"We Belong" by Deborah K. Moseley

Standard disclaimer and appeasement to evil spirits:

This is a sequel to my first ever attempt at fanfic, Running On Empty. If you haven't, and would like to read it, please let me know and I will happily forward it. All the usual disclaimers apply, regarding the fact that Ryscher owns the rights to the concept of Immortals, Watchers and the characters of Duncan MacLeod, Adam Pierson, Joe Dawson and Amanda. They are not mine and I have no intention to make money from this. I just like to take them out for some exercise and a few beers sometimes. Music lyrics at the beginnings of sections are from "We Belong" by Pat Benatar, unless otherwise noted. Other lyrics are credited as they appear. The character of Maeve Kiernan is mine however; if you like her and would like to borrow her, please let me know and include me in your credits. I would like to thank my readers Scott White and Diana Gordic. Again, without outside help, who knows how long it would have taken for this thing to get done. It took what seemed like ages anyway! Additional (huge) thanks to Diana for pointing out, right from the get-go, that Amanda didn't really *need* a major crisis to return to MacLeod; he is reason enough. Can't argue with the woman when she is so obviously right! This would have been a very different story if I had continued along my previous course, and certainly not as good. Any mistakes, inconsistencies and flat out screw-ups are mine alone.

All comments, flaming, stroking of my ego, etc. should be sent to [email protected]. Again, feel free to fire away with your comments. I need all the feedback I can get.

Rating: PG-- occasional profanity, one very mild love scene.
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We Belong Part 1 of 8

"We belong to the light, we belong to the thunder,
we belong to the sound of the words we've both fallen under,"

Maeve paced slowly down the aisle of the barn, pitching flakes of hay into the mangers in each of the stalls. The horses greedily dug into the fresh fodder and soon the barn was filled with the contented sounds of munching. It was very early on a Saturday morning, the sun only just beginning to rise. Maeve had been up a couple of hours already, and she was doing all the work herself today, giving her staff well-deserved time off. Gail would still come out, but Maeve was never sure if it was farm business or Watcher business that kept her manager so close.

At this hour, just before dawn, Duncan was still abed. The drive out to the farm the night before had been a particularly long one. Duncan had insisted upon driving since she had worked all day at the zoo, wrestling with twelve week old cheetah cubs for most of it. Maeve hadn't fought his assertion too hard; she had fallen asleep on the way, waking long enough to stagger from the car and collapse into the bed. Duncan had had a long week himself, spending long hours with his accountant going over the taxes that were due on the dojo and some of his other properties. Joe had even dragooned him into some manual labor around the bar.

When Maeve had risen a few hours prior, Duncan had merely groaned and rolled back over, refusing to open his eyes. He had a routine that he liked to follow in the mornings: coffee, run, maybe some sword work, either with her or alone, then a shower and breakfast. Anything that disrupted this routine was not met with a kind disposition, or even anything approaching humanity sometimes. This morning, Duncan had muttered something rude and disparaging about her internal alarm clock and resumed snoring in less than a minute. Maeve shrugged, it was a long ingrained habit for her to be up before the sun. Until fairly recently, it had usually been brought on by the multitude of nightmares that had plagued her for centuries; now it was simply what she did. Besides, with him flat on his back now and snoring like a buzz-saw, she couldn't have slept any more anyway.

After having spent the weekdays in town with Duncan at the dojo, she savored her time at the farm, even if it did involve mucking stalls. Staying at the loft during the week cut nearly an hour off her commute to the zoo, but it also kept her from her horses. As a compromise, she and Duncan spent the weekends here. Leaving the feed room door open, she hauled out the wheelbarrow and began cleaning the stalls. She soon lost herself in deep thought while performing the menial, but necessary work.

Maeve was considering scaling back her operations. Twenty-five head of horses was a lot to care for, even when her staff was around. Fortunately for her, most of the horses were on pasture this morning, and she only had five in the barn to clean up after. She didn't have the time she used to, given her position at the zoo as head veterinarian, and the time she was now spending with MacLeod. Maeve was unwilling to give up her job at the zoo, and she was far too happy with her new romance with Duncan to abandon him for her horses. In the not-too-distant past, the choice of her animals over people would have been much easier , but she had changed. A little.

Selling the property was out of the question; she loved the farm too much to simply let it go and move. It consisted of two hundred acres encompassing both sides of the river, and several tributaries. It was surrounded on two sides by a national park, the entire parcel covered with hardwoods and open fields. She and Sean had built this place together, and she saw him in everything around her. Her memories of him came more easily now, with less and less grief. Maeve felt sure that he approved of her and Duncan being together.

Sean had been a man of rare understanding. He had known that his wife and MacLeod had a past together, yet he had still treated Duncan as a friend, never revealing the slightest jealousy. As happy as she was with Duncan, she'd trade it in a second to have Sean back to live his life out with her. Maeve suspected as much of Duncan, if he were given the chance with Tessa and did not begrudge him that sentiment.

To add to her dilemma, she had recently been offered a temporary to permanent position setting up a new wild animal park in Florida. It was very tempting; she had lived there for nearly a hundred years and had some properties and investments that she really should look into.

Maeve was very content with her life as it stood and was loath to do anything that might upset the relationship between her and MacLeod. That very fact made her hesitate about even considering the Florida job. But when she told MacLeod about the position, he had given her an option that she hadn't considered. "Treat it like a vacation," he'd told her. The Seacouver Zoo was willing to give her the time off; the prestige of having a veterinarian with such experience would reflect well on them.

"When did life decide to be so complicated?" she asked herself. Sighing heavily, with no solution forthcoming, she forked the last scoop of manure into the wheelbarrow and headed out the gate to the compost heap in the edge of the woods. On the way back, she stopped to submerge almost her entire upper body in the stock tank, scrubbing, with a twist of straw, all traces of the morning's work from her skin. She was toying with the idea of returning to the house after her ride to give MacLeod a *very* good reason to get up early.

As Maeve closed the feed room door behind her, a bridle jingling in her hands in preparation for her morning ride, she felt the presence of another. It was still very early, the sun just rising; much too early for the Highlander to be stirring on this Saturday. He would take his run and exercise later in the day, and probably bully Maeve into joining him.

Maeve turned quickly, surveying the woods and the shaded drive carefully, starting to ease toward the feed room where her saber was hidden.

A tall, slender figure strode around the curve, head up, eyes scanning the area warily. When Maeve recognized the Immortal, she couldn't believe her eyes.

"Amanda?!"

The newcomer broke into a relieved grin. "Maeve?! It's so good to see you!" She rushed to close the distance and the two women hugged briefly, Maeve hastily wiping her still-wet hair away from her face.

"How long has it been?" Amanda asked, straightening Maeve's collar solicitously. The gesture at once annoyed and amused Maeve. Amanda had always been plucking at her clothes; pulling a loose thread, adjusting her sleeves or generally clucking over the lack of fashion and/or the condition of Maeve's garments. Maeve dressed for comfort, not style.

"Let's see," Maeve assumed an air of thought. She knew perfectly well exactly how long it had been. "Since we shared my house outside London. 1820. That was when I left for America. Pretty much been here ever since."

"Your house!" Amanda laughed. "You talked that solicitor into believing you were the Earl's long lost, what was it, -- granddaughter?"

"Grand-niece," Maeve corrected mildly. "Like you've never pulled a scam before."

"I didn't say that," came the protest. "I just never figured you for that sort of scheme."

Maeve grinned. "You forget. I left the house to the man's family. They still retain it, though I kept it in much better repair."

