his students were getting very involved in his classes. Many of them were taking it simply because it was a requirement. Recently, he had more than one student tell him that he made the subject so interesting, they hoped to take the next class in that course of study, especially if he were to teach it.

------------------------------

If Tomorrow Never Comes Part 5 of 7

for credits and disclaimers, see part 1

"I found out one life just ain't enough,

I need another soul to feed on.

I'm the flame, I can't get burnt

I'm wholly understated."

"Busted" -- Matchbox 20

Mac unlocked the door of his Blazer and tossed his briefcase inside. The nights were getting warmer and the duster he wore was getting a little stuffy. As he got it part way off, he felt Recognition and turned to look around, his hand already reaching into the coat for his sword. A quick tattoo of boot heels clocked on the pavement, approaching rapidly, and a hand tangled the coat around his arm, fouling Duncan's grip on the sword. Duncan spread his legs wide to keep his balance and reached back with his other hand to the knife he kept hidden in the small of his back.

"Not so fast, Highlander," a male voice hissed in his ear.

Duncan twisted in the man's grip and broke free, the sword still in hand, but covered by the coat. Castillo stood before him, hands empty, a mocking smirk on his face.

"I'm not here to dance, not tonight. Just wanted you to know I'm watching you, and your lady friends. You're a lucky man. Two beautiful women, each so different from the other. How do you work it out? Not that it matters. I intend to relieve you of them anyway." He watched Duncan's face carefully to see his reaction.

Duncan tried to control his emotions, but memories of Tessa overwhelmed him for a scant second. White rage flared through him swiftly and he barely suppressed the urge to kill Castillo on the spot. He would not fail to protect someone he loved again. His negligence had caused Tessa's death. No matter what anyone told him, no matter how blameless they said he was, he was responsible. He should have been there. Tessa was beyond his grasp now, but Maeve and Amanda he could do something about.

He centered himself, both mentally and physically, calming his murderous impulse and cooling his rage. 'A warrior's heart must be cold in battle,' a familiar voice echoed in his mind and Duncan thanked Hideo Koto once again. Though long dead, the samurai still managed to teach MacLeod from time to time. The entire process took less than a second.

"You stay away from them," he said evenly, in a low and dangerous voice.

"Ooh, careful, you're frightening me," Castillo replied in a decidedly calm and unaffected voice. "You can spare them, you can protect them," he offered. At Duncan's doubting but curious look, he continued, "Just let me take your head." A note of longing colored his voice. "I can almost taste your Quickening. With all the opponents you've faced, it'll be the sweetest I've ever had."

"Not a chance," warned MacLeod, alarm rising at the covetous attitude of this man. "I'm more than capable of taking care of myself, and them."

"So you say," Castillo retorted. "But, how willing will you become after I take one, or maybe both?" He smiled as Duncan's eyes went even darker, their bleak expression frightening in their emptiness. But Castillo wasn't buying it. "Neither of them have had the amount of victories that you have, but I'm willing to have an appetizer before the main course."

"You'll go hungry. If you so much as touch them, you die"

Castillo sauntered away as a trickle of students leaving class began to filter into the parking lot.

"Don't bet the farm on it, MacLeod. Don't bet the farm."

------------------------------

Castillo eased back into the seat of his Cobra, lighting a cigarette. He could almost smell the power coming off MacLeod. There was something about this one, he decided. An aura, a subtle but resonating presence that begged to be savored, like a fine cognac or a Cuban cigar.

Antonio had no doubt that he could take MacLeod. That attitude alone gave him some advantage over his opponents. He was arrogant and prideful; he had every right to be. After all, hadn't he landed with the King's ships here when this land was still an insect-ridden swamp? This state was his hunting ground and had been for centuries. First it had been the animals: panther, bear, flighty deer. It wasn't long before these had ceased to hold his attention, so he sought amusement elsewhere.

Not long after he bored of this game, he had died, spitted on the end of a Seminole spear. The shame of such a demise was vindicated by their awe at his rising from the dead. This convinced him of what he had suspected all along. He wasn't like others. He lived where they died, was the wolf to their sheep. He remained vital and strong while they grew old and withered.

He began to hunt men, legitimizing it by becoming a bounty hunter. Castillo remained in this occupation for years, until he discovered another of his kind. That had proven quite an education. Learning all he could from the Spanish captain who was his teacher while based at Castillo de San Marcos, he soon tired of the drilling and constant practice. He took the man's head, wanting to experience first-hand this 'Quickening.' The sensation was delicious, better than the best wine or liqueur. This was far superior to any experience he had ever encountered, almost overwhelming. He wanted more, needed more. The acquisition of Quickenings had become the purpose of his life. Mortals mattered not at all to him. He only interacted with them because it was necessary to do so to remain concealed, from his kind and theirs. He cared little about the Game; after all, if he killed all the rest, there would be no more Quickenings and no more of the raw, lusting ecstasy of the transfer. Other Immortals existed only to provide him with the object of his desire, the Quickening. He would deal with the Game and the Prize later.

