We Belong Part 5 of 8- for disclaimers and credits, see part 1

"I don't want to leave you really, I've invested too much time,
To give you up to the doubts that complicate your mind."

They pulled into the parking lot at Joe's to find MacLeod sitting on the tailgate of her truck. He looked like he had been there for some time. He started guiltily as they parked next to him, as if he'd been dozing.

Maeve got her bag and kissed Adam on the cheek fondly.

"Thanks for taking care of me, and for listening."

"No problem," he replied. "Just don't let it get out that I'm a soft touch. I do have a reputation to maintain, you know." He gave MacLeod a meaningful look, then shook his head and climbed back into his truck to drive away.

Maeve turned to Duncan.

"Yes?" She busied herself securing the bag in the bed of the truck. No way were the clothes she wore last night riding up front with her. As she stepped between the T-Bird and her truck, she saw Amanda wave cheerily from the car's passenger side and start to get out. 'Great', Maeve muttered to herself. She halfheartedly returned the wave and went back to Duncan.

"You spent the night with Adam?" he asked warily.

"Yes."

He was surprised at her quick reply. "And?"

She continued, her voice steady, calm and deliberately offhand. "We got drunk at Joe's and he took me home and we screwed each other's brains out all night long. As a matter of fact, we picked up a couple more guys on the way, and we had a huge orgy right there in the parking lot of his apartment building. Is that what you want to hear?"

"Is it true?"

"Of course it is!" she cried sarcastically. "Every bloody word of it! Did I forget to mention there were farm animals involved?"

"Okay!" Duncan shouted to cut her off, "I get the point."

He stood by the truck, clothes rumpled, his hair disheveled, which of course made him nearly irresistible to her. She tried not to look at him and stood, impatient to be on her way, now that she had made her decision.

"Aren't you going to ask me what Amanda and I did last night?" The question was almost plaintive. Again, her answer was not what he expected.

"No."

"Why not?" Now he was thoroughly confused. Jealous women were supposed to demand what you had done, where you had done it, and with whom. Maeve wasn't playing by the rules.

"To be quite honest, I don't want to know."

"Why?!" he demanded. "Because you're afraid to find out that we didn't do anything and you'll have overreacted?" This was a bad move. Duncan realized, almost as the words left his mouth, that these had been the wrong ones to say.

Maeve pounced on the opportunity like a cat. "Ah, so you *do* think this is my fault!" She turned to smile viciously at Amanda. "You've really gotten good at this game over the centuries. I never had much use for it myself, but you are truly a master. Or, perhaps I should say, mistress." Amanda's jaw dropped in amazement at the attack, but said nothing.

Maeve turned her gaze back on Duncan, her anger having dulled to a low throb for the moment, but only for the moment. It threatened to rage out of control if she didn't remove herself from this situation and soon. Trying to settle herself, she blew out a breath she didn't realize she had been holding.

"I'm sorry," Duncan began, though exactly what part of the proceedings he was apologizing for he wasn't sure. "All this mess has gotten really out of hand. Amanda would like to apologize too. She didn't realize that you and I were---"

"Oh yes she did," Maeve cut him off this time, still not looking at him, but at Amanda. "She knew perfectly well what she was doing," Maeve turned her flinty gaze on him again, "and you just fell right into her trap."

Amanda stood with her mouth agape, but she said nothing to deny the accusation.

"I guess I'm as much to fault as anyone, I didn't stand up for myself and let it all happen by saying nothing." All the things Maeve had wanted to say came bubbling to the surface again but she savagely shut off her thoughts, not wanting to prolong this any further.

"You know that position I was offered in Florida?"

Duncan nodded numbly.

"Well, as soon as I get home, get packed, and load up Fortunato, I'm gone." She gave him no time to react; she turned to Amanda.

"Apology accepted, for what it's worth, I'm sorry too. I'm sure this whole mess is somehow my fault. It usually is." She slapped the roof of his car with an air of finality, pulling her keys free and unlocking the truck's door.

"Tell Joe and Adam 'bye for me. And tell Joe not to send Gail after me; I need her to run my farm. If he wants to know what I'm doing too badly, tell him I'll call." Without waiting for an answer, she cranked up the truck and left.

"Well," Amanda commented sarcastically, watching the truck recede into the distance, "that went well…"

Duncan favored her with a sad look before climbing back into his car.

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

Cardiff, Wales, c. 1765

Duncan met Maeve at the door of their room at the inn. Her bag was in hand, and she had changed out of her dress into her old breeches and coat. Her hair was already shorn from its former hip length to brush her shoulders,. The braid lay forlornly on the bedside table. Maeve hastily scrubbed at her face to hide the tears that were already spilling.

Duncan caught her arms and firmly propelled her back into the room, shutting the door in Fitzcairn's questioning, blatantly curious face.

"Where d'ye think ye're goin'?" he demanded drunkenly. On the way here, Fitzcairn and he had convinced themselves that he was completely innocent of any wrongdoing. He had also assisted Fitz in emptying another bottle. Duncan had decided that Maeve was being completely unreasonable, and the Englishman had supported his beliefs all the way across town. He should have known better than to listen to Fitzcairn.

Duncan felt a hard metallic chill against the front of his breeches and looked down to see her knife pressed there. He backed up slowly, removing himself from the danger zone. The woman was becoming more like Amanda every day!

Her eyes flashed fire at him, a cold green flame that sobered him up quickly. He raised his hands and sat down on the bed, bewildered and defeated. She stopped and turned to face him.

"Why?" he asked plaintively.

"Because it's time," she replied softly, all anger gone from her voice now. "It's been time, but you've been so good to me and, for a while, I was content to live the dream. But we both know we aren't meant for such as that." She sat next to him on the bed, the same bed where they had enjoyed one another just that morning before setting off into the town. Tears rolled unbidden down her face, totally unheeded.

"I love you; you do know that?" Duncan told her, his eyes searching hers out and holding their gaze. A silent nod was her only reply.

"Then why?!" he demanded again, his fear for her safety suddenly looming in his mind.

Her nemesis, Philippe DeGuerre, had confronted them both scarcely six months ago and been sent packing. He would return for her, and she knew it. The knowledge terrified her, but she no longer felt that she should be protected. She was, after all, raised a warrior, and she needed to start acting like one again.