Amanda rolled her eyes. "I remember. Duncan had entirely too great an influence on you." She looked around at the scenery and buildings. "You seem to be doing very well for yourself. This place is beautiful. Richie didn't do it justice in his description."

"Thank you," Maeve replied, starting to relax a little. Amanda usually wanted something, and Maeve was unsure if this was going to be one of those times or not. So far the conversation seemed innocent enough, but one could never tell with Amanda Darrieux. "Sean and I put a lot of time and effort into this place."

"And Sean is.. ?" Amanda fished.

"My husband." Maeve caught herself. She still forgot sometimes that he was gone. "Late husband, I mean."

Amanda's brightening expression fell suddenly. "Oh Maeve," she breathed, "I'm so sorry. When?"

"About a year ago." Maeve's expression clouded over for a moment, briefly overwhelmed again by her memories, then she continued abruptly when she remembered that she had company. "I'll tell you all about him, later." Amanda nodded wordlessly.

Maeve felt a change of mood was called for. "So, what brings you out to the hinterlands?" she inquired cheerily, trying to dispel the cloud that threatened to hover overhead. She had always been somewhat in awe of Amanda. Amanda was always so confident, so unafraid, so put together, that Maeve felt quite inadequate in her presence. Even now, Amanda had caught her at her least attractive, wet and rumpled, relatively clean in a technical sense, but far from pristine. The fact that Amanda had come to see her was somehow flattering, though Maeve couldn't imagine why she was here.

"Actually," Amanda began, "I came to see MacLeod."

"Oh." Maeve mentally backpedaled, determined not to show the slightest concern at this. Now it was beginning to make sense. So much for lightening the mood. "He's up at the house, though I won't guarantee he's awake yet. Feel free to make yourself at home."

"Thanks; I'll get him up," Amanda winked slyly. "Just follow this road?" she asked, indicating the driveway that curved away beneath the trees.

"Yep. Just around the curve."

Amanda started off, then paused, looking back. "It really is good to see you again, Maeve."

"You too," Maeve answered automatically, not really feeling sincere in her reply. She knew perfectly well the sort of relationship Amanda and Duncan shared from time to time, and just how devious that thief could be. A feeling of dread began to settle over her nice, quiet morning. 'Wait till I get my hands on Richie.' Maeve thought morosely. 'I'll make him wish I was *only* taking his head.'

"I will not be jealous," she muttered to herself as she approached her bay stallion's stall. She repeated this mantra over and over as she slipped the bridle over his eager head and vaulted up bareback for a jaunt in the woods. Fortunato pranced and capered, blithely unaffected by Maeve's blackening mood.

"I will not be jealous."
-----------------------------

Duncan stumbled blearily from bed, as dawn was brightening into morning, and wandered into the kitchen, fumbling in the cabinets for coffee. He felt another Immortal's buzz and called out, "Maeve, we're out of coffee again. How do you expect me to be civil to you without any coffee? I can't drink just tea in the morning."

"You can't be civil in the morning, no matter what you drink."

The voice was female, certainly, but the owner was not Maeve. He whirled, attempting to cover himself with the empty canister, a soft rain of the few remaining coffee grounds pattering gently to the floor around him. Trust Amanda to make a sneak attack when a man was at his most vulnerable. Amanda laughed delightedly.

"Come on, MacLeod, I've seen you in much less than just your briefs before." She eyed him appraisingly. "Though it has been a long time." She let the thought trail off suggestively as he recovered a bit of his dignity, set the canister down and reached for the hand vacuum.

"What do you want Amanda?" he grumbled as he finished cleaning up the mess and retrieved a robe from the bathroom in the hall. Tying it around himself, he sighed, placed a cup of water in the microwave and dragged a teabag from the box in the cupboard.

"Is that any way to greet an old friend who has come to visit you?" She smiled innocently at him as Duncan removed the now-hot cup from the microwave and squeezed the teabag dry, rupturing it in the process, cursing as half its contents spilled into the cup.

"Okay Amanda, you're right, it's not a nice greeting. But it's seven o'clock on a Saturday morning, and we're standing in Maeve's house. You must want something, to get up this early and come all the way out here."

Amanda sighed and took a chair at the table. "Okay. I do want something."

"What a surprise," Duncan rumbled sarcastically.

"Do you want to hear this, Mac?" Amanda cried, exasperated. MacLeod could really be a bastard in the morning.

"I don't know, Amanda. Do I want to hear this?"

"Probably not, but I'm going to tell you anyway."

He shrugged, admitting defeat, and dropping into a kitchen chair across from her..

"I came to see you, because I missed you."

Duncan eyed her warily. "You don't need money?"

Amanda shook her head.

"You're not in some kind of trouble?"

Again the answer was negative. "Why do I always have to have some sort of problem for you to solve?" she asked coyly, leaning toward him, a little pout on her lips.

Duncan was distracted momentarily by her expression but soon returned to himself. "You're always in trouble and you always need money. You never show up without having some ulterior motive."

"I'm shocked by your attitude, Duncan," Amanda informed him. "You're my best friend in the whole world, and I get the third degree for my reasons to visit. You're my ulterior motive." When she noticed his expression start to shift to one of chagrin, she smiled, knowing that she was achieving her desired result-- having him off-balance and his attention all to herself. She sidled over to him and gave him an appraising look.

"You know, she won't be back for a while; she went riding. Why don't we just get rid of the rest of this?" she plucked at his robe.

Duncan was tempted. After all, a man would have to be dead not to appreciate the considerable charms that Amanda had at her disposal. He felt her fingers sneak inside the front of his robe and he stood abruptly, pacing as calmly as he could manage away from Amanda and to the window. Pretending to look out at the surrounding woods, he tried to rein in his racing thoughts.

"No," he told Amanda evenly, his back still turned. "I'm with Maeve now." He heard her get up and trail him to the window.

"Not right this second."

Duncan turned to face her. "You know what I mean." The warning tone in his voice made Amanda's pout return full-force.

"Come on, MacLeod. Does your honor know no bounds? For cryin' out loud, I came a long way to see you. I don't see the harm in a little fling. It's not like you're married!" Remembering the rings she noticed on Maeve's left hand, she quickly examined his left hand, and gasped. "You aren't, are you?"

"No," he told her, exasperated. "But that isn't the point. I won't hurt her by doing that."

"Pooh," she replied. "You're no fun at all. Why did I come to see you anyway?" She made a great pretense of thinking very hard on the subject, as if the solution just barely escaped her.

"Listen, Amanda," Duncan told her, "if you like, we'll go into town, make the rounds. I've got a few errands to run after I do the usual: run, work out, shower. You're welcome to come along."

She shrugged. "I'll pass on the exercise, but I will take you up on that shower-"

"Amanda!"

"Okay, we'll skip the shower; if that's the best I can do. She must be some woman, or I must be losing my touch. What is it about her, or is it just your stupid Highland pride?" He gave her another dark glance and she threw up her hands.

"Okay-- you win; for now. Don't think I won't be trying to find ways to convince you otherwise though."

"Oh goody," Duncan groused, but a faint smile lit his frowning expression. Pain in the ass as she was, Amanda could still make him feel good, even without laying a hand on him.
-----------------------------

Duncan strode down the drive, flexing and stretching his muscles, limbering up for his run. He knew Amanda was up to no good. The woman didn't draw a breath without having an angle on something somewhere. He only hoped that she didn't antagonize Maeve too much with her antics.

