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Duncan MacLeod had awakened in this loft to the warm sun from the east window many, many mornings in the five years since he'd bought this dojo from di Salvo, now dead, but this morning was unique. Everything would be different from this morning on: easier and more difficult, simpler and more complicated. Different, but better, he thought, as the sun washed his face and warmed his nose. Duncan wondered how Adam saw this turn in their relationship.He rolled over slowly and opened his eyes. Duncan jumped out of bed, rushed to the window, pressed the side of his face to the glass and looked down into the alleyway. The T-bird was gone.
Adam was gone.
Duncan wished he could be surprised about this, but he wasn't.
The lack of expectation did in no way dull the pain.
Anne heard the knocking and looked at the clock by the bed. It was not quite four in the morning. What day? Saturday. But it was too soon for the gelding to come visiting for Mary's lessons. Dr. Lindsey got out of bed quietly, being careful not to wake her daughter who had taken to sleeping with her since the custody hearing. Mary always started the night going to sleep with Sean, but when the baby was sound asleep, the three year-old would grab her bear and tip-toe into Mom's room.
Knock, knock. There it went again. Someone at the front door, being thoughtful enough not to wake the house by ringing the bell. Anne pulled on her robe and went to open the door of the house that Duncan had rebuilt and given her. "Oh, Adam," she whispered, "Please, come in. Everyone's asleep. Let's go in the kitchen."
Adam followed her silently down the hall and through the door to the kitchen at the back of the house.
"Have a seat, Adam," Anne said sleepily, indicating the breakfast nook, "I'll start some coffee. We've missed you. How have you been?"
"Anne," Adam grabbed her around her waist, "Sit. I will make the coffee. You look exhausted."
"It's just been one of those weeks, Adam," Anne rubbed her eyes.
"I would have to agree with you there," Adam said, setting the coffee up and pulling down the mugs, pouring them some juice to drink while they waited for the coffee to brew. He came to sit across the table from Anne.
Anne put her glass down, "So why are you here, Adam? Is there something wrong? Is Duncan all right? Are the horses all right? Are you?"
"Yes to all of those, Anne," Adam reached for her hands. "I want to be honorable about this, Anne, but there really isn't a formal approach for this sort of situation."
"And that situation being?" Anne watched the struggle march over Adam's patrician features.
"I am in love with your husband, Dr. Lindsey." Even though he had practiced this all the way here, it still sounded strange to him.
"I know that, Adam."
"Really?" Adam wondered if Duncan had awakened and called here.
"It has been fairly obvious for the past year, Adam," Anne rearranged her hands in his.
"Really?"
"Yes, really, Adam, you did say so under oath at the hearing. And it's just as obvious that you are Duncan's dearest friend in the world. What is this about?"
"I do not exactly know what your arrangement is with Duncan, Anne, but I have come to ask you for his hand," Adam wished there were some prescribed way to go about this.
Anne stared and ran through his words in her head, waiting for them to make sense. "Oh, you mean you want me to step aside?" she asked. "I can hardly be much in the way, Adam. Duncan and I hardly see each other except to set up things for the children. Why would you--? Ooooh," she said knowingly.
Anne pressed her lips together. Oh, Adam, you are such an innocent, she thought, such a charming child.
A giggle at the door caught both their attentions.
Lucille! thought Adam. Damn! That's why Duncan couldn't reach her at the apartment.
"Oh, Dadahm," Lucille crowed, "Congratulations! Oh, I think that's so sweet."
Adam drew his hands back and put them over his face. He had not expected it would be easy, but this was ridiculous. "Just forget it."
Lucille wrapped him in a hug. "Oh, Adam," she said, "I am so happy for you. How was it?"
Adam lifted his head and stared at her, not quite believing she would ask.
"Well?" Anne asked as well. These Powers were merciless beings, like mutant ninja brood mares of the universe.
Adam slipped out of Lucille's grasp and stood up. "I'm sure I can get you some copies of the Polaroids," he said angrily.
"Oh, don't get your knickers in a twist, Adam," Lucille warned.
"I am sorry, Adam," Anne reached her hand up to him, "Consider your troth plighted," she said. "I know that Duncan will make this decision, but you both have my blessing."
"Thank you, Anne," Adam bowed deeply, putting her knuckles on his forehead, sealing the vow.
Lucille went over to the counter and poured the coffee, bringing it back to the table.
"No, thank you," Adam declined, "I have to get back before Duncan wakes up."
He stopped at the kitchen door, knowing full well that the best part of the morning conversation was probably going to commence the moment he was gone. "Could you give this to Chad when he brings Red this morning?" Adam put the print on the counter. "Tell him it's a birthday gift for his employer."
"Oh," Adam topped out of the spiral stair on the fifth floor. He'd foregone the lift, so the noisy box wouldn't wake Duncan, but, "I see you're already awake."
Duncan lowered his katana and went back to tidying up from the night before. "I thought you had gone," he said.
"Oh, no, Duncan," Adam helped him clear the table, "I drove out to Anne's."
"What?"
"I know I should have done so before, but I had no idea that we would, well--" Adam took the dishes out of Duncan's hands, "Let me do this. You sit down and I'll make breakfast."
Duncan lowered himself to the couch. "Why did you go to Anne's?"
"She's your wife, remember?" Adam started some suds in the sink and dug in the cupboards for some coffee.
"Let me see if I get this," Duncan played with the belt on his robe. "You went to see my wife? To what? Tell on me? To reestablish your distance? To find a reason to leave again?"
Adam looked up from the sink where he was filling the coffee pot with water. He turned off the faucet. "Oh, I see. You don't have any reason to trust me. Do you want me to leave?" This last was a very hard question for Adam to ask, but he could not afford cowardice at this point.
"You never told me what you want," Duncan remarked, avoiding the question. He was not about to be too possessive and let that be a reason for Adam to leave.
"I woke up very early this morning, long before sunrise and I knew what I wanted, so I went to get it," Adam answered.
"You went to Cross, didn't you," Duncan accused him, "Someone to smooth out the mess I had made of your night."
"No, this won't do," Adam set the coffee on and wiped his hands on the kitchen towel. He walked over to sit by the Highlander. "Listen to me, Duncan. I went to Anne to get her permission for us to be wed."
"What?"