-------------------------------

Duncan got himself under control again as he drove, focusing and directing his thoughts to what he should do about this man. It was obvious that no amount of reasoning would work. Castillo wanted one thing: his Quickening. Duncan had encountered this type before. It was a need, a lusting addiction to the rush of raw energy that left the defeated body and invaded the victor with its screaming arrival. There was nothing to be done about Immortals like Castillo except eliminate them. They were intent and mindless in their purpose, having no conscience to appeal to, nothing they loved that another could offer them or threaten them with. The only thing they wanted from another Immortal was their head and all the bells and whistles that came with it. Castillo needed to be destroyed, like a mad dog.

------------------------------

Amanda felt restless and bored. Maeve was with Jim at the animal park, and Duncan was busy at the college, holding office hours and preparing for the military weapons class that night. It was one of those times she liked least: left alone with just her thoughts for company.
They weren't entirely pleasant. She and Maeve made good companions, and had for centuries. She and Duncan made passionate lovers. But now that Duncan and Maeve were together, the question was, how long could she stay? Both were making her welcome, but at some point the welcome would get worn. Amanda hated the feeling of imposing. She preferred being the center of attention and she couldn't be that here, with Maeve and Duncan's attention primarily on each other. Amanda would much rather exit gracefully and find a place of her own. There were lots of places she could go, anywhere in the world.
Each of the other two had what they wanted, but she. . . .
Her dark thoughts were interrupted by the Recognition. Not quite like Duncan's, or Maeve's. Definitely not Methos: he had an aura all his own. Who?
She had her sword out as she stepped around the edge of the house--and directly into the path of a young Hispanic man with sunglasses, a black car parked behind him.
Amanda suddenly lowered her sword and smiled. "Antonio! It's been centuries! Are you still. . . . hunting here?"
Castillo laughed. "Yes, Amanda. Yes, I am."
------------------------------------

Maeve unlocked the door to the condo, dropping her keys on the counter. She opened the refrigerator, trying to find something to make a sandwich out of. She kept a supply of food here, preferring to stop here for lunch than frequent the burger joints in town, or wrestle the crowds of tourists at the other local restaurants. Halfway through applying mustard to her bread, Maeve noticed something was different. All was not exactly as she had left it a few days ago. She couldn't quite put her finger on it, until she entered the bedroom.

The sliding door was open slightly, letting in the sound and smell of the surf.

"Hello?" she called cautiously. Pulling the bowie knife from the sheath at the small of her back, she cautiously checked the rest of the condo, satisfying herself that she was there alone. Shrugging mentally and putting her weapon away, she finished her sandwich, looking out at the dunes from the living room. Rain was beginning to drizzle from the grey flannel sky, so the beach was deserted.

Maeve stood and watched the increasingly rough waters for a while before realizing that the beach wasn't quite as empty as she had first thought. There was a lone figure sitting at the edge of the sea oats that looked familiar. Maeve went down to investigate, a rain slicker draped over her head. The dawning Recognition as she drew closer to the seated figure confirmed her suspicions. He turned to see her coming down the boardwalk, seeming almost startled.

"Come here often?" Maeve inquired as she sat next to Duncan on the sand, offering to share her shelter from the rain.

"Sometimes," he admitted, holding his end of the rain slicker tighter as the rain began to come down in earnest. They sat quietly for a long while, listening the downpour and the surf. Finally he spoke.

"Do you know of an Antonio Castillo?" When she shook her head, he continued. "He's an FHP officer, one of us." Duncan told her of the stop on the way home from Miami and what had happened.

"I knew something was up."

He looked up at her, surprised. "Have I been that transparent?"

"You've been quiet, withdrawn, tumbling something over and over in that hyperactive Scottish mind of yours, searching for a solution." She shrugged. "I think you just pissed him off," Maeve suggested. "Maybe this will blow over."

"No. He's approached me again, just the other day. Threatened all of us -- you, me, and Amanda. I think it's a little more than simple anger at this point."

"We can take care of ourselves, Duncan." When he didn't raise his eyes, Maeve reached out with her hand and turned his head so that he was forced to look at her. "Amanda and I are very capable; don't turn this into trying to defend us."

"I'm not!" he cried, frustrated. Then he relented. "Well, maybe just a bit. But I don't take threats to my loved ones lightly-- you know that."

"I know," she told him softly, releasing his face. "You're the Laird, adopting your clan as you go. And I'm privileged and flattered to be included, but don't do this." She tucked a gentle finger under his chin to turn him toward her again. "I'm not Tessa. Neither is Amanda."