Almost as if conjured by his thoughts, he saw Maeve, from a distance, galloping Fortunato over the far meadow. Watching her ride was to witness the absolute joy in the partnership between consenting creatures. Neither controlled the other. Suggestions were made and acted upon by both parties. The stallion's bay coat glowed like dark embers, mimicking the color of Maeve's hair, and his sleek legs reached out to grab the ground in long, even strides.

Duncan knew horses; he was well versed in bloodlines, conformation, and quality. He was an expert rider, though he hadn't had much time to practice in recent years. At some points in his life, the appreciation of fine horseflesh had been a great passion of his, a hobby.

Maeve, on the other hand, understood horses. There was something in her touch, in her manner, that animals responded to. She could sense their moods, knew how and when to push for extra performance and when to go easy. She could calm a fractious animal with the sound of her voice. Duncan was in awe of her rapport with them. He had seen it time and again in their various encounters over the centuries. The animals were like a part of her family. Often, they had been her only family.

We Belong Part 2 of 8 -- for disclaimers and credits, see part 1

"Maybe it's a sign of weakness when I don't know what to say.
Maybe I wouldn't know what to do with my strength anyway."

Maeve had the same effect on him. A gentle acceptance, a way of opening to him, even as she was challenging him. She was a study in duality; earthy and raucous at one moment, then suddenly becoming as shy as a doe. One moment quiet and soft-spoken, the next, rampaging about some perceived evil: a rude driver, staff politics at the zoo, something she read in the newspaper. Duncan realized he was no saint himself; he tended to jump to conclusions a little too hastily sometimes and hold grudges a little too long. Maeve always challenged his reasons for doing so, not belligerently, but in a way that made him look at what he was doing and his reasons for doing it. More than once she had influenced a decision of his simply by playing devil's advocate, refusing to let up until he at least considered all the aspects of the situation. He had learned to never underestimate the force of her will or the depths of her emotions. Tessa had made him feel alive; Maeve made him feel balanced. He knew, no matter where he was, or how long they had been apart, he could always go to her; for friendship, for sympathy, for love.

His life had changed radically since Maeve had re-entered it. In many ways, he wouldn't have it any other way, but his routine had been disrupted and it took a little getting used to. The mere fact of sharing quarters with someone again was unsettling after a few years of bachelorhood. The world, his world, still revolved, its axis just wasn't centered exclusively on him.

Richie was taking care of the dojo on the weekends and handling little things for him with ever-increasing competence and skill. Though doomed to be a perpetual teenager, Richie was still growing up quite nicely.

Joe had commented on how Duncan and Maeve had eventually come together after many years of separation, then had to deal with her husband's death. It seemed like destiny, Joe told him, that Duncan was there for her at precisely the right time to aid her through the greatest tragedy of her life. Maybe there was someone looking after them, giving them a chance to love again, even if only for a while. Joe had waxed philosophical about the two of them, and Duncan had indulged him by listening, both of them being rather drunk at the time. But, after the alcohol had faded, the thought was still there. Joe had a point, yet Duncan had decided not to question it too closely, lest he destroy it, like trying too hard to recall a dream upon waking. Maeve had told him early on that they wanted different things, and maybe she was right. For now their paths seemed to be converging, and he was willing to walk that path for as long as she would have him.

Sufficiently warmed up, he set off down the drive, long legs eating up the miles to the main highway. The horse and rider vanished back into the woods, their echoing thunder setting the tempo for his own pace.
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Maeve entered the house late that morning. No buzz of another's presence, and also no note. They always left notes for one another, so one would at least have somewhere to start if the other didn't return home. Maeve figured that maybe Amanda's surprise appearance had rattled Duncan as well. Shrugging, she headed for the stairs, passing the guest room on the way.

A bag lay in the guest bedroom, half open, its contents strewn haphazardly about. Amanda's belongings. Rolling her eyes heavenward, Maeve simply shook her head and continued on into her own room. 'You did tell her, "make yourself at home," stupid,' she thought to herself.

She showered, changed, then puttered in the kitchen, making a sandwich. By the time she felt the approach of another Immortal, she had nearly convinced herself that the visit was totally harmless.

In this case it was actually two Immortals. She could hear their laughter as they crossed the porch and entered the front door. For some reason, their merriment irritated her. This was her house, by God and *she* better remember that! Then her mantra of the morning rattled through her head again, unbidden. "I will not be jealous, I will not be jealous…"

"Hi sweetie," Duncan smiled and pecked her on the cheek as he opened the refrigerator. Maeve had been ready to return the affection with a bit of her own, but he continued past her with a platter of cold cuts and a loaf of bread. He and Amanda fell on the food like ravening wolves. Amanda had changed clothes at some point and was wearing, sort of, some kind of tiny dress that involved lacings and leather.

Maeve glanced down at her own clothing and winced. Her standard uniform of jeans and tee shirt greeted her. 'You'd look ridiculous in something like that anyway,' she thought to herself. 'Hell, she looks ridiculous in it.' Maeve frowned at her dark thoughts. 'That's a big, fat lie, she looks great in it and you are jealous.' Watching Amanda down the sandwiches with no thought about calories or cholesterol grated on Maeve's nerves as well. Maeve had to read every label on every item of food and exercise incessantly to remain in shape. Amanda looked as if she could simply do whatever she wished, never gain an ounce, never practice, and always remain in control and perfect.

Amanda looked up at Maeve standing by the sink. "Aren't you going to eat too?"

Maeve glanced down at the half-eaten sandwich on the counter. "I'm not hungry." She tossed the remains to Loki, who waited eagerly. The dog wolfed it down and then went to beg hopefully at the table. 'Traitor,' she thought.

"Are you okay?" Duncan asked, concerned. Maeve was always hungry.

"Fine," she replied shortly. Grabbing her bag and keys she said, "I'm going into town."

"Okay, be careful." Duncan replied, watching her leave worriedly.

Maeve acknowledged his statement with a noncommittal grunt, letting the screen door slam behind her.

Duncan turned back to Amanda.

"She seems distracted, upset. Did you say something to her?" He narrowed his eyes at Amanda suddenly.

"Why is everything always my fault!?" she protested.

"Because it usually is." He got up and hurried to the front door, trying to catch Maeve before she left. He was too late. A cloud of dust marked her rapid progress down the drive, faster than usual.

"I didn't say anything to her, Mac, I swear!" Amanda gave him her best innocent smile, and Duncan couldn't help smiling back even while shaking his head in exasperation. If nothing else, Amanda was overwhelmingly charming.
-----------------------------

Maeve returned, errands accomplished, groceries in tow. Duncan and Amanda were still there, sitting on the front porch and talking. He got up to help her and they rejoined Amanda after a few minutes, but the conversation seemed to wind down in Maeve's presence. Duncan made a conscious effort to include her, but each subject fizzled like wet gunpowder. The two women didn't seem to have much to say to one another. Maeve excused herself to cook supper, then, after a strained meal, she retired to her room, claiming she had some paperwork to do.

Duncan and Amanda returned to the front porch.

"I don't think it's a good idea for you to stay," Duncan began.

"Oh come on, Mac," she protested, "I'm not hurting anything. If my being here really bothers her, don't you think she would have said something?"

"No Amanda, she's trying to be a gracious hostess. The least you could do would be to help out, pick up a dish, something? She doesn't want to make a scene. A scene which you are doing your best to provoke!"

"What?!" Amanda exploded. "I'm just trying to make conversation; if she can't handle it-"

"Don't go there Amanda." Duncan warned, standing abruptly. "I can't believe you're trying to sabotage our relationship."