"For all that you've taught me, I'm grateful," Maeve said, rising to her feet. Turning to face him just once more she said simply, "But if I can't take care of myself, by myself now, then perhaps I shouldn't try. I shouldn't expect protection from another." With this she slipped out the door and past the loitering Fitzcairn.

The Englishman watched her go down the stairs, then he entered the room to find Duncan standing at the small window, holding the hank of hair like a talisman, tears raining down his face. For once, Fitz was silent.
-----------------------------

Maeve grabbed clothes without heed for their fiber content or wrinkling tendencies, wadding them haphazardly into the suitcase. She raged about the house, alternately angry at herself for letting Amanda win and giving in so easily, then cursing Duncan for his perceived inability to choose or even defend her, than angry at herself all over again. It wasn't his place to defend Maeve; she was perfectly capable of doing it herself. But why didn't he try harder to resist Amanda? She had no evidence that Amanda and Duncan had done anything more than talk-- she was almost positive that nothing further had happened; Duncan wasn't the type to fool around indiscriminately. When he was committed to someone, he was faithful. Maeve was sure that he loved her, but she was also sure that he loved Amanda too. He told her so himself, but he also said that it wasn't good for him and Amanda to spend too long together or they'd kill each other. 'So, that's it,' she thought, knowing somewhere deep inside that it wasn't true, but thinking it all the same, 'when he's gotten enough of her, he'll come back and things will be all hunky-dory again.'

"I don't think so!" she shouted out loud, and flung the overstuffed bag down the stairs. Loki just barely managed to dodge it, and peeked fearfully around the corner and up the stairs to where his mistress sat on the top step, shaking with anger and frustration. He crept up the stairs and sat beside her, worming his wet nose under her arm and licking her face consolingly. Maeve laughed, a little helplessly, and hugged the dog, patting his head softly.

"I'm glad somebody still loves me," she sniffed, then stood to descend the stairs, picking up the suitcase and shouldering it. There were so many more things she wanted to take, but she was unsure just how long this trip was going to be. At this point, she was unsure if she was coming back at all. With a last glance around the room, she went out the front door.

Maeve had fitted the trailer hitch to the Suburban and was loading Fortunato's tack into the trailer's dressing room when Duncan pulled in, minus Amanda. Maeve didn't even acknowledge him, absorbed in her task. She looked up when the bay stallion whinnied a greeting as Duncan entered the barn.

His face was even more haggard than it had been a few hours earlier.

"Don't do this Maeve," he pleaded quietly.

"Do what?" she asked casually. "Take a great job setting up a wildlife park that will help perpetuate several endangered species? That's awfully shortsighted of you."

"No," he interjected, "don't leave like this. We talked about it when the offer came up; we thought we'd make a holiday of it if you went. Don't just take off angry like this."

"It's a little late, don't you think?" Maeve stopped in the aisle, cradling a saddle across one arm. "I was willing to let things lie; why dredge up the past when there's no reason to? You and Amanda have been lovers, off and on, just like you and me. But she couldn't accept that she's not the one this time. She probed and pried and practically acted like I didn't exist except to be a servant." Maeve's eyes flashed dangerously. "I got tired of that almost two hundred years ago with her. She always took whatever of mine that she wanted, with never a thought for my feelings. Now she's done it again. I'm tired of it, and I'm tired of fighting myself." Maeve brushed past him and put the saddle inside. She took a quick inventory of the trailer's contents; several hundred pounds of feed, bales of hay, tack, brushes, sleeping bag, dog food.

She didn't realize Duncan was right behind her. He caught her shoulders when she turned, then let his hands drop when he felt her stiffen. Maeve wouldn't meet his gaze.

"Look at me," he compelled gently. She complied reluctantly. He could see the tears standing in her eyes.

"Why are you doing this?"

Maeve shook her head. "I don't really know. I need to get out, I need to think. I don't know what to think anymore." She looked up into his eyes again, her mouth opening and closing once as if she meant to say something and then changed her mind.

"Take care of yourself," she finally told him and ducked past him to go into the barn again.

Duncan knew a dismissal when he heard it, but still did not leave. He moved aside as she led the stallion out and loaded him in the trailer, then whistled for the dog. Loki dove into the truck, his happily grinning face oblivious to the turmoil around him. She started the truck and circled around the oak to head out. Duncan was still standing there, watching silently. She drove slowly past, then stopped and rolled the window down. He waited.

"You know, it's bad luck to watch someone out of sight. It means it's the last time you'll ever see them." Maeve rolled the window back up, then the vehicle, with its burden, rolled off down the long drive.

Duncan waited until it passed him, then deliberately turned his back, still standing under the trees by the barn, refusing to watch her leave.

Maeve watched him turn around in her side mirror, then looked up at the road ahead and did not look back again.

We Belong Part 6 of 8- for disclaimers and credits, see part 1

"Now here you go again; you say you want your freedom.
Well, who am I to keep you down?
It's only right that you should play the way you feel it.
But listen carefully to the sound of your loneliness."

"Dreams" - Fleetwood Mac

Near Olustee, Florida- February 5, 1864

The young man in the grey uniform squirmed desperately in Maeve's vise-like grasp. He was reasonably sure, now that his thinking was brilliantly clear, that he was probably more wrong than he had ever been in his life. This objective, detached part of his mind also noted that he was in severe pain, and that the siring of children was probably not in his future, at least not anymore. How could he have ever thought that this woman was one of the regular camp whores? She certainly didn't dress like one. They were always pouting and preening to catch the men's attention. This one was wearing trousers, like a man. He was learning the error of his ways very quickly.

Maeve had been crossing the camp, heading toward her bivouac area from the picket lines, when a drunken soldier accosted her, pawing and fumbling. Maeve was in no mood, and reacted to swiftly end this encounter. Reaching back, she unerringly located his testicles and gripped them, then turned to face her annoyance.

His face quickly became nearly as grey as his uniform.

"I suggest that you don't try this again," she informed him in a friendly tone. "No woman wants to be pawed at by a fumbling idiot. Generally, you might have better luck asking permission before attempting to foist yourself on someone." She shrugged, the motion causing the young man to groan almost inaudibly again. "Provided that you will be capable of doing so any time soon."

Another man approached, wearing the uniform of a major.