He stared at her hard, almost taking offense at her invoking Tessa's name. Tessa had been a beautiful, strong, fiercely loyal, willful woman, the love of his life. And very mortal. His eyes squinted shut in agony as the echoed memory of a pistol report sounded in his brain. For a second, the pain of losing her was as fresh as it had been the moment it happened. But the recollection made him realize that Maeve was right; she and Amanda weren't vulnerable in the same way Tessa had been, and he shouldn't have the same concerns about them. He reopened his eyes to see Maeve looking at him intently. He shook his head, resigned that she was right and not liking it one bit. Threats to his 'family' were taken very personally.

"But this man is an Immortal. He knows what we are and how to kill us, and seems to take great delight in doing so." Duncan took a deep breath, his body nearly thrumming with pent up tension. "I don't want to lose any more," he said softly, barely above a whisper.

"I know. We'll deal with it, when it happens. He's not the first one of us to kill for pleasure." She stood, offering her hand to help him to his feet. When he was up, she turned to face him, looking up into his eyes, not allowing him to tear his gaze away.

"Don't borrow trouble, Duncan. It finds us soon enough as it is."

She sounded so much like his mother, he bowed his head and mumbled, "Yes ma'am," like a chastened boy, a small, reluctant smile on his lips.

-----------------------------

"A seminar!" Duncan fumed. He flung the brochure across the desk where it hit the wall solidly, landing with its pages downward, like a tiny circus tent. "Now is not the time that I should be leaving town!"

Maeve watched him carefully with her eyebrows raised. "Do you feel better now?" she questioned, half-sarcastically.

"Not really," he sighed. "It's just so ridiculous. They're acting as if I've never taught a class before and now I have to attend a class myself in order to keep my license."

MacLeod retrieved and held up the brochure at her request. He looked at it with some confusion. "It's called: 'The Learning Disabled College Student: New Challenges, New Potential.' Wonder if it will be a good course?" MacLeod knew that there were very bright students who nonetheless couldn't organize their notes, let alone their test papers and reports. Normally he would enjoy something like this, but the timing was horrible.
Maeve's answer was a snort. "If it lives up to *it's potential,* I'd be very surprised. More likely it's some bullshit thing they make you do to earn them some revenue and waste everyone's time. For breakfast they'll serve cellophane wrapped Danish and weak coffee. At the opening meeting they give you a little name tag with your name misspelled on it. The meeting rooms will be freezing cold, your fellow inmates will be slouched like mannequins in their chairs and you'll fight narcoleptic tendencies for three days as some speaker drones on and on. At the end of it all they'll give you a piece of paper with your name misspelled on it that congratulates you on your ability to retain consciousness during the meetings."

Duncan looked slantwise at her, a smile twisting the corners of his lips up despite himself. "Sounds like the voice of experience."

"Veterinarians have those kinds of meetings *all* the time," Maeve grinned at him. "We usually take the opportunity to get plastered at the hotel bar after dinner and tell horror stories about our experiences, complete with sound effects, dance steps and five-part harmony." She patted his shoulder in sympathy. "So go, have a good time in south Florida and try not to show up to the morning seminar on the second day with two different shoes and your shirt on backward."

He watched her curiously as she stood and headed for the stairs. "Hey," he called, "you never told me anything about somebody's shirt being on backward. Maeve?"

-----------------------------

An overcast sky lent a gloomy pall to the afternoon. Maeve was ill at ease. Something was not right, but she just couldn't put her finger on it. MacLeod had left for his mandatory continuing education the morning before and Amanda didn't want to talk; she just grunted and returned to her book.

"I never figured you for the intellectual type," Maeve accused grumpily.

"Why don't you go out and play?" Amanda groused back. "I've never seen someone so tense at being cooped up in a house. Go outside! It's not like the rain is going to kill you!"

"Fine! I'll be at the barn!" Maeve huffed out of the house, and was halfway across the yard before the realization hit her that Amanda had expertly manipulated her yet again. Amanda wanted to be alone in the house, and had succeeded in driving Maeve out.

"Aarrrggggh!!!" she roared as she stepped into the barn, startling Loki where he sought refuge from the drizzle. "Sorry kid," she apologized to the dog. "She just drives me crazy sometimes." Forgetting what it was she had in mind when she headed out to the building, she settled for leaning against the door frame, and watching the rain drop lazily from the sky.

"You know, I could get this kind of weather in Seacouver, this is supposed to be the Sunshine State," she commented to no one in particular. Loki stared at her, then abandoned her for the house. "Man's best friend, my ass," she complained. Looking up at the weeping sky again, she sighed. "At least it's warm."