"Can you blame me?" Amanda said softly, her eyes suddenly downcast in a very uncharacteristic display of vulnerability. "I really do love you. You're my safe harbor, and it's hard to accept that someone else is there now."

"You're a big girl; you can take care of yourself," he told her gently, turning toward her.

"And I was doing it a long time before you came along too," she shot back, a crooked smile lifting her gloom slightly. "I want to be with you, and when I can't it gets all my defenses working. I can't help it, MacLeod."

"Well, do you think you can start? Before this whole thing gets out of hand?"

"I'll try."
-----------------------------

Maeve was in bed when he came up, watching television. She turned the set off, giving him a wan smile as he leaned over her.

"Hi," he said softly, kissing her.

"Hi back," she replied. He could feel her smile grow a little stronger. Duncan hated to see her in this sort of mood. Normally she was easygoing and relaxed, but Amanda's presence had initiated a tension in her that was visible. He had a quick flashback to Amanda and Kit O'Brady's confrontation; at least Maeve and Amanda weren't bent on killing one another. Yet. Once again, he was playing mediator and peacemaker between two people that he cared about. Why and how did he always get himself into situations like this?

"Sorry about all that," he told her, waving his hand vaguely to indicate Amanda, and the current situation.

"You have nothing to apologize for; it's not your fault," She met his gaze evenly, watching for some reaction from him.

He slid onto the bed with her, wrapping his arms around her. He tried to be cheerful, but the tension humming off of Maeve made his words seem awkward.

"She doesn't mean any harm; she's just being Amanda. She likes being the center of attention."

"And she's welcome to it. But the routine does get a bit old sometimes. She needs to vary her act some if she wants it to remain entertaining." Maeve shifted to her side so she could look into his face. "She doing the same things she was doing a hundred and seventy years ago, only now it's for an audience of one, because I'm not impressed with it anymore."

Duncan chuckled softly, glad that Amanda's room was downstairs and she couldn't hear this.

"Do you think you can put up with her a few more days?"

Maeve half sat up, looking him directly in the eyes. "Just a few." She shook her head. "There was a time when Amanda and I were great friends. Now all I feel around her is inadequate, like I'm part of the furniture."

Duncan pulled her close and squeezed her. "Don't say that. You are definitely not part of the furniture." He felt her squeeze him back, hard, and heard her say, "Thanks," very softly.
-----------------------------

The next couple of days brought more awkward silences and long, pointless ramblings that did nothing to lighten the mood. Amanda wasn't used to reining in her sarcasm, and the strain was beginning to tell on her, but she was determined not to give in so easily. Duncan spent all his time looking worriedly from one woman to the other, waiting for someone's composure to snap and all hell to break loose. Maeve wasn't nearly as aggressive as Amanda, but, when pushed far enough, she could be a formidable opponent. Both women were stubbornly refusing to confront one another directly, or to even acknowledge that there was a problem in front. But the second one of them left the room, MacLeod was assaulted by the remaining female-- outraged at something that had been said, or the way something had been done, both women reading volumes of meaning into the other's most innocent remarks. This only served to fuel the fire; the more the perceived slights, the more the real ones manifested themselves. Duncan was convinced that they were actually in cahoots, trying to drive him crazy.

The atmosphere, which had been simmering along for days, finally came to a full, rolling boil early Tuesday afternoon.

Maeve had taken some personal leave from the zoo, supposedly to spend time with her guest. Duncan suspected it was more to keep an eye on Amanda than anything else. The three of them were sitting on the front porch; the day was gorgeous, the sun was slanting brightly through the trees and the river rolled by quietly. Maeve got up from her seat next to Duncan and asked if anyone would like anything from the kitchen. He requested a single malt; Amanda took several minutes to decide what she wanted, making Maeve repeat the available selections twice before finally settling on a glass of red wine. With a long suffering sigh, Maeve vanished inside the house.

"She seems really impatient, doesn't she?" Amanda said coquettishly, sidling over to sit next to him on the porch swing in the spot Maeve had just vacated.

"She was fine; you did take forever to decide you wanted wine, instead of beer, or whiskey, or the myriad of other things that she has on hand." Duncan slid away from her slightly to turn and look at her. "I thought I asked you to stop that." His tone was beginning to sound a little irritated and a lot strained.

"Stop what?" Amanda asked innocently, tracing her finger in little circles on his chest and down his arm. He twitched away from her hand like a skittish colt, but she persisted, finally driving him to his feet to stand at the porch railing, staring out at the river flowing silently by.

"You're awfully nervous since you've been with Maeve," Amanda observed sagely, standing up to stroll to the rail beside him.

"I'm awfully nervous since you've been here, trying to drive me crazy and make Maeve want to kill you."

"What have I done?" Amanda demanded innocently. "I've been the very model of a good guest."

"Yeah, if you were in a four-star hotel. I'm getting a little tired of waiting on you hand and foot."

The words came from behind them, in the doorway. Startled, they turned to the source of the voice. Neither one of them had heard Maeve approach the door. She handed Duncan his scotch, Amanda her wine, then grabbed her bag and keys.

"Maeve, where are you going?" Duncan called after her, setting his drink down to pursue her.

"I don't know." With grand gesture, she indicated her surroundings, her voice positively dripping with sarcasm. "You two, have the house; do what you like, have a good time; I can't stand anymore." She turned to her unanticipated house guest. "Amanda-- been real nice seeing you; don't hurry back. The stress is making me crazy. I need to get out of here before I explode." She turned and stepped down off the porch, heading for the garage, refusing to slow down to hear Duncan's pleas, or react to the taunts now openly thrown by Amanda. He watched helplessly as Maeve roared off down the driveway, lobbing dust in the air like a plume.

"Great," Duncan muttered darkly.

"Isn't it?" Amanda said airily. "You heard her; the house is ours to do with as we please. Maeve has always been a woman of her word. And I," she trailed a finger down his chest suggestively, "have a few ideas."

"I can't believe you're doing this!" he burst out. "You're enjoying this!"

"Of course I am!" she shot back. "Maeve has always been too good for anyone else; so aloof and cool, like she's the only person in the universe that matters." She crossed her arms over her chest in a pout. "Even when we were together in that estate near London, she was always too busy reading or drawing some picture or playing with her damned animals to spend time with me and my friends. No wonder she never had any of her own. She never liked any of my ideas, any of my friends."

Duncan couldn't believe his ears. "You're jealous!"

"I am not!" Amanda shrieked. "What is there to be jealous of? She's a stuck-up, snooty," she fumbled for adjectives worthy of her fury, finally resorting to school yard insults, "overgrown cow!"

Duncan was grinning humorlessly, almost leering at Amanda now. "You are! You're jealous of her. She has me and that drives you crazy. She has a stable life and that drives you crazy. You can't stand it because you'd like to be more like her, and you can't handle it."

"Of course I can't handle it! Who would want to be that boring?!"

Restraining himself from the next retort that flew reflexively to his lips, Duncan instead took a deep breath, trying to calm himself enough to speak rationally. "If you knew what hell she has been through for two thousand years, you'd know why what you call boring is a godsend to her. And, if you had been paying attention, you'd have seen how much she admires you, how she always has, how she would probably like to be more like you."

"What?" Amanda's anger dissipated somewhat, and she actually began to listen to what Duncan had to say.

We Belong Part 3 of 8- for disclaimers and credits, see part 1

"I know there's always something we have to go through
That has some deeper meaning, but right now I just can't say.
I know there's gonna be a lesson somewhere.
I'm gonna think about it later
But right now I'm miles away."