"Well, all right," Adam shrugged, "Unless we move to the Netherlands or, where, Hawaii, that isn't legal. I wanted to ask for your hand from your most significant family member and that, ironically, turns out to be your wife. I suppose I could have asked Sean, but he was asleep," Adam said lightly.
Duncan just stared at him.
"Anne gave us her blessing," Adam added. "So, with that out of the way," Adam slipped off the couch to one knee, "Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod, will you let me love, honor, cherish you and whatever else for as long as we both live? I'd ask you to be my wife, but I'm guessing you'd deck me."
"What are you doing?" Duncan asked.
"I don't know, Duncan," Adam laughed softly, "I am proposing, if not marriage, then a union of similar magnitude, with all I am, given to you as long as you will have me."
When Duncan said nothing, Adam patted him tenderly on the knee, "Well, you think about it, Duncan, and let me know what you decide. I'm not asking you to register your silver pattern at the bridal shoppe, or anything like that, and all this has happened too fast to get you a ring. I am what I have to offer, and that's about the extent of it." Adam judged he had tossed enough words around the loft, so he went back to making breakfast.
Duncan was still sitting in much the same position on the couch when Adam finished setting the table and putting out breakfast. "Duncan?" Adam called his name.
"You do look a great deal like Adam Piersen," Duncan said. "But you surely can't be him."
Adam passed the toast. "Do I take it that is a 'no?'"
"If it were only that simple, Adam," Duncan opened the peach jam and started spreading it on the toast. "The answer is 'no', Adam. I know you think you want a committed relationship, a marriage, whatever you want to call it, but you do not, not in any way that makes sense. It is charming you asked for my hand and that will certainly be something to remember all the rest of my life, but you don't really mean it in terms I can understand."
"You think I am lying, then?" Adam followed that Duncan was refusing, but the rest, the "why," was not comprehensible to him.
Duncan chewed on his toast and swallowed, "Who fed your horse last night?"
"What?" Adam stared at the Highlander.
"Who called to tell Thomas Cross that you and your head were still attached and that his truck had not been stolen?"
Adam shook his head.
"Who held your brother last night, Adam?"
"I know you are trying to tell me something, Duncan, but I don't understand."
Duncan lifted the coffee pot and Adam held out his cup. "I don't want to diminish what happened between us last night, Adam. If I was uncertain about its importance before, then I was very certain this morning when I thought you'd run away. But I expected you had returned to Cross and that being in that world, you had once again forgotten this one, or that you were somewhere else entirely, another Adam in another life. I found myself making excuses for you, just as I found myself on the phone last night, letting your other worlds know you were in mine for the moment and that you were all right. They made excuses for you, just as I would have done. They didn't hold it against you that you had abandoned them, any more than I would. That's just--" Duncan shrugged, "What Adam does."
"You are saying I am fickle?" Adam asked.
"No, Adam," Duncan sighed, "I am saying you cannot offer me something you don't have."
"You're saying I don't love you?" Adam knew the sun was up and that he was sitting right in front of the east window, but it was suddenly so dark around him, he could barely see.
"You were right when you said it was too soon, when you said you could not stand me yet," Duncan continued, carefully. "You have pleased me and flattered me and reminded me just how very much I love you, Adam."
"But--?" Adam grumbled dolefully.
"Having sex with you doesn't magically make everything all right, Adam." Duncan rose out of his chair and walked around behind Adam.
"Maybe I should just leave," Adam murmured.
"Or, maybe," Duncan lifted Adam up out of his chair. "You should stay in one place long enough to see how the rest of the world conducts its business."
"Put me down," Adam sputtered. "Damn it, Duncan! What do want from me? I offered to spend my whole life with you!"
"But you don't even know what that means," Duncan spoke quietly.
Adam stopped struggling and surrendered. "You are right. Damn you, Duncan, you are right. I must look the perfect fool."
"Well, I don't know about perfect, Adam," Duncan laughed warmly, "I do know you look like someone who will someday be the person I will spend the rest of my life with." He set the Elder Immortal back down on his chair.
"So what now?" Adam asked sadly.
Duncan shrugged his broad shoulders, "Breakfast, and then we've got a couple of hours before we pick up Joe and Ram and go out to the Cross Estates. They want to hire Thomas to work on restoring the Watcher Network," Duncan answered Adam's confused expression.
"Thomas?" Adam asked. Why would they ask Thomas?
"Your friend is the president of a company that does antique and modern restorations, Adam," Duncan explained, "One of his subsidiaries works on crashed computer systems."
Adam crossed his long arms on the table and laid his head on them. "God, I don't even know what he does. What is the matter with me?"
Duncan put his hand on the back of Adam's head. "Not anything at all, Adam, if you can ask that question. Which leaves us two hours to fill," he said.
"I should go now and spend the time with Sean," Adam mumbled into his forearms.
"I'll call and have them meet us at the Estate," Duncan said, combing his fingers through Adam's short hair. "And the two hours?"
"What do you want to do?" Adam lifted his head and caught the answer in the expression on Duncan's face. "Oh, I see. You are saying I'm not yet suitable for marriage, but you wouldn't mind sleeping with me again."
"Pretty much," Duncan agreed.
There was a momentary pause as Adam decided whether to be angry about this or not, then:
"Works for me."
Duncan lay still under Adam's sure touch. He smelled like a salad bar, but he felt like one of Lucille's "pigs in a wallow on a Sunday afternoon." Except it was Saturday and still morning and instead of mud, he was all over olive oil. His fault, really. Duncan had suggested Adam lead this time 'round, and Adam had decided to show him something about Tantrism.
The olive had been conscripted to serve, there being no more exotic oil in the loft, and Adam had poured it liberally over Duncan's broad torso.
"This doesn't work if you don't relax, Duncan," Adam counseled. "And you have to keep breathing, nice and deep. I'm not going to be doing anything untoward or kinky. It's just a massage."
"Right," Duncan replied. "I'm breathing, I'm breathing."
"Well, I'm enjoying this, even if you are not," Adam observed, trailing his slender fingers over the tight shoulders, the chiseled delts, "Roll over on your side," Adam suggested. "There, is that more comfortable?"
"I don't think this was such a good idea, Adam. I don't like this greasy feeling or the smell."
"You're just determined to be a hard sell today," Adam lifted his hands off the Highlander. "You were right to say no."
Duncan rolled back in time to see Adam disappear into the bathroom. He heard the water start running in the tub. He refused to feel guilty about this. No, Adam would just have to understand, he was working right at the edge of his limits and beyond...