A crunch of gravel in the drive arrived almost as the Recognition did. Turning quickly, Maeve saw an unfamiliar black car stop. Easing toward the tack room to get her sword, she watched as an apparently young man got out, scanning his surroundings for the Immortal he sensed. She knew instantly who he was. His eyes fell on her, and he pulled a gun from his jacket.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," he warned mockingly. When she continued toward where her sword was hidden, he cocked the pistol and aimed it directly at her. She knew he would easily kill her at this range. Pausing, she waited.

"Good girl."

"I'm not good, and I'm certainly no girl," Maeve retorted. "Mac's not here."

"You'll do." Castillo smiled and raised his weapon a little higher to train the sight more closely on her. "Once he finds out I've killed his woman, he'll come back to challenge me. I'm sorry to have to do it like this, but I have to make sure he'll come. A dishonorable slaying of his lover would be enough to flush him out, don't you think?"

With relief, Maeve heard a light step behind her, recognizing it as Amanda's. She hoped like hell Amanda had brought her own sword, or one for Maeve to use. She had every intention of making this boy dance for a long time before she took his head.

"She'll be more valuable alive, Antonio." A cold barrel pressed into the base of Maeve's skull. Wide-eyed, she rolled them in a desperate attempt to see back over her shoulder without moving her head.

"Do you really think so?" Castillo queried. "The dead ones always bring them running."

"Trust me," Amanda said, gripping Maeve's arm and shoving her forward. Maeve spun, rounding on Amanda in fury.

"You snake!" she hissed, eyes glittering dangerously. "Your time is coming, Amanda. I'll take your head myself!!"

"Yeah, yeah," Amanda muttered. "I'm keeping you alive, aren't I?"

"Your mistake," Maeve snarled. She was incredulous. After all this time, and all they'd been through --she couldn't believe that Amanda would betray her, again! Everything had been worked out; they were friends, for God's sake!

"Why?!" Maeve whispered harshly. "I thought --"

"*Your* mistake," Amanda sneered. She shoved Maeve forward again, into Castillo's waiting arms. "Use Tufflon cuffs on her," Amanda advised him. "She can pick her way out of any metal cuffs around. I should know, I taught her." The gun was held steady at point blank range, while he readied the unbreakable loops to confine their captive's arms.

Maeve struggled to no avail, hissing in a sharp breath as Castillo drew the plastic strips tight around her wrists. The only way these would come off now was for them to be cut off. He turned her roughly and Maeve pretended to stumble into him, straightening suddenly upwards under his chin. His mouth slammed shut as the top of her skull contacted his jaw with an audible impact, but he surprised her by not going down. He staggered back, clutching his injured jaw, then flipped the pistol up and caught it by the barrel. He deliberately drew back his gun hand, cracking her hard across the skull with the butt. Maeve dropped straight to the gravel like a bag of rocks.

Amanda just looked at him. "Was that entirely necessary?" She looked down at Maeve's limp body, shaking her head in exasperation.

"Yes," he managed between clenched teeth, holding his broken jaw.

Amanda looked at him, still shaking her head sadly. "Well, smart man, now you have to carry her to the car. I think you killed her."

-----------------------------

If Tomorrow Never Comes Part 6 of 7

for credits and disclaimers, see part 1

"Something's going wrong inside of you

Burden's bearing down and seeping through.

Well, I don't want to bleed anymore for you

And I don't to breathe any hatred too."

"Wasting Time" -- Collective Soul

She lay face down on a wooden floor, the air redolent with the smells peculiar to old schools and churches: paper, dust, well-worn wood. As some semblance of awareness returned, her eyes opened and she discovered she was lying in a pool of multicolored light, the late afternoon sun beaming through a stained glass window. A church then. 'This may or may not be a good sign,' she thought to herself.

Maeve was at first aware of a throb, centering on the large knot on the back of her head. Then, gradually, the rest of her body checked in, informing her that, while battered and bruised, everything was still more or less intact. As her healing began to alleviate the physical pain, the mental anguish of the situation began to dawn on her.

Amanda had really done it this time. There was no way around it; she had outdone herself in the betrayal department. Maeve spent several fruitless but strangely satisfying moments gleefully concocting new and unusual ways of torturing Amanda to death over and over, before finally taking her head. She heard a step on the wooden floor near her head.

"Maeve?" An urgent whisper, voice filled with concern. Amanda.

"What do you want?!" Maeve growled in a fierce whisper.

Amanda's concern shifted from Maeve to the situation at hand. "Just go with it. Pretend you're still pissed."
"I *AM* still pissed," came the reply. Maeve's black eye from hitting the driveway gravel was just beginning to fade. She glared up at Amanda from her good eye. "What the hell is going on here?"

A footstep behind them in the doorway brought Amanda to full alert and she said, a little louder than before, "Nothing you should concern yourself with." She then punctuated this remark with a backhanded blow across Maeve's face that sent the woman sprawling again.