"Miles Away"-Marc Cohn

Cardiff, Wales -c. 1765

The Mummers swirled and danced among the passersby in the streets. The New Years' celebration was in full swing. Duncan and Maeve stood and watched while waiting for some of them to pass so that they could cross the intersection between the carriages and carts.

" 'ello love," a small, buxom blonde woman, masked and beribboned, said to MacLeod. Before he could think, she had plastered herself against him and locked her lips onto his.

Maeve's amused expression soon became impatient, then impatience passed on to miffed as Duncan showed no sign of disentangling himself from the woman. He wasn't encouraging her, per se, but he wasn't resisting much either. Maeve cleared her throat pointedly, and it was then that the woman looked up.

"Are you still 'ere?"

"And will be a long time after you're gone," Maeve said evenly, looking the woman directly in the eyes, with a sweet smile and a predatory stare. The woman squirmed uncomfortably at such close scrutiny and stepped away quickly to vanish into the mob. Maeve turned on her heel and began striding back in the direction that they had come.

Duncan stared after her. "Ye're goin' the wrong way!" When she didn't react to or even acknowledge his call, he began to hurry to catch her. "Maeve?! Maeve, wait!" He finally caught up to her, catching her arm, and stopped, turning her to face him.

She tried to jerk her arm out of his grasp, and whispered tensely, her face inches from his, "D'ya want me to cause a scene? 'Cause I can, and I will." He released her but still stood facing her.

"What's wrong? Was it the woman?" MacLeod was a bit bewildered and not a little drunk.

Maeve had been drinking too, and it caused her temper to flare beyond its normal capacity. "'Was it the woman?' Well, of course it was the woman, ye daft git! What were you doin'?"

"She kissed me," he replied innocently, still wondering what all the fuss was about.

"She did more than that -- she bloody near had her hand in yer breeches, and you weren't too keen on stopping her."

"I didna want to hurt her feelings!" Now he understood. Maeve was jealous. He smiled in a self-satisfied manner. Though he didn't like the scene she was causing, it did his drunken ego good to know that she was willing to fight over him. He didn't seem to realize right away that she was actually fighting *with* him.

"What?!" Maeve shouted, attracting the stares of a few passersby. Quieting the volume, but not the intensity, she leaned close and hissed, "To avoid hurtin' the feelings of someone you didn't know, you did hurt the feelings of someone you do know." She stopped and faced him again, hands on her hips, staring up at him. There was a challenge there, but something else that he was too upset and drunk to see; sadness perhaps?

"She hadn't a thought for yer feelings and certainly not for mine," she continued. "For all she knew, you might've been a poofter. They like pretty boys like you. Some of them *are* pretty boys like you. Lord knows, you dress like one sometimes."

He chose to ignore the not-so-thinly-veiled assault on his sometimes fashionable wardrobe. "I've been drinking-" he began, now becoming anxious. She really was angry.

"So have I, but I don't let it interfere with my feelings for someone I care about." Her expression changed into one of questioning. "Or is that it?"

A bit slow on the uptake, Duncan replied, "Is what it?" This was a mistake. A huge one.

Maeve took this as an affirmative to her question. With a disbelieving snort, she turned on her heel and began to stalk away again. He trailed along in her wake, trying to apologize. She would have nothing of it.

"I really don't want to talk to ye right now," she told him and continued on.

"But Fitz is waiting for us," he implored, standing and watching helplessly as she walked away from him.

"Go," she called over her shoulder, "have a good time. Why dontcha take yer friend?" She slipped away into the crowd and left him alone in the midst of the celebrants.
------------------------------

Maeve pushed open the door to Joe's place. It was still early afternoon, but she knew the door was usually unlocked around twelve. As the door closed behind her, she felt the unmistakable sensation of another Immortal.

"Great," she mumbled under her breath, mentally preparing for whatever came. Combat right now might be just the thing, considering her black mood…

When her eyes adjusted to the light, she could see there were only two people in the bar; Joe and a tall slender man, draped on a barstool, both of whom had looked up at her entrance. Joe and the stranger had been laughing together about something, so she relaxed slightly.

"Good afternoon, Maeve," Joe boomed his welcome, "what can I get you?"

Still cautiously eyeing the tall man on the barstool, she finally sighed and looked at Joe. Pointing at his stash behind the bar, she indicated a bottle.

"The unopened bottle of Jameson's and a tall glass with ice."

Joe got the bottle down but held onto it, almost protectively, for a moment.

"What's wrong?"

"I don't know; that's the problem."

He relinquished the bottle and reached for a highball glass. Maeve cleared her throat.

"I did say a large glass."

Joe redirected his trajectory and grabbed a water tumbler. Not hearing any protest this time, he filled it full of ice and presented it to her. She smiled her thanks at him, removed half the ice, dropping the pieces into the spill channel behind the bar, then poured the whiskey over what remained, filling the glass almost to the rim. With a nod to Joe and to the Immortal beside her at the bar, she tipped it back and drained about half the contents.

The stranger spoke. "I'm impressed. Appalled but impressed."

Maeve grimaced at the strong taste assaulting her tongue, then smiled, oddly feeling no threat from this man. Of course, that could have been the whiskey, which hit her pretty hard almost immediately. Oh well; MacLeod had always told her she had bigger balls than most of the men he had known.

"As well you should be." She finished the glass on the next draught. Joe just shook his head with a quiet laugh, and a look of concern.

"Are you okay? It's a little early for this, isn't it?"

Maeve answered him with a snort. "When you have an unexpected house guest like Amanda show up, it's never too early for this." She refilled the glass and sipped this time, retrieving some of the ice she had discarded a just few moments before.

A chuckle erupted unbidden from the man at the bar. "I understand. She does tend to have that effect on people." The stranger beside her presented his hand, unfolding slightly from the barstool to face her. "Since Joe here seems to have forgotten his manners, I'm forced to introduce myself. Adam Pierson."

Maeve accepted the hand, meeting his gaze boldly, while Joe protested in the background. She liked the look of him: tall, slender, with an aquiline nose and hazel-green eyes that, at the moment, sparkled with humor and curiosity. Grinning, she commented offhand, "So, been in the neighborhood long?"

"Long enough," he replied, watching her closely. She seemed very quick and sharp, though how long she would remain that way drinking at such a rate was debatable.

He grinned and she returned the smile. She liked this guy and felt comfortable introducing herself. "Maeve Kiernan. You must be the friend Duncan has told me about without ever actually mentioning your name."

"It's nice to know that I have friends that are so protective. Unnecessarily so, but nice nonetheless."

"Yeah, sometimes they are a pain in the ass." Maeve filled the glass again and turned to watch Joe pick his way carefully to the stage, picking up his guitar, and plugging it into the amp. He tuned for a few minutes and began to play.

Adam moved to a table and invited Maeve to join him. She readily agreed, and as the afternoon wore on and turned into evening, they listened to the music, watched the people that came in, and held a long, rambling conversation with subjects ranging from what kind of wood the bar was made from to the advantages of investing in gems. Maeve drank steadily, both Adam and Joe keeping a close eye on her, but she never seemed to get beyond the slightly louder, somewhat less inhibited stage. Then Mike held up the phone from behind the bar.

"Maeve," Joe relayed, "phone's for you."

"Excuse me please," she said to Adam politely and wove her way, a little unsteadily, to the bar. The call was from Mac.

"I've called everywhere looking for you. Are you okay?" he asked worriedly.

Maeve had to think for a minute. Why wouldn't she be? Then she remembered.