...and without a net.
And you are just scared, Duncan told himself, and you know it. That was what the interlude in Hell was all about. You are afraid Adam will ravage you, afraid he will hurt and humiliate you. Duncan moved his hands to his chest to wipe off the oil and he found he couldn't stand to touch himself. Yucck. Sliding out of bed, he dug in the cabinet for a towel and started blotting. All that's missing is the garlic, he thought.
Duncan opened the bathroom door to see Adam, up to his shoulders in some of Amanda's bubble bath with his right knee bent, his right foot up in front of his face, running a sponge along his pink toes.
"I have to admit," Duncan chuckled, "You are fetching."
Adam looked over questioningly.
Duncan put his palms up. "I can't get this stuff off."
Adam pulled his long legs to each side and invited Duncan in. When the Scot hesitated, he said, "That's my best offer, Duncan. I'm not getting out."
Duncan shook his head and climbed in between the long legs, the bony knees. "Geez, too bad you don't like it just a little warm," he exclaimed as he bottomed out beneath the bubbles into the steaming water of the bath. What are you brewing in here, Methos soup?" He had to admit, as his body accommodated to the water temperature, it was a pleasantly soothing sensation, wombish.
Adam worked some soap through the slime on his back and started rubbing with the sponge. Duncan stretched his neck to the side to release the muscles.
"I have to think that some of this is just because we aren't used to each other this way," Adam mused. "But I begin to wonder if this isn't just, well--. Duncan, was it this hard between Tessa and you when you started?"
It was an odd, if apt, question, and Duncan had to think a moment. He couldn't actually remember. "I think it was easier, Adam, but I can't trust my memory about that. Now that she's dead, it just seems everything was perfect between us, even though it couldn't have been. I think we weren't so serious about it. Maybe I just wasn't as serious."
Adam reached around and started scrubbing his front. "I know you told me to do what I wanted," Adam began, "But I think that's the last thing you wanted."
"You could have a--that's nice," Duncan remembered to breathe, "You could have a point there."
"You're pretty bossy of late," Adam ran the sponge along the inner margin of the other thigh, resting the side of his face against Duncan's back. "It makes you nervous if somebody else tries to take control."
"Granted," Duncan agreed. "Bossy," he echoed as Adam ran the soap across his chest and teased his nipples. "Is this like a tantric bubble bath technique?"
"I guess it could be," Adam laughed. "Unless you've got a thing about soap too."
"It's not a big deal, Adam. I just don't like getting slimy."
"Duncan," Adam reminded him.
"I'm breathing, I'm breathing. So tell me, oh ancient sage of the east, what is the thing about tantrism?"
"Nothing really, Duncan," Adam kneaded Duncan's thighs, "it's just a way to touch and be touched, not a lot different than grooming a horse correctly as an aide to training, or healing with touch, or a really good roll in the hay, you know, that sort of thing.
"They have some neat ideas about places on the body that are particularly sensitive emotionally," Adam added.
"Excuse me?" Duncan asked.
"Um, well, triggers to release emotions, to balance the psyche," Adam explained.
"And why would I need tantric theory? Wouldn't I have found all those triggers by now, just by trial and error?" Duncan reasoned.
"Sure," Adam ran his fingers, light as moth wings over Duncan's belly, causing the Scot to take a quick breath in. "Sorry, just checking for good tickle spots."
"Fiend," Duncan snorted. "So, you didn't answer my question."
"I can show you, better than tell you, Duncan," Adam suggested. He leaned hard against Duncan's back and reached between his legs, reminding him to breathe. Then Adam carefully reached behind the tender scrotal sack and pushed, lightly at first, then adding more and more pressure...
Duncan thought the initial push mildly irritating, then very uncomfortable, then he relaxed and gave Adam the benefit of his surrender. There was a brilliant light suddenly clicked on right in front of his eyes and just as suddenly, all was dark.
Duncan woke up on the bed, wrapped like a newborn in layer upon layer of sheets and blankets. He couldn't move his arms away from his sides, but that didn't seem to bother him. It was comforting somehow. "What happened?" he croaked.
"I am so sorry," Adam was saying. He seemed to be way across the room, but he was actually on the bed with Duncan.
"It was really my fault," Adam went on, "You are just very, very sensitive. I should have guessed that would be so, but I never imagined--"
"Adam, what happened?" Duncan tried to focus, but all he wanted to do was go to sleep for days.
"The short version," Duncan added.
"You had one really violent orgasm and then you passed out. It was actually more like a seizure. I couldn't wake you up. You just kept convulsing. I never understood about the cocooning part before. I guess that's what it's for. You want me to let you out?"
"Yes," Duncan answered.
When Adam had finished unwrapping him, Duncan started laughing until he thought his sides would burst.
"Duncan?" Adam looked frantic with worry, "Are you all right?"
Duncan quieted down and patted Adam on the shoulder. "What you asked before, Adam, about Tessa and me."
"Yes?"
"Believe me, Old Man, it was never like this."
Adam couldn't tell by his tone of voice whether that was a good or a bad thing.
"Look," Adam double-clutched and rectified his mistake. "If I thought you were up to driving, I wouldn't be doing this at all. Do you want me to go back into town and pick up the truck?"
They were already several miles north of the city limits, up the first rise out of the bay. "No," Duncan answered, "We're going to be late as it is. Just take it a little easy. It's a very old car." Of which he was quite fond, he didn't add.
"And an even older driver," Adam commented.
"Well act like it, then," Duncan snapped.
"I'm glad you said no," Adam screeched the brakes into the first switch-back of the climb.
"Oh, give it a rest, will you," Duncan slumped down in the passenger seat and wrapped himself in his arms.
"You're just getting in touch with--" Adam began.
"Oh, don't even start, or I'll be getting in touch with you," Duncan's right hand curled into a fist.
Adam slowed the T-bird down, "Weren't we supposed to pick up Ram and Joe?"
"I called them after breakfast and told them we'd meet them there, right after I called Anne and Lucille. They're bringing the kids."
"Oh," Adam took the T up to speed again. "How do you keep all of that sorted out?"
"Some days better than others," Duncan sighed. "You get used to it."
"I'm sure I couldn't do it," Adam said by way of a compliment.
"Why would you, when there's always someone else to do it for you, Adam?"
"Okay," Adam said and gave up trying to connect with the brooding Gaelic stepson.