"Is there a problem here, ma'am?"

Maeve flashed him a smile before releasing the enlisted man's balls. While he gasped for air, his face now assuming a startling red color, she straightened his coat solicitously, brushing away invisible lint.

"No sir; just instructing this young man in proper etiquette concerning conduct around ladies."

The major smiled where the young soldier could not see him.

"Well, you seem to have the situation well in hand."

Maeve almost whooped at the pun. Hiding her own smile, she replied, "I believe he grasps the concept quite well now." The young man was actually grasping his nether region surreptitiously; he had almost failed to salute his superior.

"Very well," the major replied, nearly snorting. "Good night, Miss Kiernan."

"Good night, Major Blanding. Shall I have Buck ready for you in the morning?"

"That will do nicely, Miss Kiernan. But have Private…?"

The soldier came close to missing his cue. "Fellows, sir."

"Fellows, then. Have him do it. Before long, I'm sure you will be quite busy. I anticipate we may engage Union soldiers soon and there are sure to be casualties."

"Yes sir, Good night again, sir."

This time, Private Fellows snapped off a crisper salute, before giving Maeve a quick glance and scuttling away hurriedly.

She resumed her path toward her tent to bed down for the evening, when she felt the distinct tingle of Recognition. She rested her hand on the butt of her pistol. She had adopted the custom of carrying a firearm; in the Confederate Army, it was considered presumptuous for anyone but an officer to carry a sword. Her saber was tucked away safely in her bedroll, available should she need it. The gun would slow one of her kind down long enough for her to fetch it.

Turning to glance around, she heard a voice call, "Miss?" She approached the not-unfamiliar sound of a voice she hadn't heard in decades.

The figure in the shadows of the pines was dressed as a farmer or a drover, the clothes ragged and unkempt from time on the trail, by the looks of them. Drawing nearer, still gripping the pistol, she squinted, trying to identify the man.

"MacLeod?" she whispered. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm here with a party of cattle drivers," he explained, "bringing beef up from south of here." He looked around a bit nervously. "What are you doing in a Confederate camp?" he whispered fiercely.

Taking him by the arm and leading him to her tent on the fringes of the bivouac area, she waited until they were out of earshot to reply.

"I might ask you why you're supplying food to the side I know you oppose."

"Men have to eat," he told her defensively, then glanced around quickly before going on. "I'm was actually doing some reconnaissance when I was "recruited" by the herd boss. It served my purpose to go along, so, here I am."

"Are you trying to get me shot?!" Maeve hissed. "There was a party of Federals ambushed on the St. Mary's river just today!"

She stirred up the embers and placed some pine straw on them to blaze up, then added a few pieces of wood. In the renewed light, she could see that the trip had been hard on MacLeod. His face bore several day's, if not a week's worth of stubble; there were insect bites on his hands and face that had not faded yet, and a gauntness to his frame that she had never seen before.

"Of course not," he said, narrowing his eyes at her appraisingly. He was unsure of her loyalties in this cause. Maeve didn't usually mix herself too deeply with the affairs of others, tending to keep to herself. Why she would lend her strength to the Confederate cause escaped him as well. "What are you doing here?"

Rummaging in her tent, she pulled out a pot of beans that she had been soaking since the night before. Hanging them on the pothook over the fire, she handed him a chunk of bread and a canteen of water. He thanked her before digging in.

"I'm caring for horses and wounded." She settled herself on a log across the fire from him. "I thought you were involved in the Underground Railroad," she nearly whispered, to avoid having the phrase carried to the other fires deeper in the trees.

"I am still. We were told that there might be those wishing to make their way out of here. Turns out, we were misled." He was startled when Maeve snorted.

"No kidding," she informed him. "The only things you'll find south of here are yellowhammer cows, pine trees, 'possums and mosquitoes." She stood and stirred the pot, which by now was bubbling merrily. "Any slaves escaped in this state have probably long since made their way into the swamps far south of here and are living with whatever Seminoles remain. The only whites are usually so poor they have to live off of poke greens and fried 'coon."

"What are you doing here?" Duncan asked, his hunger sated for the moment. "These people are fighting to perpetuate slavery. I know you can't believe in that."

"I don't," she replied flatly. "The Emancipation Proclamation was a political move by Lincoln, and you know it as well as I do."

He didn't reply, but merely looked at her expectantly.

"This is my home, MacLeod. I'm defending my home just as these people are doing." She waved an arm to indicate the camp. "There's not a native Floridian out there that owns a slave, or ever did. They're too poor, most of them. They've been cut off from the rest of the world and they're fighting back. Only the rich own slaves." She shook her head at him. "I don't expect you to understand. Your world is still very black and white. Nothing is absolute, especially in war. Each side is right and each side is wrong."

Duncan nodded in acknowledgment. Though he didn't agree with her views, he had to admit to their validity, and her right to them. No amount of reasoning or argument from him would ever change her mind, though he wished he could at least convince her to leave with him in the morning. There was little hope of that, however; Maeve valued her own integrity as much as he did his.

The beans were eventually finished cooking, and they ate, talking about little trivialities over their meal. Maeve went to the creek to clean up the tin plates; when she returned, MacLeod was asleep. She regarded his sleeping form for a long moment, then pulled one of her blankets out of the tent and covered him, touching his face gently, in remembrance of their shared past, then retired herself.

The next morning when she awoke, Duncan was gone. She shrugged philosophically and set about her morning routine, when she was approached by Major Blanding and the private with the sore privates. Maeve giggled to herself over that one.

"What can I help you with, Major?" she inquired pleasantly.

"Private Fellows tells me you had some company last night. Who was he?"

"An old friend. Why?"

The major gave the young soldier next to him a long-suffering look. "Private Fellows seems to think that he was a Union sympathizer, or, worse yet, a spy." He turned to face Maeve.

"He was a drover that came with that herd of beeves yesterday. He is an old friend and he was hungry."

"For more than just beans, I'll bet," the soldier piped up from his safe place behind the Major.

"That's enough from you," the officer snapped.

"No sir; that's all right," Maeve told him and stepped around to where she could face the soldier. Private Fellows cringed involuntarily, as if expecting a physical blow.

