See Part One for Disclaimers.

- 4 -

I woke to the unmistakable antiseptic smell of a hospital.  I hate that smell, always have, always will.  But I was alive; I was too uncomfortable not to be.  There was a dull throbbing from my thigh, my mouth was dry, and my head felt like it was wrapped in cotton.  Tentatively, I opened my eyes.  It was a private room, painted a pale yellow that I supposed they thought would make the occupant feel cheerful.  Personally, I felt like I was entombed in the middle of a faded buttercup.  The combination of image and smell almost made me gag.  I was definitely alive.

There was a soft sound from the side of the bed and I turned my head slightly.  Adam.  Head bent, dark hair ruffled, his face almost as pale and drawn as I had a feeling mine was.  I murmured his name; I didn't have enough energy to say it any louder.  He looked up, worry and fear etched in every line of his face, and I frowned.  I wanted only to get that look off his face; it hurt too much to see it and know I had placed it there.

Or that's what I tried to say: his voice overrode my own.  "Kathryn!  Thank God!" Tears glinted in his eyes and I realized that part of the reason he looked so tired was because of the tears that were still drying on his cheeks.  "I thought --"

I knew what he had thought.  He had told me about Alexa, about all the long hours spent at her side while she lay in a bed in a hospital.  While she died.  I gathered my strength and raised a hand to lay it against his cheek.  He caught it in his own and held it tightly.  "Adam," I said gently.  "Don't.  Please.  I'm all right."

But the pain didn't leave his eyes; it only changed somewhat.  From concern to hurt.  "Why didn't you tell me?"

I sighed.  "I didn't want you to get hurt."

His brows drew down sharply.  "I'm tougher than I look."

I smiled reassuringly at him.  "So am I," I pointed out.  I had to ask, regardless of how much I knew we needed to deal with this; I had to know.  "Jameson?"

Adam's eyes shone with something I never thought I would see in them: cold satisfaction.  "Dead."  He sounded like he would have liked to have done it himself.  I'd heard that tone before, even used it myself when a close friend was mugged.  The difference was, I wouldn't have gone through with it, given a chance.  Adam would.  For the first time, I wondered how much there was that I didn't know about him.

I nodded slowly.  "Amanda and MacLeod?"

The look faded from his eyes, and I was grateful for it.  "They're outside," he said.  "I . . . asked . . . them to let me wait for you to wake up alone."

'Asked', I thought, meaning 'told'.  He was angry, at Jameson for hurting me, yes, but also at Amanda for getting me involved.  "I volunteered," I told him, firmly.

He looked at me and the frown deepened again.  "But it was her idea."

I sighed and tightened my grip on his hand.  "It's not her fault."

He nodded, slowly, but I got the feeling that, at least between him and Amanda, the argument was far from over.  There was no more I could say on that, however, so I asked, "How long was I out?"  And regretted it instantly.

"Eight hours," he said.  His expression closed suddenly, but not before I caught the flash of remaining hurt.  He stood suddenly.  "I'll get MacLeod and Amanda."

"Adam?" I called after him, wondering, but he was out the door and soon Amanda was peeking in at me.

"De Sousa?" she asked softly, her eyes dark with concern.  "How do you feel?"

I frowned at her, pain and disappointment making my tone sharper than it should have been.  "Fine," I answered shortly, then sighed at the way she flinched.  "I'm sorry," I said softly.  "I'm fine, Amanda.  Thank you."

But she frowned at me, then glanced at the door.  "He -- he didn't leave, did he?"

I sighed again.  "I don't know," I answered.  "I think . . . I think he needs time."  I cleared my throat of tears and brightened my tone.  "How's MacLeod?"

Amanda smiled faintly and sat down, placing one hand gently over mine.  "He's fine," she said softly, her eyes locking with mine, and it hit me with a shock that she was genuinely sympathetic.  "You will be too."

"Thanks," I answered faintly.  I wished I could agree with her readily, but I couldn't; I could feel a little piece of me dying inside.  He had left and it was over between us; I knew that deep down.  He would be very nice, and it would hurt him just as much, but I knew him well enough to know that the hurt in his eyes wouldn't fade in a day or a week or even a month.  Adam may have been over Alexa, but he wasn't over the fear of losing someone the way he had lost her.

I felt tears burning behind my lids and blinked them back furiously.  I didn't need to say any of it out loud.  Amanda squeezed my hand harder, tears shining in her eyes as well.  "I'm sorry," she whispered.  "This is all my fault."

I shook my head.  "No, it's not," I said firmly.  "It was my choice, my call."

"But I started the ball rolling," she murmured.  "And it ended up rolling right over you.  You could have died.  I -- I should have thought about that harder . . . ."

I sighed and grasped her hand back.  "Everyone makes mistakes, Amanda," I told her.  "One thing, though . . . why didn't you tell me from the start that you needed to steal the painting to save MacLeod?"

Amanda blushed and shrugged sheepishly.  "I didn't know if you'd say yes."

I raised an eyebrow.  "You're telling me," I said slowly, "that you thought I'd help you steal it to get back an heirloom, but not to save a man's life?" She glanced at me through her lashes and I felt the eyebrow go higher.  "Amanda, we need to have a little talk about priorities."