It was a good hour's drive, time enough for Adam to worry about returning to the Cross Estate. He tried to deal with the sudden flood of emotion and imagery which threatened to overwhelm him. How did Duncan do it? Maybe a priority of apologies, first to the stallion, Blood. He lied to him, told him he would return that day, when in truth, if Duncan had said yes, he might never have returned at all. No, maybe first he would have to beg forgiveness from Cross, for leaving the Estates like some willful child, getting himself beaten up, doing God knew what to all the careful training Cross had invested in him. Adam shifted in his seat. Just thinking about the perfectly sculpted bronze man made his flesh ache. Maybe Thomas would take him back. Maybe not.
It was becoming all-too-obvious that things were not going to work out between himself and the Highlander. Adam wondered when that realization was going to be coming into clear focus and break his old heart. Maybe this was going to be one of those places in life where you glimpse beyond the glass for one holy moment and then all is darkness again. Maybe he was driving into that darkness even now. Maybe he had driven himself here yesterday.
Maybe this was the price for his dark-adapted eye.
"And this," Thomas Cross was so exceedingly pleased, he could hardly remember the amenities as he directed the Blues Master and his incredible wife through the Cross Estate Tour Deluxe. "Is our barn compound. If you drive through the quadrangle and park by the north ramp, we can go in and see the horses Mr. MacLeod brought back."
Joe turned off the car and opened the door, pulling his legs around and engaging the knee hinges. "I'll just walk around out here," he said eyeing the ramp.
"I can--" Cross began, but he felt Ram's slender hand suddenly touch his shoulder to silence him. She had turned around so smoothly and quickly in the passenger seat, touched him so lightly, but she might have stomped and shouted, "Don't embarrass my Master," her power was so daunting.
Cross exited the back seat and held the door for the Watcher's wife, bowing slightly as she got out. "We could bring the horses out," she said lightly. "I'll go get the stallion. You do have an arena, Mr. Cross?"
"Yes," Cross nodded, wondering if he trusted her to move God by herself, she was so small, no taller than he was himself. He tipped his chin towards the opposite arch out of the quadrangle.
"Beloved," Ram called softly to the Wizard, "could you be so kind as to drive Master Cross to arena. I will bring the stud around shortly."
Cross knew this was not a good idea, but he slipped into the passenger seat and prayed nothing too awful would proceed from Ram's vaunted loyalty to her husband. Joe got back in the car, seemingly unaware of any imminent danger. Probably didn't know anything about horses, Cross thought.
They drove out the archway towards the back pastures and the practice ring. Cross thought he did well not to look back. What would happen would happen. Were she his, he would take better care.
"So, Watcher Dawson," Cross could not wait there silently, worrying about the wondrous woman who belonged to this mortal. "Tell me what you have in mind for the Watchers if we do manage to get the Archives retrieved."
"Good question, Cross," Joe stared out over the pasture as if he were paying little attention to the trim black man beside him.
Cross was not fooled. No one owned a Ram without some phenomenal powers of perception and some miraculous abilities into the bargain. But he had thought as much when Dawson had first come to him at the beginning of the year to engineer Adam's "resurrection" in Seacouver when he was supposed to have died in Paris. Cross had so thoroughly enjoyed that deception that it still made him smile when he thought about it.
Through a complex collection of documents and reports, he and Dawson had put together a story of how the Real Methos had taken Adam Piersen's place in the Watchers and sent the Real Adam Piersen off to the States to be incarcerated in an asylum for the mentally askew, or some such. Then the Real Methos had been "killed," aboard the barge and the Real Adam had been discharged from the asylum. It sounded simple, but it was dreadfully complex, since they could reveal none of it themselves, but only lead this or that Watcher to find the clues himself and for the shattered network to pick up the threads without the database to help.
"I was hoping you and I and Mac and Adam could come up with the answer," Joe finished his thought. "That is the real reason we are here, Cross. Though all of this will be moot if your people can't help us get Watcher HQ Central up and running again."
And you are so deceptively simple, Joe. Thomas thought. I shall have to be most cautious dealing with you. But he could not stop thinking, dreaming, worrying about Ram, so, with uncharacteristic directness, he blurted, "Do you think your wife is all right, Joe?"
Joe looked over at him and Thomas saw clearly, for the first time, the smoky, bluesy, humorous depths of the old mortal. Oh, my, you are a piece of work, Joe, he thought.
"I would honestly be more worried about Duncan's stallion," Joe said, without a hint of boasting or exaggeration.
Cross chuckled. He makes her laugh, he thought, he commands her without any other binding than that she loves him. Thomas put his fingers over his heart. She would never voluntarily be parted from this man. Who could blame her?
Then he heard the stallion coming at full speed through the quadrangle. Damn! God was loose! All the horses were scolding and screeching and bugling. Cross got out of the car and started back to catch the stud. Here he came through the archway, directly towards them. Thomas moved into his path, and then, just as quickly, moved aside. God was mounted. Ram was astride him bareback without bridle or saddle, galloping him towards the practice arena.
The stallion was ecstatic, wild as Cross had ever seen him, happy as a hog in--whatever Lucille said made hogs happy. Ram had stripped down to her shorts and tube top, like a child on her favorite gelding ready to go for a swim in the river. She appeared no less delighted than the stud and they both looked like they were up to no earthly good and too bad for anyone who got in their way.
Cross slumped back against the car and just drank in the sight as if he'd been thirsty all his life.
Joe got out of the car and leaned, half-sitting on the hood, while Ram took the stallion through his paces. He was quietly entertained, utterly in love, and he would have reacted no differently to watching her wait tables or do the laundry. Just by being, Ram was a joy to him.Cross could not believe how the Watcher could take his wife so for granted. Ram had entered the arena over the top of the five-rail fence as if they were flying, a perfect, heart-stopping arc, exactly centered at the fence, landing on the other side as if they would immediately jump out the other side of the arena and go running away into the pasture, or the sky, for that matter. But the stallion, God, had slowed and then stopped at the invisible "X" of the dressage arena. Ram had urged him to show her his schooling and then she just sat there, quietly, while the tall black horse showed her all the things which Cross had taught him.
As acutely and precisely as he watched, Cross could pick up no single signal on Ram's part. He almost believed the stud was showing her all by himself, even including his one mistake, after which, he backed up half the arena and repeated the maneuver, perfectly, a second time through.