"I seem to recall you and I having a discussion about your desire to share my bed and your tactics of requesting that favor. Now, it's none of your business what I do and with whom, but rest assured that I will do nothing to endanger this campaign." She faced the major again, dismissing the young man from her thoughts. The major gave her an appraising look.

"This friend of yours, is he still here?"

"No sir; he left early, before I got up."

"Very early indeed," he observed. He started off across the field then stopped, turning toward Maeve again.

"Are you sure about your friend, Miss Kiernan?"

"Yes sir, completely sure," she replied. "He knows what's right."

"Very well," said Major Blanding, and the two men left her alone.
-----------------------------

Loki slept peacefully on the seat beside her. He awoke as she pressed the replay button, giving her a long suffering look as Patsy Cline poured from the speakers yet again.

"I know; I'm wallowing," she told him. "Just let me get it out of my system, okay?" The dog continued to stare at her, with an expression humans usually reserved for someone with less than average sense. She smiled at him.

"Last time, I promise."

Turing her attention back to the road ahead and the song playing, she began to sing along, twanging in all the right spots and giving it all the slides and catches that the song deserved.

"Crazy; crazy for feeling so lonely."

From behind them, in the trailer, a steady kicking ensued. Maeve smiled ruefully and switched the c.d. off, bowing to the majority. She drove a few more miles, pulling off on a secondary road and finding an open field she could walk Fortunato around in and give them all an opportunity to stretch their legs.
-----------------------------

Maeve waited patiently in the attorney's outer office, even though her appointment had been for forty-five minutes earlier, and she had seen no one come or go from the inner sanctum. She had essentially come here straight from the road, stopping long enough to drop the horse, dog and trailer off to their respective locations and change clothes. She did not want to delay this confrontation any longer. Another twenty minutes passed, and she finally stood and approached the receptionist's desk.

"Let Mr. Andraesen know I'm coming in, whether he's ready or not." As the woman tried to stall and deter her progress into the inner office, Maeve simply brushed past her with a briefcase in her hand and announced herself as she opened the door.

"Good morning, Mr. Andraesen, I believe it's time we got this over with." Maeve was angry about the situation, but her attorney didn't know it yet. That was to her advantage.

"Miss Kiernan, I was just about to call you in," He shot his receptionist a dirty look and closed the door, hastening to his large cherry desk to take his place behind it. "What can we do for you today?" He sized her up. She was attractive, but not overly so: tall, wearing a navy blue suit and pumps. The only jewelry he could see was a pair of gold bands on her left hand and small golden hoops in her ears. He dismissed her almost immediately, feeling sure he could doublespeak and bluff his way out of anything she could come up with.

Maeve sat down in the chair on the other side, surveying the room. It was a large office at an expensive address in Jacksonville. The floor was heart pine, topped by a large scarlet and blue oriental rug. Tiffany glass and a few oil paintings lined the walls and a large window overlooked the St. Johns River and commanded a view of the newly refurbished football stadium. The man had been doing quite well for himself at her expense, and it was about time to put an end to it.

"I've come to inquire about my holdings, left to me by my great-grandmother; find out what state the properties are in, that sort of thing."

Mr. Andraesen flinched imperceptibly. "Which great-grandmother would that be?" He began to think that she might be more than he expected. Her somewhat nondescript appearance was a deception, he decided. He observed a little more closely and realized what he had mistaken for plainness was actually an air of quiet confidence. Things were not going as he had planned.

"You know perfectly well. The one whose name I share. Maeve Kiernan." Time to stir the pot. "There isn't a problem, is there?" She smiled inwardly as the man began to sweat.

"Why would there be a problem?" Uh-oh.

"Well," she began, opening her briefcase, "I did some research before I came out here, and I stopped by some of my properties and did some checking. At least, they used to be my properties." She produced a paper. "These were all supposed to remain undisturbed. Imagine my surprise when I arrive to find a housing development where a dairy farm used to be." She handed him another paper. "And this one. It was virgin pine forest and oak scrub. Now, the pines have been pulpwooded out, the oaks are gone, and in it's place is an apartment complex and a Winn-Dixie(TM) shopping center. How do you explain that?"

He tried to draw himself up indignantly, while his brain was screaming, 'She knows!'. "Some of those properties have dates of sale dating from my grandfather's time. How should I know?"

"And some of them date from very recently. It's your job to know; you're my attorney. Besides, your grandfather was her attorney." Leaning close, Maeve grinned at him ferally. He leaned away instinctively.

Gesturing to indicate the office around them, she told him, "You seem to have done quite well for yourself here. You have done so at my expense." She ignored his rapid intake of breath. "The taxes have always been kept up with; I have records to prove it. Yet here, it shows that these properties were purchased by a Solograd Group for the tax note." Pulling one more sheaf from her briefcase, she smiled pleasantly again, although showing him far too many teeth for his comfort.

"Look this over carefully. This is also a bill of sale. For the Solograd Group. I am now sole owner of that holding company."

He cringed, still in shock over her announcement. The terrifying vision of his carefully constructed little world crumbling around him didn't help matters. This episode was going to cost him everything: his job, his home, probably his marriage. He looked up at her, his face stricken. "That means --"

"That I now own you." Maeve sat back, closing her briefcase. "You can keep those. I've got copies. I also now own this building, including your office. I hold the note on your car and I am also now your senior partner." That part wasn't entirely true; she wasn't really an attorney. She hadn't been an attorney in decades, but he didn't need to know that. It did look good on the paperwork, though. He'd never find out. Nobody could leave a paper trail like Maeve Kiernan. She favored him with another cool glance and continued.

"All that land was to have been preserved as it was, not paved over or built on in any way. Not then and not now. Those were the terms in her will, and you blatantly violated the trust you were given. So I have taken it upon myself to place you in a position in which you might be trusted, since you now have a personal stake in it. This is your new mission statement. 'Don't screw Maeve Kiernan over, and you won't even know she exists.' " Maeve fixed him with a steady eye.

"But I have a very long reach and if you cheat me in any way, I will know. Now, you need to look into purchasing open tracts of undeveloped lands, preferably adjoining or near wildlife conservation areas and state and national parks. These properties are to remain *undeveloped*. All the particulars can be found in those papers. Do we understand each other?"

He nodded wordlessly. A new idea began to penetrate his fogged brain: the idea that she wasn't going to tear out his heart and show it to him before he died. He might survive this.