"Oh yeah, I'm fine. I ended up at Joe's and just never left."

"What did Amanda say to you?" he asked. Maeve could hear Amanda in the background, protesting. 'Still not gone, eh?' she thought. 'Still in my house, too, I'll bet. God, I'm going to have to change the sheets.' With that thought, she giggled morosely.

"Nothing, Mac. I know why she came to my house-- to see you. She certainly doesn't want to see me. Old friend and all-- that doesn't matter when she's got another goal in mind." The statement came out a little colder than she had intended it, but not nearly as cold as she felt. There was a long silence at the other end of the line, which led her to believe that it was already too late. Whatever *it* was, anyway.

"What do you mean, another goal?"

Maeve gave an exasperated snort. "If you're so blind to her obvious seduction attempts, then there's no hope for you." She was regretting the hasty words, but the whiskey was like a truth serum. All the hidden suspicions and emotions jockeyed for position in her brain, vying to be the subject of the next scathing comment.

Duncan had learned over the years to not rise to the bait so easily. After as many strong-willed women as he had been associated with, he had discovered that a little tact and patience went a long way. He waited a beat, then changed the subject entirely, asking in concern, "Do you want me to come get you? You sound like you've been drinking."

"I have been," she assured him triumphantly, knowing that the news would upset him. She secretly reveled in the hurt she was causing. "Joe and Adam are taking good care of me."

There was another long silence while MacLeod digested this information and wondered what he had done to deserve all this.

"So, you've met the cynic," he commented. "What do you think?"

"I like him," she said simply.

"Good," Duncan said warmly, trying to encourage her to continue the conversation and alter the tone, but there was yet another long pause.

"Okay," he finally gave in. "Give me a call later and let me know you're all right, okay?"

"Okay," she said grudgingly.

"I love you, you know that." It almost sounded like a plea. Maeve felt her resolve start to crumble.

"Yeah," she replied, "and you love her too. Sounds like you've got some thinking to do." She hung up quickly before she heard the protest she knew would be coming. Maeve wondered if she had done the right thing. Guilt was trying to convince her to call him back, but pride wouldn't allow it. Sighing heavily, she passed the phone back to Joe, who looked at her quizzically.

"You all right?"

When she saw the concern in his eyes, she smiled, glad to know that she had friends that worried so. Her drunken state brought about the resurfacing of her Irish brogue. "I'll be fine, Joe. Y'know," she began, "sometimes it sucks being this old. I mean, the past keeps coming back to bite you and there's not a damn thing you can do about it."

Joe smiled. "I know; we mere mortals have less time to do it in, but it happens just the same." He assessed her state for a moment, then said, "C'mon; let's play." He looked up at the band meaningfully.

Maeve's face lit up. She was drunk enough now to relax and let loose onstage without being self-conscious, but not so drunk that the performance would suffer. She offered Joe her arm with a flourish and they made their way to the stage, Maeve giving Adam a cheery wave as they passed him.

Joe knew Maeve loved Bonnie Raitt, so he whispered a title to the bass player, who relayed it around the stage. The drummer counted, and the song started. Maeve grinned, recognizing the intro, and was ready when it was her turn. This was a song perfect for her mood and situation.

"Woman be wise; keep your mouth shut; don't advertise your man."

Adam was openly grinning, enjoying this more than he would have thought possible. MacLeod certainly had his hands full.

"Your best girlfriend; she may look like a highbrow; I bet she's changin' at least three times a day.
What do you think she's doin' now, while you're so far away?
She's lovin' your man, and in your own damn bed.
Better call for the doctor, mama, try to investigate your head.
Woman be wise; keep your mouth shut, don't advertise your man."
-----------------------------

Duncan stared long and hard at the receiver in his hand. It had long since gone dead, but somehow he felt if he held onto it, somehow he could use it to pull this whole mess back from the brink. His mind was reeling with ideas, thoughts and possibilities, none of them good.

"MacLeod?!"

Amanda's sharp question brought him back to himself. He turned to find her looking at him, concern and a not inconsiderable amount of anger in her eyes.

It was true; she had come back to Seacouver to try to hook up with Duncan again. When she had discovered that he was living with Maeve, Amanda had decided to go ahead with her plans to seduce him. After all, it wasn't like he was still with the mortal woman, Tessa. She could begrudge him the few years he would have had with her, since a mortal's life was so short anyway. But this thing with Maeve was serious trouble to her plot. Amanda knew that Maeve and Duncan had been together off and on over the centuries, just as he had with herself. He and Amanda played, and got into trouble together. But when he was with Maeve, he settled down; they worked together, played together, were a part of one another. They might eventually separate; they had before, but Amanda couldn't wait that long. That might take several decades instead of years. So, Amanda thought she'd hurry the process along a bit. She had no idea that Maeve had developed such a strong will since their last meeting. Maeve had seemed pretty tractable in their London days, preferring to avoid confrontation rather than fight. But she had foiled Amanda's plans simply by refusing to budge. The irresistible force had met the immovable object, and had held fast.

Duncan wasn't much help either. Amanda was sure, if she got him alone and applied just the right form of encouragement, she'd have him eating out of her hand. Among other things. He had surprised her by his will to withstand her cunning assaults on his defenses, refusing to succumb to her charms. He was acting in the same stubborn manner that he had when she visited while Tessa was still alive. Altogether, this had been a very frustrating trip.

Then suddenly, joy of joys, Maeve had left, and all but given her blessing to the two of them. Amanda had her chance, but she still had no luck. Duncan had gotten angry at her, then at himself, then worried by turns. He had picked the phone up and called everyone he could think of that might know Maeve's whereabouts, finally locating her at the bar. The conversation obviously had not gone well.

"I'm going after her." He pulled his coat down and started for the door.

"Don't." Amanda caught his arm.

Duncan turned and looked at her, a mixture of annoyance and surprise on his face. "Why? You have a better idea?"

Amanda gave up; there was no more point in trying to cajole or seduce him. She decided to be honest for a change. Heaving a deep sigh, she shook her head.

"I can't believe I'm saying this, but she's capable of taking care of herself. She's angry and confronting her won't do any good. She'll resent you coming after her, like she's a child that needs supervision."

"She's drunk. She won't even remember."

"That's where you're wrong. She'll remember and she'll hold it against you for a very long time. Maeve has remarkable powers of retention."

Amanda paused, recalling memories of things between herself and Maeve that still were not forgotten, even after nearly two centuries. "There; Amanda's counseling for the lovelorn is through for tonight. The doctor is out."

"Why the sudden change of heart?" he asked, slumping tiredly. He sat back down on the couch, leaning back against the armrest.

Amanda returned to her chair. "I don't know. Maybe I'm tired of beating my head against a brick wall. Maybe I realize that you two are good for each other and I should butt out. Maybe I should just mind my own damn business." She gave him a wan smile and it was returned sincerely, if a bit weakly as well.

Duncan nodded. "It'll never happen, but okay. Tomorrow is plenty soon for me to find her and apologize. It'll give us both time to cool off."

"I owe her an apology too, " Amanda said quietly. Duncan sat up and looked at her, surprised.

"What was that?" he asked suddenly, turning to her in amazement. "I don't think I quite caught that."

"You heard me," she grumbled, rolling her eyes heavenward, and stood to go upstairs.

We Belong Part 4 of 8- for disclaimers and credits, see part 1

"Don't be afraid; close your eyes. Lay it all down. Don't you cry.
Can't you see I'm going where I can see the sun rise?
I've been talking to my angel and he said that it's all right."