When they were finished, Ram and God came over to the fence where the car was parked.
"That was beautiful, Ram," Joe called out to her.
Ram blushed and tucked her head.
Cross was wondering, mentally accounting his financial worth, trying to discover something he owned which would be the worth of this woman, and then how he might engineer the sale with the Watcher. He heard her ask Joe to turn on the car radio and some music request. Then she and the stallion loped away, loosening his muscles in a long, slow canter along the rail.
Joe opened the door and leaned in to turn on the radio, full volume.
Cross started to object. He did not like noise invading this quiet place.
Then Joe popped in a tape, Loreena McKinnett singing about a Mask and a Mirror, in minor Moroccan melodies and a slow, repetitive, soft beating, that was like nothing so much as making love.
God's curved ears perked up and he came loping back to the car.
"Sorry," Joe apologized to Cross, "Ram says the horse wants to dance for you."
Thomas Cross had heard of such. He'd seen some examples of Arabian horses dancing and he had been unimpressed, and unbelieving of the older men who told him there were better horses in the past, ones who knew the dance and could weave it like a magic spell. Ram meant well. She knew the conventions of honoring one's host, by gifting him. She just did not know him very well. Yet.
The stallion was not cooperating. God just stood there, bobbing his head, going off to sleep with his ears hanging at half-mast. Cross knew she couldn't be perfect, but he was surprised at how this disappointment hurt him almost physically.
"All right, Joe," Ram called, "He's ready. He wants to start from the beginning."
It made Thomas sad, she would play such an elaborate game, or try to.
Joe complied without asking.
He trusts her so entirely, Thomas thought. Is he deaf, dumb, and blind with his love of her?
The music started again and Ram slipped off, stepping away from God two paces. He arched his neck towards her and she agreed to something. Then they began.
And Cross stopped breathing.
Ram just started swaying softly to the lowest, slowest beat in the music, a two drum and then hesitation. God arched his back over and began a slow, exquisite piaffe, but not the one-two rhythm of the dressage maneuver. His hooves were finding the next level up on the percussion track, a complex hit and skip and hold, in sets of eight. And he was moving the piaffe in quarters, completely incorrect for dressage, but perfectly beautiful here. Sideways two bars, then backwards--Dear Lord of Horses! Thomas thought, that is impossible!--then forwards again.
Ram's swaying lowered with her bent knees and she loosed her back, rolling her stomach, counting the slower beat with her hands, snapping them, palms up, palms down--lovely hand positions with just a bare curve to the end of her long, graceful fingers.
Thomas finally breathed, he had to. It lightened the hypnotic, seductive magic of the dancing, lightened, but in no way dispelled it. The sensual, almost sexual, interaction between the horse and the woman was too luscious to stand. Cross brought all his considerable discipline to bear to keep the arousal at bay, watching the dance. They had not lied to him. He had never seen anything so incredible in all of his--two hundred and fifty, tomorrow--years.
And he was so far from disappointed, that his knees were about to give out underneath him. The music built, the drums quickened. Ram moved to the stud, who was himself in trance, even while he was entrancing. She touched him and he screamed as exuberantly as if a ready mare had bit him seductively. Then she vaulted onto his back and he leaped out of the collection, straight up into the air, kicking out behind him in a wild capriole.
Thomas remembered vaguely there was a prescribed finish to the dance, some dashing around thing which had seemed stupid when he'd seen it last, a hundred years past.
He saw it now in true form and he thought it would make him weep out of sheer ecstasy. The stallion landed out of the leap, came down in a low crouch, his belly almost to the ground, then he wheeled left, away from them and took off in full gallop. Ram clambered up to standing on his shoulders, flying, her arms out in the whipping wind, her angled face thrown back in abandon and pure pleasure, her body arced out forward over the stallion's neck.
They did a fast turn around the arena and then came to a stop in front of the car, Ram plopping down on the stud's back and then sliding down his shoulder to the ground. The music ended and Joe turned off the radio.
Thomas was so utterly stunned it was several seconds before he could even see anything but the woman and the stallion flying, easy as the wind, sacred as Grace Itself. When he came back to the present, it was to find Joe over at the fence, touching foreheads with the woman, the sound of their mutual comfort and gladness floating softly back to him, while the stallion nuzzled the Blues Man and nickered softly with them.
Behind them, from the archway, came a happy squeal, then a duo, then a lower mare's voice, quieting the troops. Then there was Lucille's happy soprano, bubbling out over the landscape, warm and liquid as bottle sunshine.
Cross pulled himself together, took one last look at Ram, oblivious to anything but the Watcher, and then he went to greet the second phalanx of his guests for the afternoon. "Dr. Lindsey, Sweet Lucille, Little Mary," he bowed low and extended his hand to her.
Mary giggled and scampered forward to take his hand.
"Oh, and this is the MacLeod heir," Cross beamed, "Lovely child. May I?" he reached his arms out to Anne, who handed over baby Sean.
The infant had never seen a black man before, and Sean all but shouted the fact as his chubby fingers lifted up and played over Thomas' nose and mouth, burbling and gurgling. Lucille to the rescue, "Yes, Sean, they come in chocolate too, Mmm, mmm."
Anne stifled her laughter.
"Here, Lucille," Cross handed her the baby. "Come over and meet Duncan's stallion."
"Red?" Mary asked.
"Then I'll have John take you over to see Red, Mary," Cross addressed the delightful little girl.
"John?" Lucille asked as they made their way to the arena.
"Chad and Gerret went into town to pack up Daniel's things. He's coming home tomorrow. But he won't be able to do much heavy work for a while, so I hired a new stable boy. He hasn't had much experience, but he's a willing sort."
"Another runaway?" Lucille asked.
"Yes, Lucille," Thomas answered, "I couldn't just leave him on the street. He wouldn't have lasted a week."
"Have you heard what's happening with Adam," she said, and watched Thomas stumble, something he never did.
"Wench," he hissed. "Yes, in fact I have spoken at length with Mr. MacLeod, on a regular basis, since the horses and Adam arrived here, though I've not seen the man. Today I will meet him in the flesh. They're late, as a matter of fact, but you know how it is when one is in love--"
Lucille ran her hand down Cross' spine teasingly, "Now how would I know that?"
Cross leaned into the caress. "I miss you, Lucille," he said softly. "You were my very best."
"Oh, you say that to all your projects," Lucille laughed lightly.