"Good." As she stood to leave she stopped. "Oh, by the way, that new house you bought?"

Mr. Andraesen cringed anew, nodding reluctantly. Here it comes.

"It's very nice." She turned and walked out of the room.

His heart kept trying to stop, but he bullied it into functioning long enough for the idea to sink in. Both cheeks of his ass, and more, were hers now, but strangely, nothing had changed either. He would read the copies she left and find a loophole. That was what he was best at. His rapid panting began to ease with the comfort of this new thought. Then he remembered her parting shot. The house. Mr. Andraesen waited until the door closed behind her, then began pawing frantically through the paperwork, trying to find out if she owned the house now, too.

Maeve managed to stifle the giggles welling up in her until she got into her truck. That had felt good! She really had been infuriated when she found out what had happened to all the land she thought was preserved as wildlife sanctuaries. The anger, however, had evolved into a calculating cunning that had placed this man's life in her hands. She wouldn't do anything more to him; unless he screwed her over, she'd probably forget his name in a few years. He'd never find anything in the paperwork to help him out. Maeve Kiernan was the queen of airtight, hermetically sealed documents. A person didn't stay on the run and change identities for as long and as often as she had without learning a few things. Besides, she had another attorney keeping tabs on him. This one she knew she could trust; if the man ever broke wind, only dogs would hear it. She had used him for years, and he had never accepted anything more for his services than his standard fee, although not an inconsiderable bit of her money lay in his control. The only problem was that he was all the way at the other end of the country, and he was getting on in years. She sighed. Soon she'd have to go through the process again of finding someone else she could trust with some of her accumulated wealth.

We Belong Part 7 of 8 - for disclaimers and credits, see part 1

"Hello? How are you? Have you been all right through all those lonely nights?
That's what I'd say; I'd tell you everything, if you'd pick up the telephone."

Telephone Line -- Electric Light Orchestra

Duncan sat morosely at the bar, staring deeply into his glass, almost as if he were scrying the depths of it for answers to his dilemma. Methos, Amanda, and Joe sat a few seats away, looking at him in concern.

"If I had known that her leaving would make him this bad, I wouldn't have pressed so hard," Amanda told the two men in a low voice, her eyes still on MacLeod.

"She was pretty broken up about it too," Joe told her. "She just hides it well."

"I really feel bad," Amanda complained.

"Well, you should," Methos told her. "You maliciously set about to break them up. By your own admission," he added hastily when her expression went flat.

"I know, I know!" she replied hotly. "I was cruel and mean, and I never meant to hurt him. Or her," she added lamely, shrugging.

"You can all stop talking about me behind my back," came the voice of the Scotsman. His expression hadn't changed, but he had turned to face them. The fact that he was looking up at them seemed to be a good sign.

"Sure," Methos told him. "But what are you going to do about it?"

"I don't know," Duncan admitted. "I want to go after her, but she doesn't deal with being chased very well." The look he exchanged with Joe was full of meaning.

"You're not DeGuerre; you aren't after her head," Joe told him. "I think she'd realize that."

"Maybe," Duncan said, finally tossing back his drink. He stood, going around the bar to help himself to the bottle. His audience exchanged another look among themselves. Methos moved to the stool next to MacLeod as he sat back down with a fresh drink.

"What do you think she wants? Hmm, MacLeod? Do you think she wants to be there, alone, after the two of you planned to go together?"

"She's used to being alone," Duncan rationalized.

"That doesn't mean she likes it!" Methos burst out. "Don't you think she's thinking the same thing about you? The going gets tough, and you just sit down and wait for the other person to do something. Well, guess what; she did. She's gone and you sit here drinking and being gloomy. You're quite good at it, I might add. Centuries of practice, I suspect." Methos' eyes narrowed appraisingly at MacLeod.

"My God, MacLeod, you're afraid to face her. Somewhat understandable; she has quite a will to her. But do you really want to spend the next century or so, wondering about what if, wondering if she's still alive?"

Amanda winced perceptibly at this stab, feeling its bite herself.

Duncan muttered, "I've had to do it before."

Methos shook his head, throwing his hands up in disgust. "Well, who am I to fly in the face of tradition?" He studied the Scotsman's unchanging face for another long moment, then shrugged and stood up, releasing an exasperated breath.

"I don't know why I bother. I'm going home. You need a lift, Amanda?" She nodded, staring at Duncan for a long moment, then went to get her coat.

When the two of them were gone, Joe made his way to the barstool vacated by Methos and sat down, leaning back against the bar. He regarded Duncan quietly for a few moments, then said softly, "I have her address, and a phone number."

Duncan's head came up and he turned to Joe. He didn't smile exactly, but there was a lightening to the brooding expression on his face. He nodded.

"All right," he said. "I'll think about it."
-----------------------------

Her house on the St. Johns River was still undergoing some major remodeling, so Maeve headed out to the condo on Anastasia Island. It was a small two bedroom affair, but certainly adequate for Loki and herself.

She changed into jogging clothes and took Loki out on the beach. It was getting a little cool in the evenings, but she was soon out of the jacket and running with the dog through the surf, laughing as he chased the breakers back and forth, barking madly. It was early enough in the season that the beach was sparsely populated on a weekday. By the time they returned to the condo, the sun was getting very low and Loki's tongue was dragging.

Maeve showered and ate, idly watching the t.v. news. She did everything she could to keep her mind on the here and now, and not thinking about what she had left at the other end of the country. Guilt had plagued her almost every moment. Had she overreacted; was she being unfair to Duncan? She waffled between wallowing in self-pity and almost picking up the phone, then getting really angry that the whole thing had happened in the first place. This trip was supposed to have been a getaway for them. She would have been working, of course, but it would have been just the two of them.

Maeve realized that she had been staring at the Used Car Channel for nearly twenty minutes. She turned the set off and looked over at the phone. She knew that Duncan wasn't at the farm anymore from speaking to Gail. Gail told her he had left, looking like a wounded puppy, and asked her what was wrong. Maeve gave her a brief rundown of the situation, but didn't go into a lot of sordid detail.