"Talking to My Angel" - Melissa Ethridge

Adam whooped and applauded along with the rest of the crowd as Maeve finished and descended from the stage. When she sat back down he clapped her on the shoulder, laughing. Joe came and sat down with them.

Adam crowed, "I wish MacLeod were here to see that; you put your message out loud and clear."

"That was fun," she agreed. "I haven't done that in a long time."

"Yeah," Joe agreed. "That night it was you, Richie, Mac and Sean--" He broke off abruptly. "I'm sorry."

Adam noted the two matching wedding bands on Maeve's left hand; one on the ring finger, the other on the middle finger.

"Sean?" he asked, tapping her middle finger gently.

"My husband. Late, that is." She trailed off.

"I'm sorry," he told her, meaning it sincerely. She appreciated his sympathy but dismissed his concerns.

"Don't be." She laid a reassuring hand on each of their arms. "That was a great night; it's a good way to remember him." Maeve grew briefly distant, lost in her memories.

"He was a good man." Joe affirmed.

Maeve told Adam, "Philippe DeGuerre killed him, thinking he was Mac."

Adam nodded, recognizing the name, but noting the lack of detail in the conversation.

Maeve promised, "I'll tell you sometime, maybe when I'm *really* drunk."

Adam conceded a temporary stalemate, realizing that his curiosity was not going to be satisfied on this matter tonight. He hoped it would be soon. He felt a genuine affection for this woman, partially brought on by her humor and her self-deprecating remarks. She reminded him of himself, somehow. "I don't see how you could ever be more drunk, but, fair enough."

Maeve was lost in reflection again for a few minutes, then seemed to come to a decision, one she felt she must share.

"You know what I say about this whole situation?"

Methos shook his head. He had no idea.

Maeve continued. "Fuck 'em."

His eyebrows rose slightly at this comment, not because of the choice of language; he would never have survived so long if such things offended him easily. It was more that he felt she was erecting a barrier of false bravado, certain that if she appeared strong and invulnerable, then no one would dare test that strength, thinking it would likely be impenetrable. She was really starting to remind him of himself, now. It was a bit frightening.

"If they want each other, then fine and welcome to it. It's not like we're married or anything. That," she looked Adam in the eyes levelly, "would be a different matter entirely." Her voice changed almost imperceptibly, but Adam was convinced that she would not hesitate to take matters into her own hands if that were the case.

"That's the spirit," he told her, bolstering her illusions for the time being. "But do you have any idea what's actually going on?"

"Plenty of ideas, no real proof," she informed him, taking another long drink from her glass and finishing the bottle. "Nobody has said anything and nobody's talking, so what the hell am I supposed to think? Amanda looked like the cat on a canary diet when I left, though." 'My canary, too' she thought miserably. She shook herself and looked over at Adam, scraping her hair behind her ears fiercely.

"You don't have to baby-sit me," she told him, "but I do appreciate it."

"Nonsense," he shushed her. "I'm enjoying the company." Maeve brightened at his attention and didn't mention it again. Joe excused himself to tend to his duties as host and owner, promising half-heartedly to bring Maeve another bottle to replace the empty one.

Maeve and Adam resumed their earlier rambling conversation and in no time, it seemed, they were the last ones left in the bar. Joe was finishing up the books for the night and the doors were locked. Maeve had finished the new full bottle of whiskey, and her condition had deteriorated quite a bit.

"I think that is the first time I've ever opened *and* closed a bar," Adam told her. "I'm glad I did it with you. I enjoyed myself." He helped her to her feet. She was coherent, but just barely so.

Joe said, "If you need a ride, Maeve---"

Maeve raised her head to peer at him from slitted eyes. "Nah," she slurred. "Jush drop me at hotel. I'll be fine." Her head wobbled dangerously on her neck.

Propping her carefully against a post, Adam retrieved their coats quickly. He dressed her in hers, patting the hilt of her saber through the fabric. "Here we go," and then told Joe, "I'm an accomplice; I'll finish it. I'll take her home--"

"No!" she cried suddenly, nearly losing her balance. Joe caught her, dropping his cane in the process and barely managing to keep his own feet beneath him. Surging forward, she nearly fell on her face this time, saving herself only by catching Adam's lapel. He was hard pressed to keep both Joe and Maeve upright.

"I can't go home; they're there." She snorted at the synonym rhyme, amused as only a drunk could be, then remembered why she couldn't go home. "I don't want them to see me like this; then she'll know that she upset me; I won't give her the satisfaction.."

Both men wondered at the convoluted workings of the female mind, and their wisdom, or lack thereof, in getting involved. Joe put his arm around her as they steered her to the door. "I'm reasonably sure they know that already, but if you don't want to go…"

"I don't."

"Okay."

"I'll take her to my place, Joe," Adam offered. Joe nodded.

"I don't know if that's the best of ideas, but it may be all we have to work with. We can't turn her loose on an unsuspecting hotel staff. That wouldn't be fair to them. Come on," he told Adam, "I'll help you pour her into the car."

The two men walked her to the passenger side of Adam's Jimmy, leaning her against the side of the vehicle. Joe stood by, holding her in place with a hand on her shoulder, ready if she started to slide.

"Keys," Adam requested firmly. She blinked owlishly at him for a long moment. Comprehension finally dawned, and she automatically she handed them over, watching as he went to her truck and made sure it was locked up. He pulled her bag from the passenger side and deposited it in the back seat of his vehicle.

"Thank you," she told him, still weaving. It was a change of clothes and few other items she always carried. Working with animals meant that you always carried a spare set of clothing, just in case.

Joe gave her a long hug. She clung to him like a drowning woman for a few minutes.

"Things will work out," Joe reassured her. "Mac'll come around." She squeezed him tight.

"But will I still be waiting?"

Her eyes were gleaming wetly as she released him, and he assisted her into the cab of Adam' truck. He locked the door and closed it firmly, giving Maeve and Adam a wave as they pulled out of the parking lot.
-----------------------------

"Adam, pull over."

Adam looked over at her, alarmed. "We're on a bridge," he protested.

"I don't care," Maeve moaned.

Adam tried to make it to the far side but, upon hearing a gagging noise from beside him, he hastily pulled over, with a quick prayer for the continued good condition of his upholstery. Maeve flung the door open and nearly went over the rail in her rush to get out. She retched noisily for several minutes while Adam stood behind her with a hand on her collar, ready to haul her back if she leaned out too far. Finally, all he could hear was a steady gasping.

"You okay?" he asked cautiously.

"I'll live."

He smiled. She would indeed.

After a relatively uneventful trip, after the emergency stop, Adam got her cleaned up and deposited her in his bed, a wastebasket nearby for emergencies, but it seemed like the worst of her nausea had passed. He undressed and dragged a blanket to the couch, flopping down wearily.

A few hours later, with dawn breaking, he vaguely heard her stumbling around and the shower come on. He dozed again for a while, coming fully awake only when he realized that the water had been running for a very long time. He smelled fresh coffee. Raising himself on one elbow, he peered over the counter and the back of the couch. The coffeepot was full, untouched. No one there.

Stumbling to the bathroom door, he paused before knocking. There was no response from inside. He waited, debating with himself whether or not to go in and have nothing be wrong, or wait and have there be a problem. He also wondered, not for the first time since meeting Maeve, why he was getting involved. There were no answers or solutions forthcoming with him just standing there, so Adam decided to risk the potential embarrassment and go on in.

Maeve stood full under the icy stream, the hot water having long since run out. She stared downward at nothing on the floor of the shower stall, oblivious to her clammy skin and blueing lips.