"True," Cross admitted, "but I mean it, nonetheless."
"I know," Lucille hugged him and then they joined the others and the tall stud, God, who was fairly wallowing in all the adoration.
"Duncan," Adam pulled up to the quadrangle and parked under the entry arch. "We're there."
The Highlander struggled awake. "Mmmmph? Oh, there already?"
You're pretty fetching yourself, Adam thought. "Yes, we're there. Are you all right?"
"I," Duncan ran a quick internal reconnaissance, "Yes, I think so. Yes. Cross lives here?"
"No, Duncan," Adam turned off the engine and opened his door, "this is the barn."
"I'm impressed," Duncan got out on his side, "God's been living better than me. No wonder the bill's so damned high. Look at this place. Hey, Adam, I wouldn't have been all that excited about coming home, either."
Adam smiled at the two things he heard in the cheery statement: the first, an apology, or as close to one as he was liable to get from the Scot, the second, a single word, simple, but imbued with all the promise and reassurance of any warm hug. Home. Adam was minded of the candle and his old heart lifted. Maybe not today, Duncan, maybe far into the future, but someday.
"Your stallion is this way," Adam led him left towards the west wing of the quadrangle. He couldn't help saying your stallion as if he were saying instead, just wait until you see mine. He was tempted to let Duncan find his own way, but he knew the Scot was still recovering from the tantric fit, and Adam tried to feel a little of the responsibility for his actions that Duncan was always complaining he lacked.
They entered the cool barn from the west ramp to find Ram just putting God back in his stall, her arms laden with hay and the stallion snorting softly about where the hay rack was. "Hello there," she called to them. "God," she chided the horse who was being not all that helpful with getting the hay up in the rack. "Stop that and go over and say hello to your Master. Where are you manners?"
Duncan entered the stall and lifted the fleck up to its place in the rack.
"Thanks," she said. "Did you see Joe and Cross?"
"No," said Adam from the stall door. Answering for Duncan who was busy play "kissy face" with his fine horse.
"Hello, Adam," Ram said, her attempt at ease just the barest bit artificial. "They're probably still discussing the Watcher computer. They should be in from the arena in a minute. How are you?" Ram glanced back at Duncan.
Adam shrugged. Ram lowered her head and patted him on the shoulder. "It is never easy," she said.
It made sense when she said it, but Adam would have been pressed to say exactly what she meant, and whether she was talking about Duncan and him, or herself and Joe, or their relationship as Mother and Son, or all three at once.
"Your gelding is next door, right?" Ram asked.
"Yes," Adam looked in, Red was napping, snoring softly. "He's indisposed, probably dreaming of lessons with Mary."
"Lucille and Anne were supposed to be bringing the children up here to see him. I thought they were right behind me with that new stall boy, John."
Adam glanced down the west aisle. "No, they're probably still out with Joe and Cross, maybe getting the garden tour." Adam retrieved a curry and a brush and went into Red's stall. "Come on, Old Man, company's coming, time to get spiffed up."
Red lifted his head, saw it was only Adam and laid his neck out straight on the sawdust again. Adam started on the near side.
Ram laughed. "You have changed, Adam. And all for the good, as far as I can tell."
"Yes, he has," Duncan stepped up behind Ram. "How are you?" he asked the woman, "I can see you didn't dress formally," he remarked on the dusty tube top and the cutoffs, stained with God's sweat along the entire inside seam. She was barefoot and her tangled curls were matted with drying sweat.
"Well," Ram put her fists on her slim hips, "When the Master can't be bothered to come out and work his pony, then he can hardly fault the substitute groom for getting a little frazzled round the edges doing his chores for him."
"Certainly not when she's so sweet and gracious about--" Duncan started.
Ram bolted away from him, down the aisleway towards the ramp.
"Ram!" Duncan called out. Then he followed her. Something was amiss, though all he could hear where Cross and Joe talking outside the door. They'd finally made it up from the arena it seemed.
Adam looked up from his grooming on the recumbent gelding and saw Duncan run down the aisle. He got up and followed them down the aisle, wondering what they were playing at. He could hear the horses in the opposite wing yelling and calling to each other and halfway to the ramp, he saw Ram leap out the door. What the--?
Duncan jumped out the door after her. What was going on? Adam sped his long legs towards the ramp doorway. And there he stalled, unable to move or think or breathe.
Joe was standing at the foot of the ramp. Cross was dashing across the quadrangle to engage the door on the eastern wing where Anne and Mary stood shaking. Duncan was running top speed towards the exit archway where Lucille stood, Sean in her arms. And Ram was occupied in the very center of the quadrangle having a serious argument with Blood, who was thrashing around, rearing, screaming, striking, absolutely blind and out of his mind with fear.
Ram was already bleeding from a slice on her arm and another on her leg where Blood's sharp hooves had found their mark. She was whinnying at him like an outraged alpha mare, jumping at his neck, howling and pummeling and generally slapping him back to his senses.
Adam heard the door clang down and Anne and Mary disappeared from sight as Cross started back towards Ram and the blood bay melee in the middle of the quadrangle.
Duncan stood in front of the exit archway, blocking it with himself and his katana.Adam shook himself out of his catalepsy and engaged the door behind him, stepping onto the top of the ramp. "Blood," he called to his stallion. The horse stilled and looked his direction. Ram stepped away from him. The stallion started towards the eastern ramp and Adam.
Joe reflexively stepped backward, hit the ramp and went down, lifting his cane into the air.
It wasn't Joe's fault, Adam would think later. It was all those bad masters who had come before, the ones who had beaten the stallion with similar sticks.
But the stallion went mad then, entirely out of his mind, and he charged the man on the ground, teeth and hooves and all the enmity of his long years' abuses.
Adam rushed down the ramp, but Ram beat him to the horse, getting both back hooves in her left side and then staggering back to take out his near foreleg with a kick that cracked loudly around the entire complex. It didn't stop the mad beaste. He hardly felt his leg dangling useless, flopping with each subsequent rear. Adam pulled Joe to safety, up the ramp. The Watcher was badly hurt, moaning and grunting, bleeding from his mouth over the frosty beard.
Ram grabbed a fistful of mane and pulled on top of the stallion who had started scrambling and slipping up the ramp after Adam and Joe. From his back she raised her right arm high over her head and brought her fist down between his ears with another thudding crack, taking the blood bay to his knees. She rode him down and then, reaching forward for his head, brought it back swiftly and broke his neck.