She picked the phone up, like she had hundreds of times in the past two weeks and held it for a long time, staring at it not unlike she would have a poisonous snake. This time, with a decisive move, she dialed the loft. Her heart hammered as it rang. With a mixture of annoyance and relief, she heard the machine pick up. His voice, even simply recorded on the message, still made her heart skip several beats. She simply couldn't deny that. The machine finally beeped and she was unprepared. Maeve said nothing, just held the phone, imagining the tenuous connection between herself and his space, until the machine clicked off, then she softly replaced the receiver.

Duncan sat in the dark in the leather chair, a glass in his hand, listening to the nearly inaudible breaths playing through the answering machine. A ghost of a smile, the first genuine smile to cross his face since she'd left, briefly touched his lips, then fled.
-----------------------------

Near Olustee Florida, February 6, 1864

Duncan stumbled on a huge divot, probably carved by a cannon shot, and nearly went down under his burden. He could smell the blood and the residual fear on the limp body he carried, but, mercifully, the young man was unconscious and unaware of the further jarring of his battered body. Legs straining under the effort, Duncan pushed himself back up and continued his journey to the far side of the clearing, where he could see the figures with the red armbands tending the wounded. All wounded, no matter if the color of their uniform was blue of grey.

He deposited the young man as gently as possible at the base of a tree, checking his wound again. A ball had passed cleanly through his side; with rest he would probably recover completely. However, rest and time were luxuries that were not well known in this war. Duncan checked his pulse; it was steady and strong and the soldier would certainly regain consciousness soon. As he pushed himself back up to his feet, he felt the crawling inside his skull that heralded another Immortal's approach.

"Relax; it's just me."

Maeve opened a bottle of carbolic and poured some on a relatively clean cloth, before pressing it to the wound in the soldier's side. The stinging brought him back to consciousness in a rush, and Duncan caught his arms quickly to keep him from slugging Maeve.

"Better to hurt and be alive, isn't it, Private Fellows?" The soldier nodded, a little cautiously, as if afraid to disagree with her. Another woman came, a red cross on her armband, and began to tend to the wounded man. Maeve and Duncan stood together, turning to walk through the trees.

It was over. The wounded had been tended, the dead counted and everyone accounted for. It had been an overwhelming victory for the Confederates; from the standpoint of casualties it had been one of the bloodiest fought by the Union army thus far. Both sides had shrank back from the field, licking their wounds and already moving towards the next confrontation. It would not be here though. The Confederates had stated their claim to this area beyond the shadow of a doubt and the Federals respected that. They fell back to Jacksonville and left the land between to the rebels.

"Now what?" Duncan asked quietly as they wove slowly among the trees.

Maeve shook herself out of her reverie and stopped to look up at him. There was a tightness to her face and a deep, heartfelt ache in her eyes that he hadn't seen in a long time.

"I've had a bellyful of this war. I'm heading to the river. Want to come along?" Her expression lightened just a bit as she watched his emotions scattering across his face like windblown clouds.

Duncan shrugged, acting casual. "I'll ride along awhile, see you to your river." He turned and walked away, headed to where his horse was tethered.

When she was sure he couldn't see her, Maeve grinned, the tension beginning to leave her.
-----------------------------

Maeve had settled into a routine of work, condo, and checking on her house. It would be ready in another few weeks. She had almost finalized her decision to stay, though she had developed a habit of calling and not leaving messages on Duncan's machine.

The park was coming along nicely, and she had managed to secure the placement of a breeding pair of clouded leopards and was supervising the construction of their new home. Feeling a bit proud of herself, and knowing that her hovering would not speed the construction along, Maeve gave herself a meritorious afternoon off. Waving goodbye to the crew pouring the forms for the artificial rocks, she climbed into her Suburban and drove away.

Driving north along U.S. 1 through St. Augustine, Maeve sang half-heartedly along with the radio playing classic rock tunes and was jolted from her reverie by her cell phone ringing. She turned the volume down on the radio and switched the phone on hands-free.

"Kiernan."

"Maeve?" She was shocked to recognize MacLeod's voice. Hoping maybe, but profoundly surprised nonetheless.

"Mac? How did you get this number?"

"I pulled a few strings."

"You talked to Joe," she grumbled good naturedly. "Wait till I get ahold of him. Boy, is he gonna get it."

"Whatever." Duncan laughed. "Listen, Maeve, we need to talk. We need to have a long talk. "

"I agree," she said, "but not over the phone. I--this is something we need to talk about face-to-face."

"I agree," he shot back. "So, when can we talk?"

"Duncan, I'm in St. Augustine. You know, The Oldest City? The one in Florida, that's all the way across the country from Seacouver? I don't know when I'll be home, or even if--- wait a minute." A sneaky suspicion began to creep up on her. "Where are you, anyway?"

There was a short bark of laughter. "I knew I couldn't fool you for long. Check your side mirror."

Maeve glanced over and at first saw nothing but the scenery rushing by in reverse. Then she leaned forward, checking the blind spot. There was a red rental car with a suspiciously familiar driver. The figure behind the wheel waved sheepishly.

"In my blind spot," she sighed, "as usual." She changed lanes and signaled for a right turn. "Follow me," she directed and turned down King Street, heading to the old town.

They paid to park their cars in a private lot and wordlessly turned together and headed up St. George Street to the tourist section. It was late fall, the summer tourists were gone and the winter residents hadn't yet arrived, so there weren't many people out. They crossed Cuna Street and entered the pedestrian-only section of town, walking side by side, close but not touching. Several silent minutes passed.

"How long before you say something to me?" he asked quietly.

Maeve seemed startled by the question. "I wasn't deliberately giving you the silent treatment, though it may have been a Freudian thing." She smiled up at him, reducing the bite of the comment.

"Are you hungry?"

"Starved," Duncan replied. As if on cue, his stomach chose then to complain noisily.

"I know just the place. Food, beer, music we can't be heard over."

"Are we going to argue?" he asked.

"I'm not sure yet. I'll let you know."

"Can I at least have some advance warning?" Duncan asked plaintively.

"I'll let you know," Maeve repeated firmly.

They continued along the street, Maeve looking up at the buildings fondly, as if they were old friends. She peered into a shop window occasionally, and traced her hand along the walls. "Of course, it's much cleaner now than it was when I first arrived," she commented offhandedly.

"I can imagine," Duncan replied. "When were you here?"