Maeve tried to scramble to her feet, succeeding only in rolling to a kneeling position. The black eye was back in force and had brought a split lip along for company. Maeve's one-eyed glare had the strength to melt tensile steel.

"You bitch; wait'll I get my hands on you."

"Whatever." Amanda sounded bored. She sauntered to Castillo's side.

Castillo looked at Amanda, blatant lust evident in his expression. She smiled silkily at his attentions, tracing a hand lightly along the open collar of his shirt. He preened visibly at the attention. Maeve had to suppress a throaty gag. Castillo glanced up at the noise. "I still don't see why I can't kill her," he complained petulantly.

"Because she's bait, Antonio." Amanda explained patiently, not for the first time. "If she's still alive and in danger, he'll rush back, be off guard. If you kill her, then he can bide his time and prepare." From behind her, Amanda heard a soft hissing exhalation. She tried to resist turning and looking but failed.

Maeve was looking directly at her. Her face was curiously devoid of any expression, but those green eyes held Amanda's with a naked promise of retribution. Amanda tore her gaze away and heard a soft chuckle come from the bound woman. With a supreme effort, the thief ignored it and turned back to Castillo.

"Now what?" she asked him, tracing a finger covetously down his arm.

"Now we wait for MacLeod. The call has been made." He settled himself on a narrow pew and drew his sword and a whetstone from his coat. "I plan to be ready this time."

-----------------------------

Early the next morning, Maeve was roughly shaken awake and marched from the church, deeper into the woods to a small abandoned house. It was bereft of windows and had only one door, a moldering couch and table the only recognizable contents. Trees had grown right up to the very edge of the structure, screening it from view until it was nearly stumbled over. The rest of their day was spent in near silence as the tension grew thicker while they waited.

Antonio Castillo, Immortal hunter, was dozing in a chair by the front door of the abandoned house. He was startled awake by the sensation of another of his kind approaching. MacLeod. It had to be. He stood, tucking his Ruger in the small of his back and hurried into the next room where Amanda and Maeve were.

"Ladies, it's showtime!" The cry died on his lips at the sight that greeted him. Amanda, his co-conspirator, was in the act of betraying him. She was struggling to slip a knife between the strands of the Tufflon cuffs that bound Maeve's hands in the small of her back. With a roar of inarticulate rage, Castillo bore down upon them, viciously backhanding Amanda away from his captive, knocking both women to the floor. Maeve rolled about helplessly, like an upended turtle, trying to get her feet back under her. Amanda lay still, stunned by the impact.

Having heard the commotion inside, the door burst inward, revealing MacLeod for an instant. Castillo whirled, snatching his Ruger free and shot from the hip, dropping MacLeod like a poleaxed steer. His limp body fell back through the door onto the ground outside. Castillo tucked the gun back into his waistband and reached under his coat to pull his sword free. He started toward the door, sword raised it over his head to strike MacLeod where he lay helplessly.

"NO!!!" Maeve bellowed.

The sheer volume of the unexpected shout stopped Castillo in his tracks. He turned in surprise to see her gain her feet.

"You want me? Come and get me," she taunted him. "But cut me loose first and put down your gun." An odd light had crept into Maeve's expression. It was an emotion beyond rage, bordering on a complete loss of reason. She beckoned to the Spaniard.

"Tell you what, I'll even let you keep your sword and I'll fight you barehanded." Her voice dropped to a low, poisonous hiss. "I'll take your sword away from you and cut off your goddamned head with it!!"

Castillo's brows knit together in amazement. This woman had the audacity to challenge him, here and now? Her loyalty did her credit, but her timing was rather annoying. Deciding he had time for a minor diversion, he turned to her, advancing slowly, his eyes locked with hers.

Maeve braced herself. She couldn't get her hands free, but she hoped she could draw his attention away from MacLeod long enough that Duncan would be able to recover and, hopefully, save her ass. If not, it was okay. Mac was worth it. As Castillo bore down on her with his naked blade, her salvation came, but from a totally unexpected source.

Castillo was brought up short by a sword crossing his with a steely ring. At the other end of the parrying weapon was Amanda. Her eyes burned dark and manic, boring into his own.

"No one hits me and gets away with it." Her voice was silky, quiet and deadly. She circled him like a shark, her eyes fixed on his, and every movement of her body a direct response to and echo of his own.

Maeve redoubled her efforts to free her hands. She grunted in pain as the tough straps bit into her wrists and soon her hands were slick with blood. She hadn't the faintest clue just what the hell was going on. 'First Amanda's my friend, then she betrays me. Then she's trying to help me, then she betrays me. Now she's my friend again.'