Blood shuddered once and was still forever.
Ram started to climb off him and went down on her knees. The entire left side of her chest had been crushed, some of the rib edges breaching the tube top. She closed her eyes and fell dead beside Adam's stallion.
Adam went suddenly numb. The Ice Horse had touched him and he was suddenly frozen and transparent and shattered and melted...
...turned entirely into a rain of tears.
Cross called to Duncan to get the cellular out of the car and rushed to Joe, where he found Adam entirely undone and of no use whatsoever. Thomas moved the pale giant out of the way, yelled over to Duncan to bring Joe's car into the quadrangle, and crouched down next to The Watcher. "Joe," he lifted up the groaning man onto his lap and wiped the blood from his mouth. "Just listen to me, Joe. You've been hurt, but just listen, I am going to touch where it hurts and you're going to feel me touching there and you're going to feel the pain move away from you, not all the way, but far enough, that you can master it." And all the while he spoke, Cross' hand moved gently over Joe's belly and chest, where Blood's hooves had crushed and cut him. Joe's breathing steadied. "Ram," he croaked out.
"Ram will be all right, Joe. I will see to that myself. She is resting now. She is not in pain. Follow my breathing and you can rest with her," Cross said other things, but it was the rhythm and the music of his words that led Joe to sleep.
Across the pavilion, the door engaged and lifted. Anne entered the open area, coming down the ramp with Mary in her arms, weeping. The car pulled up and Cross lifted the Watcher in his arms without waking him. "Drive him out to the gravel drive by the arena," he said after laying Joe in the back seat. "Try not wake him. Phone," he reached his hand out and Duncan handed him the phone."Come along, Adam," Cross backed up the ramp, grabbed Adam's arm and pulled him down to the car, pushing him into the passenger seat and closing the door. "Yes," he spoke to the phone, "Now. The driveway, emergency crew, one dead, one seriously wounded."
"I'll see to the women," he sent Duncan off and headed for Anne and Lucille who had gathered with the children by the exit arch. "Over here, ladies," he motioned them out of the way of Joe's car and then across the quadrangle towards Mark Palmer's large beige Lincoln at the entry arch. He put his small frame between them and the carnage at the foot of the ramp to the eastern wing. He couldn't take their pain and fear away, but at least he could be kind, and that was sometimes enough.
Cross drove them the long way up to his house and settled them into the pillows and couches, with blankets and tea brewing. Then excused himself to take Anne, who refused to stay behind, in the truck back down to the arena just as the helicopter arrived. The bird set down in a gale of gravel and grit, then shut down the engines and a team of two paramedics rushed out, ducking beneath the slowing blades. Cross explained the situation to them and Anne went with them to assess and stabilize Ram's husband.
Duncan joined Cross as the team started IV's, removed Joe's legs, ran EKG strips, and generally ran the drill for a red blanket. Joe slept on, partly in shock, partly under Cross' deep suggestion.
"Do you think he will live?" Cross asked.
"Yes," Duncan answered too swiftly. "I wish I could say the same about Adam."
"Right," Cross sighed, "This comes at a very bad time for him. He has opened himself to life and got his teeth kicked down his throat. I know you will be gentle with him."
Duncan stared at the short man standing so still beside him, watching Anne and the paramedics move Joe onto the gurney. "I thought he would be staying with you," Duncan said.
"That would be wise," Cross explained, "except for the fact I am here." He waved his arms around him, "And this will be too sad a place for Adam until he comes to terms. "He will find no peace here."
"You are probably right," Duncan agreed.
"You know I am, Mr. MacLeod. This one is your restoration project I am afraid, but please feel free to come to me if you need anything. Anything at all," he repeated for emphasis.
They stepped back and turned as the bird geared up again, bearing Anne and Joe and the team off to Couver and the great white tower where Palmer used to work, where Ram had come back to the living world, where Sean had been born.
"If you'll take Joe's car and Adam up to the house," Cross pointed the way, "You can gather the rest of your clan and take them down to town in the Lincoln, or you are welcome to my van, if you think that would be more comfortable. I offered something nourishing, but no one was interested. Tea is brewing and there are some fresh pastries on the table..." Thomas shook his head, "I am so sorry. What a stupid, stupid waste. John thought somehow that Blood was Red, don't ask me why, and let the stallion out, thinking it was Mary's tame gelding."
"Where is John?" Duncan hadn't thought to ask in all the rest that had transpired.
"He's dead," Cross said sadly. "He couldn't have suffered, Blood connected with his head and crushed his skull. Evidently, he was smart enough to stand between Anne and Mary and the stallion, when he discovered his mistake. Good man, just the right thing to do. Damn it!" Cross turned and started back for the truck.
"I'll take care of the mess down here. I'll bury the horse and the boy and see to Ram," Thomas called back. "I'll drive Joe's car in tonight after Ram's had a chance to recover."
Which only left Duncan to see to Adam and Lucille and the children. He settled into the driver's seat of Joe's strange car. Duncan worked the hand controls and threw the car into reverse. "Adam?" he asked as he saw a glimmer of recognition light his friend's feverish eyes.
"What?" Adam murmured in hollow, distant tones.
"I won't ask how you are," Duncan threw the car into drive and started up the long lane towards the house. "But I will ask what I can do."
"Nothing," Adam mumbled.
"I could save you a piece of his forelock," Duncan offered, knowing this was even in these times still a custom among some horsemen.
"No," Adam verged on tears, but refused to fall. He was too absolutely angry to weep.
"Do you mind coming home with me?" Duncan pulled up to the house.
Adam closed his eyes. "I don't care, stop dunning me."
"All right, Adam," Duncan said evenly, "but you're going to have to get out. We're changing cars."
Adam pulled himself up out of the seat as Duncan held the door for him. He asked which car and Duncan indicated the Lincoln. Adam went over to the big, beige barge and crawled into the passenger seat.
And there Adam remained for the half hour it took to feed Mary and Sean and settle Lucille's frazzled wits. Duncan drove them to Anne's, left Lucille and the children off there, and then proceeded down to Couver to see to Joe and Anne.
"Where do you want to go, Adam," Duncan asked as they approached the northeast edge of town.