"1565, the first time. I was here as the city was founded, coming with the second wave of ships; running, as usual. Actually got a position with the governor's staff. In a frontier town, a woman sometimes wearing trousers wasn't too terribly uncommon, though I did get some strange looks. Most of the Spaniards accounted it to the fact that I'm Irish."

Duncan grinned again. "A lot of things may be attributed to that fact." He cringed in mock terror as she popped him on the shoulder in retaliation.

"Here we are," Maeve announced.

The building was on old mill, wheel still intact, although it no longer turned. The lower story was taken up by a couple of gift shops, but Maeve bypassed these, leading him to a set of narrow, enclosed stairs. The sounds of live music drifted down from their destination. Turning at the top, they came out into a wood floored open area, with tables along the walls and the bar against the back. A raised platform in one corner held a single musician with a microphone and an acoustic guitar, singing Jimmy Buffett. Maeve led Duncan to the left, through an opening and out onto a covered, open-air deck where they took a table.

"Where's Amanda?" she asked suddenly.

Duncan stumbled in his reply, surprised by her sneak attack. "Huh? Oh, I don't know. I dropped her off at the airport early this morning. My plane took off before hers did." He shrugged and looked hangdog, but before he could continue, a waitress came and offered them menus.

"It took you long enough to get rid of her."

Maeve winced at her words and then apologized immediately. "I'm sorry, that was totally uncalled for. You two are close friends, and you had every right to visit as long as you wanted." Her expression turned wistful. "You did just visit, didn't you?"

"Scout's honor," Duncan promised, smiling.

They perused the menu for a few minutes, then ordered, Maeve selecting a pitcher of beer in the interim. When the pitcher was delivered, he continued earnestly.

"Maeve, I'm sorry. Amanda has this way of just breezing in and setting my life on its ear sometimes."

"Except this time," Maeve countered, "she turned mine over along with it. Hell, Duncan, I know it's not your fault. But she blew into my house and made herself quite at home, and you just let her!" Maeve felt herself getting exasperated as many thoughts boiled to the surface, too fast for her to put words to them all. She took a long pull on her glass and thought briefly, trying to collect her feelings. The food arrived and this allowed them both to settle down and get used to the idea of not being at odds any more.

Maeve spoke again. "I like Amanda; I really do. She and I were fairly close once. But I was always a fifth wheel with her. I was the third party in a couple. It was never the other way around. Every man in the world always looked at her first. Me, if they saw me at all, it was only if I stepped into their line of sight and lasted only as long as I was in the way. You know how devastating to your self-esteem that can be?"

She looked over at him and spoke before he could answer. "No, you don't. You're just as beautiful as she is, even with mustard on your face." Leaning forward, she wiped it away. "You've never had a problem being overlooked. That's why I felt so insecure when she showed up."

He squirmed a little under her scrutiny and was more than a little uncomfortable with her judgment of him as beautiful, while she felt so unwanted herself. He reached out and took her hand across the table. She did not pull away.

"You didn't have enough faith in yourself to keep me from falling under her spell again, or faith in me?" he said gently.

"I don't know," she told him truthfully. "I know how charming Amanda can be. I've been on the receiving end of it myself. And what she does to the opposite sex; well --" Maeve hesitated and looked up at Duncan slightly askance. "It's the same effect you have on me." The hand in his possession twitched and squeezed his.

Duncan grinned foolishly. "Really?"

She nodded, rolling her eyes heavenward. "Yes, really, you big dope. All you have to do is look at me with those big brown eyes and I'll do anything, like a bloody dog!" She shook her head, smiling but exasperated. "My preferred method of dealing with an unpleasant situation is to walk away from it. That's what I did."

Duncan started guiltily. "I'm sorry about that, too. And I said some things to you that I wish I hadn't. We let this whole situation get in the way of how we really feel." He looked up into her eyes, hoping to wash away the hurt he had caused in her. "You know how much I care about you. I never meant to drive you away. I should have taken better control of the situation."

Maeve gave him the first genuine smile since the whole mess started. "Thank you." She squeezed his hand. "Although I don't know what kind of control you could have taken. Amanda and I were sort of a juggernaut. I don't think anything could have stopped, or even slowed down the inevitable." She paused, lost in pensive thought for a moment. "You know what really hurts, as if all this wasn't enough?"

Duncan shook his head, hoping that whatever her complaint was, it wasn't anything more that he was responsible for, directly or indirectly.

"Amanda and I were friends. I thought we still were. I guess I felt betrayed, by her, by you, by myself. It's everyone's fault and no one's fault. Amanda will always be Amanda. She is a loving, empathic, cunning, manipulative creature, but I never thought she'd pull out the big guns on me. That's what really bothered me." She looked away, out into the street, and he reached out to touch her face. Unable and unwilling to ignore him or remain angry anymore, Maeve smiled, glancing sideways at him.

"Ready?" she asked.

He grinned at her. "Born ready. You pay the bill," he handed her some money, "and I'll be right with you."

She eyed him suspiciously, but agreed, striding off down the boardwalk to the cashier's counter..

Duncan approached the man with the guitar and slipped him twenty dollars and a request. They nodded to one another and the musician started to play "Suite Judy Blue Eyes." Maeve walked back to Duncan, handing him his change, and smiling upon recognizing the song. Duncan caught her before she could evade him, and danced her around the tiny space in front of the bar, much to the amusement of the lunchtime crowd. Fighting half-heartedly for a moment, Maeve gave in and danced, harmonizing with the singer as best she could while whirling around the restaurant.

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

"My heart can't take the beating, not having you to hold.
A small voice keeps repeating deep inside my soul;
It says I can't keep pretending I don't love you anymore."

Anymore - Travis Tritt

The whole front of the condo was open to the ocean breeze. The sliding glass in the living room and in front of the bedroom as well as the door that connected the two, were as far open as possible. Loki was asleep in the bathroom where Maeve had shut him, afraid that he might spot a rabbit in the dunes below and forget that they were six stories up. Duncan poured drinks, and brought them out onto the balcony. Maeve jumped a little, startled out of her mind-wandering by his approach.

"Sorry, didn't mean to scare you." He handed her the whiskey, settling down with his own.

"No apology necessary," she reassured him. "I just had gotten used to solitude again. Not the best way to spend all your time, but something I've gotten used to over the centuries."