Not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, at least not until she had ridden that sucker for all it was worth, Maeve fervently hoped Amanda had managed to do some damage to the restraints before getting distracted. She tried to keep an eye on everything going on, but with her struggles to get loose she couldn't keep track of the fight. With a hiss of agony, she managed to get some slack in the bindings and, thus encouraged, continued to yank at her hands, waiting to feel the sensation of MacLeod's revival. It didn't come.

Amanda pinked Castillo several times but he replied with a wicked slash at her legs, scoring a long cut in her thigh. Hobbling carefully away from him, she did not retreat, merely gave ground for a moment.

"Why are you doing this?" he hissed. "We were going to go places together."

"You're going places all right," she replied. "Are you so arrogant that you refuse to acknowledge that you've been had?" A thrust, a parry, a backslash. "You think you're the only one that can take what you want? I've been doing that for centuries, quite a few more than you. Your kind can't be allowed to survive. You take Quickenings just for the rush. You're addicted to the sensation. You're also an amateur." She smiled as his face darkened angrily. "But I give you good marks for effort. Too bad you won't have a chance to work on your technique."

Roaring, Castillo rushed her, knocking her down. He nearly had her pinned, but her acrobat's lithe body slithered free, leaving only her jacket trapped beneath his hands.

Just then, with a scream of agony, Maeve finally broke the straps on her wrists. They were buried deep in the flesh and blood ran steadily from the gashes, but her hands were separate and useable. Flexing them quickly, she trapped the sword Amanda slid to her across the floor. Flipping it up with her foot, she caught it in midair and advanced on Castillo, being careful to keep an eye on Amanda, just in case. A wicked light shone from her incandescent eyes as she bore down on him. Her free hand beckoned to him mockingly.

"C'mon, boy," she wheedled, "let's dance." She shifted her grip on the sword and lunged. Castillo parried it, but his mind was not in the fight. He couldn't figure out where he had gone wrong. What had he done differently that upset his plans so? Why did a woman betray him? He snapped back to reality when his reflexive parry of an overhand blow from Maeve didn't hold and her blade slid down his, the tip of her sword nearly parting his hair. Maeve snickered and drew back, ready to attack again.

"What's the matter?" Panting, she flexed her hands in an attempt to keep the blood circulating through them. They were going numb quickly, the nylon bands buried deep in her wrists and slowing the blood flow. Her hands were swollen and purple now and she adjusted her grip on the sword hilt to include both of them. The wounds couldn't heal, not until the strands were removed, but that was a luxury she would have to forgo for the time being.

"Afraid to actually fight a woman?" She was rewarded for her insolence by his rushing her and attempting to muscle her down. It wasn't much different than what a fractious stallion might try so she reacted accordingly. As his forearms struck hers, she absorbed the impact, widening her stance and leaning into the strike. There was limited room in the old house so Castillo hadn't had enough time to get any speed up and Maeve held him off, twisting to one side to deflect him, finally pushing him off balance.

The fight continued for some time with equal blows traded, but time took its toll on Maeve's hands. She had tried to ignore the increasing numbness but eventually her grip slipped and her sword fell. Castillo grinned triumphantly and rushed her. Maeve stood, waiting for the attack, mind whirling in an attempt to see her way out of this situation. Just as he was taking his final step toward her with his sword raised high, a gunshot rang out and he stumbled in mid-flight, knocking her down with the momentum of his rush. Maeve scrambled away from him as he looked wide eyed over his shoulder.

Amanda held his pilfered Ruger, the muzzle still smoking. Maeve nodded decisively, finally satisfied that Amanda was firmly on her side, if for no other reason than to keep MacLeod alive.

Castillo began to realize that the two women were just as willing as he had been to break the rules of one on one combat to see him dead, and rather than continue against them, he staggered out the door and vanished into the gloom.

Maeve tried to get to her feet but her hands refused to catch anything to pull herself up. She pointed with her chin at the open door, shouting at Amanda. "He's getting away!"

Amanda reached down, carefully avoiding Maeve's wrists, gripping her forearm and elbow to help her up. "Mac'll get him," she replied calmly.

"How can you be so sure?" Maeve demanded. "I never felt him revive."

"You were busy," Amanda told her. "Besides, he's not out there anymore. I checked."

------------------------------

Agony greeted him upon awakening, if it could be called an awakening. It was more a simple return of sensation following the peaceful oblivion of death, a blinding, excruciating awareness. No rational thought existed for him but the need to get away. Any semblance of the warrior was subverted by the animal in pain. He was no good for combat; healing was what he needed and instinct told him that this place was not safe for that. Elbows and toes dug into the shifting surface of decaying leaves and pine needles, fingers scrabbled for purchase and he deliberately made his way into the trees, instinctively seeking solace and solitude in the woods, to hole up and heal.