She nodded, then brightened a bit as she gushed, "Name the place!"

I blinked.  "What?"

Amanda was smiling brightly now.  "Name the place," she repeated.  "After this, I owe you.  And the thing you need most is a vacation, so . . . .  Come on, de Sousa.  My treat."

I stared at her, not quite sure if she was serious and, if she was, then how to answer her.  Then I figured I was probably in enough trouble with the Watchers anyway; what was one more nail in the coffin?  "All right," I decided.  "Maui.  For once, you are going to drag me someplace warm."

Amanda frowned a bit.  "What do you mean?"

I glared at her playfully, then held up a hand to tick the places off on my fingers.  "Moscow, New York, Paris.  All in the winter time.  I want someplace  warm!"

Amanda laughed.  "All right," she answered.  "Maui, it is."

"Good," I answered, smiling as she stood.

"I'll make the reservations," she said.  "Let's say . . . three weeks?  You should be feeling better by then."

I chuckled.  "See?  You're learning."

Amanda's smile changed a bit, grew softer.  "I'm trying," she said.  She turned to go, then turned back.  "De Sousa . . . thank you.  For everything."

I smiled back.  "You're welcome," I answered, just as softly, then watched as she left.

As soon as the door closed behind her, the tears came back.

*

True to Amanda's word, she waited three weeks for the trip.  Three weeks during which I had barely more than a phone-call from Adam, though MacLeod sent a bouquet while I was still in the hospital and insisted on providing anything my aching self needed, whether it was food, chocolate, or wine.  The only thing he couldn't provide was Adam, and he seemed as saddened over that as I was.  At the end of the three weeks, I was getting used to hobbling about with a cane, Joe's humorous gift when he heard what had happened, and my leg was only occasionally giving me twinges.  That was when Adam appeared.

I was at MacLeod's barge, saying my good-byes to him and Joe and making sure Amanda's luggage totaled less than ten bags (I kid you not -- the woman must keep the entire Gucci collection in production), so I wasn't entirely sure when his car pulled up if it was accident or design.  Until I saw MacLeod's smile and the lack of surprise when Adam saw me on the deck.

He came half-way up the gang-plank and then stopped, his eyes locked with mine, a slight frown starting.  The words "Did I wait too long?" were so clearly etched in his eyes that I had to smile, trying hard to remain calm despite the thudding of my heart.  Some part of me kept insisting that maybe he had changed his mind, gotten over it, and we could have a chance.  Of course, that was also the part that had insisted that my ex-husband wasn't cheating on me, so I wasn't too inclined to pay it any attention.  But I wanted to.

"Kathryn," he said softly, uncertain, and I smiled again, putting as much reassurance in it as I could.

I glanced briefly at Joe as he moved a little beside me, then back at Adam and started down the gang-plank.  "Why don't we go for a walk?" I suggested.  Something about the way he had said my name had made the hopeful voice quiet down.

We walked for a distance before either of us spoke.  "You know, don't you?" he said finally, softly.

I nodded.  "I wish . . . ."  I shook my head and sighed.  "I understand."

He looked at me, gray eyes darkening in a frown.  "Do you?" he asked.  He stepped closer and reached out, brushed a stray lock of hair away from my face while my breath caught.  "I --" He stopped and pulled away suddenly.  "The whole time I was sitting in that room, waiting for you to wake up . . . .  Life is so fragile, people are so fragile . . . just the slightest thing and they're gone from you."  He swallowed hard and finally met my eyes again; my heart clenched at the pain I saw in his eyes.  "I can't face that again, Kathryn.  Not so soon after . . . .  I just . . . can't.  I'm sorry . . . ."

I fought back tears, wanting to spare him guilt at least.  "I know," I answered.  "Alexa was very special to you, you loved her, and it hurt to lose her."  I reached out a hand and took his in my grasp, lightly.  "I'm not going to hold that, or this, against you, Adam.  You mean too much to me. . . .  I hope we can at least be friends . . . ."

It sounded silly, but it was the only thing I had to hold on to.  Adam's eyes met mine and he smiled slightly.  "I'd like that," he said softly.  He looked at me for a long, silent moment.  Then, "I love you, Kathryn."

He said it so softly, for a second I wasn't sure I had heard him, that it hadn't been my imagination.  Now the tears did come, stinging my eyes, though I didn't let them fall.  "I love you, too," I whispered around a closed throat.  My hand tightened on his, as his did the same.  Then I let him go.  "I'd better go."

My voice was still a whisper, but so was his as he answered.  "Yeah."

I nodded.  "Goodbye, Adam."

"Goodbye, Kathryn," he answered, and I turned towards the barge.  "Safe journey," I heard him say softly behind me, in a Latin so archaic I almost didn't recognize it.  I looked at him over my shoulder and smiled stiffly, fighting back the tears.  He smiled back, the same expression in his eyes as I knew was in mine.

Then I turned away and headed for the barge.  Away from him.  Maybe forever.  I didn't think about that; it hurt too much already.

It did for a long time.

Finis

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