"You're up awfully early for someone who was up very late."

Her head came up and she slowly focused on him. "This is cold," she informed him.

"Of that I have no doubt," he replied and got a towel. He reached inside and turned off the water, wrapping her in the towel and steering her to the couch, where he added his discarded blanket to the insulating layer. Sitting down behind her, he began to towel her hair and chafe her purplish skin.

"I know it won't kill you, but hypothermia is not the most pleasant of conditions. Trust me. I used to be a doctor." He got up and handed her a cup of coffee, reclaiming his place beside her. "If I were a psychiatrist, I'd say you were suffering from depression."

Maeve turned to look at him wearily, starting to shiver. "What I am suffering from is a hangover, and I thought a shower would help; I was obviously wrong." She took a deep drink of the coffee, sighing heavily, normal color beginning to return to her face. "Damn this automatic body alarm. I'm usually up feeding horses at this hour." Realization seemed to dawn on her suddenly. "The horses. Oh shit." She grinned ruefully. "Nothing like reality to intrude on a nice depression, eh?" Shrugging, she continued. "At least they're all pastured. They won't starve before Gail and the rest get there."

Adam laughed. "Such a concerned mother." He got up and got his own cup of coffee. He sipped, grimacing at the taste.

"Too strong?" Maeve sipped her own again, wincing slightly at the heat this time.

"Just a bit," he replied diplomatically, "but it's probably just what I need." He carefully drank the hot brew.

"Tell me about Alexa."

Her request took him completely off guard. He had allowed Alexa's memory to hide somewhat over the past few months. The pain in losing her had nearly stolen his reason, especially after he had come so close to obtaining the Methuselah Crystal. He never knew if it would have saved her life, but to have the opportunity to find out snatched away as it had been was nearly unbearable. It had taken a very long time before he could even speak her name without the grief rendering him nearly insensible.

"Who told you about her?" he asked warily.

"Joe, last night." She smiled softly. "Maybe it's just his way of giving us some common ground."

Adam alternately cursed and praised his friend silently. "Tell me about Sean," he countered.

"I asked first."

"So you did." Maeve was persistent. Adam sighed and smiled sadly, while deciding where and how to start.

"She was intelligent, beautiful, very funny." He gazed off past Maeve, lost in his thoughts. "Alexa was one of those people that captures your attention right away. I just couldn't walk away from her." He looked up to see Maeve regarding him closely, her eyes beginning to grow suspiciously moist.

"It took some serious convincing on my part to get Papa Joe to tell me what the hell was going on with her. She was dying." This simple statement nearly tore him apart again, even though it had been over a year since she'd died.

"You never let that stop you though, did you?" Maeve sniffed surreptitiously, hoping that Adam wouldn't notice. He chose to tactfully ignore her emotional overflow.

"No," he replied, smiling reminiscently. "We had several wonderful months together. I took her from coast to coast here in the States, to Cairo, Greece. It was like seeing everything new again, through her eyes. I think she gave me far more than I did her. She made it all fresh for me again." He paused, sighing heavily. "She died in Geneva."

There was a long silence. He finally reached out and touched a finger to the wedding band on her left middle finger.

"Your turn."

"Sean," she whispered. She was silent for a few moments, the emotions that his brief description of Alexa had brought up overwhelming her temporarily. Maeve took a deep breath.

"I always thought we'd be together his whole life, fifty, sixty years, at least. We had ten." Her mind flashed back to all-too-recent events and an apologetic frown creased her features. "I'm sorry, it sounds like I'm bragging in the face of your loss. I don't mean it that way," she said. Adam inclined his head graciously.

"I was always worried that DeGuerre would find me again, but I was pretty good at covering my tracks. When the house exploded with Sean inside, I was almost ready to let DeGuerre take me. But something wouldn't let me just give up. So I fought and I died. MacLeod hauled me away before DeGuerre could finish it."

"He interfered?" Adam gasped, leaning forward intently. This he had to hear. "The Boy Scout broke the rules?"

"Actually," Maeve explained, with a quiet chuckle, "the dog interfered. Mac just took advantage of the opportunity and got me the hell out of there. I was just starting to accept the idea that Sean was gone when I walked into Joe's one afternoon, after a particularly bad day, and there he was. For the very first time, in all my many years, something that had been taken away from me was given back. Joe had told him everything.

"We had a few more months together." Maeve smiled at the memory. "Most of it I spent with MacLeod, training, but Sean joined right in. He did everything we did, except the swordplay. I got back up to speed and we had that wonderful night at Joe's." She sighed heavily.

"Until DeGuerre showed up and challenged me." She looked up at Adam quickly. "Nosy friends are a pain in the ass. I think everyone witnessed my fight that night: Mac, Sean, Richie following him, trying to stop him. Even Joe was there." She shook her head. "I think Sean had some cockeyed idea of how he was going to avenge my honor for what had been done so long ago. DeGuerre sensed Duncan, but it was Sean that stepped out of the shadows first. DeGuerre buried a knife in his belly."

She sniffed and her eyes finally spilled over. On impulse, Adam leaned forward and wiped her face dry gently with a corner of his blanket.

"Stop that," he admonished, "or I'll start." His own eyes were brimming. Maeve smiled.

"Sean always used to give me hell about being so sentimental."

"Hey," Adam told her, "if you can still be sentimental after a few centuries, you're doing good."

"I know," Maeve rasped, "I keep trying to tell myself that, but it still hurts like hell." Her voice broke completely and she buried her face on her bent knees, shaking silently for a time. Adam gave up and let his tears flow, in sympathy and remembrance.
-----------------------------

Later, when they both had regained their composure, Maeve asked, "Mind if I use your phone?"

"Sure; help yourself." He got up to make himself a light breakfast. Adam raised his eyebrows in question to her as he rummaged in the refrigerator. She turned slightly green and shook her head vehemently no.

Maeve found her purse and pulled a long distance card from it. Adam paid little attention until he heard her speaking to someone other than MacLeod.

"Jim Curtis? This is Maeve Kiernan. You called me about helping you set up that wild animal park? When do you need me?"

Adam was surprised. He had assumed she was calling MacLeod to talk things over. 'The plot thickens,' he thought to himself.

"I need to arrange a leave of absence from the zoo; I'll be driving from Washington State and hauling a horse so it'll probably take me about two weeks. Great, I'll see you then." Maeve hung up the phone and looked up to see Adam regarding her with a faintly surprised look.

"What?" she asked sharply.

"You really are angry about this mess, aren't you?"

"You think?" was all the reply he got on the subject.
-----------------------------

Cardiff, Wales, c.1765

"What do you mean, she left?" Fitzcairn's voice rose to be heard above the holiday crowd jostling them as they walked.

"Exactly what I said. She got mad 'cause that woman kissed me and then she left. Maeve did. And the woman. I've got to catch her. Maeve, that is." Duncan's face took on a single minded determination as he negotiated the throng, Fitz in tow.

"Not very understanding of her, now was it?" the Englishman said. "After all, it is a holiday."

Another expression began to replace MacLeod's stubborn look. A sodden smile on his face, he turned and caught Fitzcairn's arms. "Ye're right. She is being unreasonable. After all, I didn't chase the woman down and make her kiss me." He pulled the bottle out of Fitz's hand and took another long draught out of it. Quickening his step, he strode toward the inn he and Maeve were lodged at, a different resolution setting his features. The crowd seemed to melt before the two men striding purposefully along, the throng closing ranks after them, more than a few watching the twosome pass with speculative glances.

Part 2

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