Duncan slid onto the chaise beside her, following her gaze out to the ocean. The eastern sky was reflecting the dying colors of the sunset behind them. The edge of the sky at the horizon was growing steadily darker. "I'm sorry," he whispered one final time.

Maeve turned to him in the gloom.

"Don't be," she whispered and laid her head on his chest, setting her glass aside.

He held her, abandoning his drink as well, squeezing her as if afraid to let her go. She rolled over onto him in the chaise, looking up into his eyes, staring deep into them for a long time. Duncan could feel trembling, but he was unsure which one of them it came from, maybe both. He traced the contours of her face with his hands; she closed her eyes, and he felt warmth and moisture on his fingers. Leaning forward, he kissed the tears away. Maeve took a long trembling breath and moved her mouth to his, kissing him softly at first, then abandoned herself to the moment, pouring all her passion and strength into the kiss. She buried her fingers in his silky hair; he wrapped his arms around her and returned the kiss with all the fire he had been saving. She shifted forward, pressing herself to him, and the chaise suddenly reclined, surprising them both. She laughed, chuckling into his open mouth.

"Is that a hint?" Duncan asked hoarsely, a small laugh bubbling out of him.

"Could be, could be," she replied noncommittally, while her hands were most definitely committed to relieving him of his clothing. They wriggled about, and the chaise swayed alarmingly under them, rapping sharply into the balcony rail and shoving one of their glasses over the edge. They heard it shatter on the sidewalk far below.

"Wait," he gasped, sitting up. He looked out over the edge. "We're awfully close and I don't really think the rail was built to withstand this. Half-naked and dead would not be a good way to be found down there."

"Agreed," Maeve said. "I better go clean that up. There are a lot of kids in this place." She stood, arranging her clothing to a more publicly acceptable mode. "Hold that thought," she told him, with a grin.

"Hurry back," he smiled.

Maeve returned to the condo filled with candlelight. The flames danced madly in the ocean breeze and shadows mirrored their steps. The stereo was playing softly in the background; Bob Seger's "Turn the Page." In the center of the room stood Duncan, shirt still open and a single rose swiped from the arrangement on the table in his hand. She smiled and went to him.

"Milady?" He gave her the rose.

She accepted it, touching his hand lingeringly as she took it, and sniffed deeply of its aroma. The rose was a pale pewter-lavender color and very fragrant. She traced its cool petals down his throat, to the open front of his shirt; he shivered at the sensation. Maeve breathed a little laugh, then followed the rose's path with her mouth, nipping gently at the exposed skin.

Duncan sighed deeply, burying his hands in her hair, and wondering what she would do next. He didn't have long to wait.

The music changed, Joe Cocker's distinctive rasp belting out, "You Can Leave Your Hat On," appropriately enough. Maeve stepped away from him, to the rhythm, and kicked off a shoe, now gripping the rose in her teeth. She sauntered back, just out of his reach. Off went the other shoe, nearly flying over the balcony rail. He grinned, laughing at her antics. She made as series of slow turns, dancing a private performance for him alone. Pulling her shirt over her head, she tossed it at him. It wrapped itself around his head, obscuring his vision for a minute. Duncan pulled it free, caught her and pulled her close as she passed again. She shrieked , laughing, and tried vainly to escape his clutches. He removed the rose with his teeth, transferring it to his hand, then lowered his mouth to hers, and stifled her protests in a most delightful manner.

"Sneaky, sneaky," Maeve gasped when he finally let her up for some air. She smiled and gazed deeply at him, as he trailed the rose around her face and ears. Her expression changed subtly, becoming softer, a bit melancholy even.

"I've missed you," she whispered and squeezed him close.

Duncan returned the embrace, holding her tenderly, feeling a bit of the old Maeve in the quiet manner and hesitancy. He put a finger under her chin and tilted her face back, so that he could look into her eyes.

"I love you," he said simply and kissed the end of her nose. He felt her smile, and she kissed his chin, moving up to kiss him properly. The kiss deepened and they held each other, bodies pressed together, becoming one entity. The kiss evolved into shared breaths, each of them drawing air from the other, through the other, receiving from the other what was needed to survive. The sensation was intense; the shared air supply, coupled with the many other sensations passing between them, made it progressively difficult to breathe at all. They broke apart almost simultaneously, gasping.

Smiling, she trailed her finger from his face, to his chin and onto his chest, heading downward. The finger crooked at him. "Come here," she said and walked into the bedroom, which was still open to the night and the sea.

Duncan followed, both of them abandoning the rest of their clothes in a trail on the floor. Some things were just more important.

"Sorry. Where were we?" she murmured.

"About here, I'd say," he replied softly and began trailing his fingers down her neck, retracing their path with his lips. Maeve buried her hands in his hair and they barely noticed when the wind gusted in the room, bringing the evening chill with it.

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

A waning, but still bright moon was rising over the ocean, bathing the room in pools of silver light. Duncan awoke and sat up, staring out at the breakers for a while. Maeve stirred in her sleep beside him, sighing deeply. He looked down at her; drinking in the sight of her in the bone white glow of the moon. She lay on her side, curled up to his warmth, auburn hair spilling like a dark stream around her face and over the edge of the bed. She moved again, nothing unusual for Maeve. Even after her nightmares had ceased, she remained in almost constant motion, even in her sleep. Duncan smiled and brushed a lock of hair away from her eyes, realizing, not for the first time, but with a sense of renewal, how precious she was to him.

Maeve was a friend first, last and always; always there, steady and faithful as a hound. Ever since he had met her, she had been someone he could rely on. She had commiserated with him, gotten drunk with him, made love with him, even saved his life. Always supportive, she let him go his own way, even if her path did not follow his. She valued her own independence far too much to deny anyone else theirs. This episode with Amanda had demonstrated to him again that Maeve was not one to be bandied about. She did not hesitate to strike back when struck against, but soon, the waters would calm and she would be her constant self again.

He looked back out across the balcony, watching as clouds scudded by on their way south. He lost himself in his thoughts for a time, until he felt a hand on his face. Turning, he saw Maeve looking up at him, a soft smile playing across her features, like candle flame. He kissed the palm that lay against his cheek, and drew her to him again.

FINIS

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