A thicket of palmetto and wax myrtle beckoned, the scratches he received from the palmetto stems not healing right away. His Immortal recuperative powers had more pressing concerns at hand. The bullet wound to his head demanded immediate attention; the rest could wait. Pulling himself inside the screening shelter of the bushes, he curled into a tight ball and waited, oblivious to the clamor of combat so close. A part of him began to become aware, something of him realizing that the battle concerned him somehow, but he could manage no more than that.

-----------------------------

"Ouch!" Maeve snarled through clenched teeth as Amanda tried again to get the knife blade under the embedded nylon.

"Sorry," Amanda mumbled, concentrating on the task. She dug mercilessly at the nylon at Maeve's urging. After more swearing on both their parts, the first strand parted and Maeve sighed audibly. Already the blood flow had stopped and the wound was beginning to seal. The second binding on her left wrist was not so co-operative. Maeve managed to hold remarkably still during the process, but hisses and barely stifled oaths punctuated the air. After a particularly long battle with the knife and the Tufflon cuff, Amanda threw up her hands in disgust. "I can't get it. It's too deep."

Maeve winced again and seemed to steel herself. "Yes you can. Put the point on it."

Amanda's eyes widened. "What! Impale your wrist?"

Maeve nodded tersely. "It can't hurt much more than it already does. Do it." She settled herself more firmly against the table on which her wrist rested, trying to relax the hand to aid the passage of the blade.

Amanda hesitated, knife poised over Maeve's wrist. "Just remember; this was your idea."

"Amanda!"

"Okay, okay!" The thief placed the point of the knife against her best guess at the location of the strand. Then, without warning, she pushed downward with all her might.

For a second it seemed as if the nylon would hold. The pressure Amanda exerted against it spread to either half of the band and dug it even deeper into Maeve's arm. Then it gave way abruptly, the knife blade shooting suddenly downward, burying its point in the table, pinning Maeve's wrist to the tabletop. The scream that she hadn't allowed herself thus far was torn involuntarily from her throat. But the ends of the cuff popped free and Maeve shakily pulled it loose and flung it aside. Then, giving Amanda a look that hovered somewhere between gratitude and fury, Maeve wrapped her almost-healed right hand around the hilt. Sucking in a breath, she pulled upward. Grunting in surprise at how deeply the knife was buried she tried again, rocking it slightly to loosen its grip. The blade shot free from the table and her wrist and then clattered to the floor. Maeve sat down suddenly, her body deciding for her that now would be a good time to take a break and sort things out.

Amanda knelt by her quickly, examining the wounds. They were closing rapidly and would be fully healed in minutes. Maeve looked up at her, the gratitude finally gaining the majority of her expression.

"You're a lot stronger than you look," she finally said.

------------------------------

Duncan came back to himself. He was knotted tightly in a ball, his head cradled in his hands. The skin beneath his touch was closed, but he couldn't remember how he had gotten there or why he had such a monumental headache. He began to slowly uncurl, testing each muscle carefully before stretching it. Crashing steps sounded nearby in the deep leaf litter and Duncan froze as the belated hum of another Immortal presence reverberated through his pounding skull. He found himself on his feet, sword in hand before he realized it. Reflex and some as-yet unremembered need sent him out into the approaching Immortal's path.

Castillo stopped short, reined in abruptly by Recognition. The Highlander was back again, but certainly worse for the wear. MacLeod's face was covered in blood and it soaked his shirt front. The stance he took was unsteady and Castillo could tell that his opponent was confused and uncoordinated. The sight of his intended prey presenting itself to him like a sacrifice sent a surge of smug expectation through him. Grinning to himself, the Spaniard shook off his lethargy and stepped closer.

Duncan knew the face and a deep instinct told him that this man was foul, destructive. A memory tugged desperately at MacLeod's mental sleeve, demanding attention. His head hurt less and things were beginning to settle into place.

Castillo's confidence soared. He would take this one's head, then go back to the two women. With MacLeod's Quickening, he was positive that they would be taken as easily as wind-borne leaves. He wondered idly if there were any interesting effects from taking three Quickenings so close together. 'One way to find out,' he thought, and advanced.

Blades crossed and steel rang. The Spaniard's supreme confidence held as his opponent showed no style, no finesse. He was almost disappointed. He had expected better of the Scotsman, what with the reputation that followed him wherever he went. Castillo swung upward, drawing his blade along MacLeod's thigh, opening it up from kneecap to hipbone. It was a shallow slice but bled profusely and MacLeod faltered in his step. Castillo pressed his advantage again, whirling to hack at Duncan's head. He was surprised to realize that Duncan was no longer there. MacLeod had leapt aside, sweeping his katana downward to meet Castillo's blade. Shocked by this sudden surge of energy, Castillo grinned tightly and crouched, ready to bear the storm.

There was no grace to MacLeod's fighting. His moves were elemental and spare. No energy was wasted because there was none to be had. His reserves were depleted; he was running on fumes. He fought on instinct and strength of will alone. When the slice of his opponent's sword tip opened his leg, he tried to remember, to put the pieces back together in some form he could understand, but he couldn't concentrate on it all at once. Some primal stirring in his brain gently took control and removed that decision from him. Operating automatically, his motions flowed one into another, each stroke part of a continuous rhythm that worked unceasingly. He didn't feel the sting of the leg wound, his head had ceased to throb, his mind was empty of any conscious thought. He acted and reacted, becoming a force of nature, unaware of his surroundings, nothing existing but the blade in his hands and the movement of his body through space.

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If Tomorrow Never Comes Part 7 of 7

for credits and disclaimers, see part 1

"Broken down on this lonesome highway,

Just my luck that you were headin' my way

Together we drove off into the night

Wherever we end up will be all right."

"Follow You Down" -- The Rembrandts

"Just what the hell has been going on here?!" Maeve demanded as Amanda helped her to her feet again. Maeve pulled away, her gaze distrustful. Amanda sighed.

"I caught him snooping around the house a week ago. I met him ages ago when I came through this part of the world. He was looking to kill you and Mac. I had to do something and knew I'd have to out think him. So, I told him about Mac and I and made out like you were an interloper on our relationship and he had chosen you over me."

Maeve winced as she heard the real pain in Amanda's voice. She knew that it still hurt Amanda that Duncan was with her now and, despite everything that had happened, this somehow made Maeve feel guilty.

Amanda continued. "Anyway, I told him I wanted to get back at both of you and proposed this plan."

"How do I know that you didn't *really* do all this for that very reason and then decide to go with the winner?" Maeve asked.

"I guess you'll just have to trust me," Amanda told her quietly. "I did try to cut you loose, and I did give you my sword. I could have let him take you, then taken his head while he was down, and had Duncan to comfort, all to myself after it was all over." There was a defiant look in her eyes, daring Maeve to believe her.

Maeve was starting to, but was still angry at having been used as a pawn. Quiet for a long while, she mulled things over. "Then, why didn't you let me in on the secret?" she challenged, a petulant frown on her face.

"As you keep reminding me, we *are* two very different people. You're too honest Maeve. You would have given it away."
"I would not!" Maeve exclaimed. "I can pull off a scam."

"I know you can. I know how you got that estate, and the house in London, remember?" Maeve nodded as Amanda went on. "But here you were so convincing, you had to be. You hated me, just like I knew you would, and it made the story I told Castillo seem all the more real to him. I needed him to believe me, so that we could get rid of him." Amanda shook her head. "His type is dangerous, so much more so than the average Immortal, because all he wants is the Quickening. He doesn't care about money or power or anything, just the rush."

Maeve nodded slowly. "You're right. I would have given it away. I don't lie very well." She reached out and placed a hand on Amanda's shoulder. "I'm sorry if I doubted you, even though it was necessary."

Amanda hugged her quickly, relieved that it was finally over. "It's okay. I knew you'd probably forgive me too. It's in your nature."

"Am I that predictable?" Maeve asked, frowning.

"Sure are."

"Wow," she mused. "Maybe I should work on that." A shadow passed over her expression. "In that case, I'm really sorry about some of things I was thinking about doing to you when I got loose." A shudder passed through her. "Really sorry."

Amanda looked intrigued. "Oh yeah? Like what?"

Both women started when the Quickening began.

"Whose was that?" Maeve asked, her eyes wide.

"I don't know," Amanda replied. They looked at one another and bolted as one out the door, toward the firestorm of energy.

----------------------------

There were two bodies lying face downward in the leaves. The late evening gloom made it hard to tell which one still had a head attached. Amanda then noticed that both swords lay by the body furthest from them and hurried over. A glance at the nearer body told Maeve that he was the loser, but she couldn't bring herself to approach and identify him. The victor groaned and rolled onto his back.

MacLeod blinked up at the two women, confusion still evident in his gaze. They knelt beside him, helping him to sit up. Maeve reached up and pushed the blood-matted hair gently off his forehead, revealing an angry red mark where the bullet had entered. His eyes moved from one to the other. Recognition bloomed in his eyes and he suddenly pulled them both to him in a fierce embrace. They clung to him, and each other, overwhelmed by the relief. Duncan's body shook convulsively, from exhaustion and emotion.

"I thought I'd lost ye both," he whispered to them, his Scot's burr invading his speech in his weakness.

They reassured him, the three of them raining tears upon each other. They let one another go finally and Maeve pushed herself to her feet, offering a hand to both of them.

"Let's go home."

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