Adam heard the question. It just made no sense at all. Why would he want to go anywhere? Where was there to go? Where? Something Duncan had said this very afternoon--what was that?--the warm word. Duncan said he wouldn't want to go there either with Cross' place to call him back. But the Estate did not call anymore. Where? Then Adam remembered.
"Home," Adam said, "take me home."
"Stop hovering, Duncan," Adam complained as he lounged his long frame over the dark leather couch on the fifth floor of the dojo. "I'm all right. It was only a horse, for God's sake. Hardly a loss of any magnitude. I have lost a few horses in my day." "Play it any way you want, Adam," Duncan gave up trying to engage the Elder Immortal in any insightful discussion and went to call the hospital again. Joe was improving rapidly and probably wouldn't be in the ICU come morning. Anne would let them know when he was on a regular floor and they could come visit. Would Duncan pass on the message to Ram? Anne couldn't seem to raise anyone at the Cross Estate.
This last was not surprising. Cross was probably still--busy. A small man with no help would be a while burying a whole horse and a dead groom and then caring for Ram when she awoke. Duncan surmised Cross was up to his chin in work. The Highlander wondered if he shouldn't return to the Estate and help the strange little black man, but he thought Adam needed watching. The Old Man seemed perfectly all right. And that itself worried the hell out of Duncan MacLeod.Duncan strolled over behind the couch and laid his hands on Adam's shoulders.
"Look," Adam jerked away, "Let us just agree that this thing between us is something of a failed experiment. One of those seemingly good ideas that fell apart in the execution. I appreciate your letting me stay here until I make some plans, rent an apartment, whatever, but I would also appreciate your not reading too much into my staying here."
"You're thinking of leaving?" Duncan asked, coming around the couch to stand in front of Adam.
"What do you think, Duncan. I can hardly live in a town where I am the mascot faggot designate. Look what happened the last time I just walked into a bookstore? I think the hearing just about finished me in this town. If they get the network up again in Paris, they'll need grunts to do the programming..." he let the thought drift away. "Something will turn up. It always does."
"Just like that," Duncan lowered himself to sit on the table in front of the couch. "You're going to bury us all with your horse and go off to Bora Bora. Will you be thinking about us with a certain fond sadness from time to time, then?" Duncan's question was as acid as pure vitriole.
"I don't expect you to understand this, Duncan," Adam pulled up from his draped position and leaned towards the Highlander, staring at him with more hatred than Duncan had ever seen in the green eyes before. "I live in here," he pounded his fist against the middle of his sternum, "I have for a long time. I will for a long time more. I am done tearing myself apart simply for your sense of what I should be, or for your amusement, whatever it is that drives you to shatter me. I have had enough, Duncan. I don't see any point in this, any of it. I can't even remember what I could have been thinking to get so involved in the first place. Tell me, go on, convince me I am lying about this, or that I am in any way mistaken."
"You are mistaken," Duncan said, trying not to reciprocate the anger.
"Prove it," Adam challenged him, "Tell me one single good thing that has happened since I left my solitude for Chaos."
Duncan shook his head and looked away. "The pain will pass, Adam. Believe me, it will pass away in time."
"Go see your son, Duncan," Adam went on as if Duncan had not spoken, "Go muck around in that emotional mire you think of as your clan. Be my guest, MacLeod. Indulge. What is it Lucille says? I am so over this. Really not to my taste, Duncan. I tell you what, come live in my world for a while, Highlander, see if you don't find some peace."
"That isn't living, Adam," Duncan replied. "It isn't peace, only death."
Ram snuggled her face into her left bicep and let the fuzzy drunkeness rock her in its sleepy sway.
Cresting the next shallow wave of awareness, she felt the cool sheet over her flesh, the firm hand stroking her shoulder, the soft darkness around her and the slightly musty smell of earth and stone, with just the tiniest accent of bright iron notes. Then the tow took her down again to dreamless insensibility.
The next wave rolled all the way to shore. Ram opened her eyes and tried to move. Her wrists were caught somewhere above her head. She pulled harder to no avail, then kicked her legs, twisted, and came up to kneeling leaning back hard against the shackles which 'prisoned her hands to the headstead of the metal bed. Strong arms settled over her own and she felt the heat of smooth skin against her back.
"Easy," Cross said quietly, "You will hurt yourself, Ram."
"What is this about?" she mumbled, still drunk, or perhaps drugged would be closer to the truth.
"We were afraid you would--" Thomas sighed and ran his hands along her arms. "Afraid you would not take this well. That you would be too wild. So we drugged you and bound you."
"Take what well?" Ram asked relaxing into his arms. "What happened to my clothes?"
"You mean the tube top and the cutoffs?" Thomas asked. "They were decimated and filthy. Forgive me, Ram. I removed them to wash and tend you. I can get you some--"
"No," Ram's head lolled back against his chest. "What happened to your clothes?"
"I gave up trying to hold you up from drowning in the tub and got in the bath with you to wash off the blood and dirt and sweat. I can go get dressed if that--"
"No," Ram drifted to sleep for a brief moment, then, "Take what well, Cross?"
"Maybe it would be better for you to wake up a little more first," Cross suggested, combing through her hair with his hand. He felt her entire frame go rigid.
"Tell me!" she yelled. "Now!"
"I will tell you if you will settle down. No wonder Duncan said to shackle and drug you, Ram."
Ram took a deep breath and tried to relax. "Tell me, please," she repeated more civilly.
"Joe was very badly hurt, Ram," Cross began softly. "He died from his wounds. It seemed at first that he would recover fully, but he had a massive coronary and a series of strokes and then he died." He felt the woman go absolutely still. She wasn't breathing or moving or in any way alive except for the pulse at her neck beneath the steel circlet there.
"Ram?" he said her name and felt her chest pull in the dark air.
"Yes, I heard you," her voice was steady and toneless. "I don't want you to hold me," she said.
Cross released her and sat quietly by her on the bed.
Ram leaned forward on her arms. "It is over," she said simply, but with the resonance of a cardinal beginning the recessional at High Mass.
"Do you want me to get you someone?" Cross asked.
Ram did not answer.
"Adam?" Cross suggested.
"No!" Ram said too adamantly.
"Well, then I can have Duncan--"
"No," Ram lifted her head. "No one. I really couldn't stand them, any of them, just now."
She was not crying, Cross noted, but the look on her face made him want to weep for her. "Then I assume you don't want me to take you back to Seacouver?" he asked.
"Can't I stay here," she asked, looking around the stone room with the muted lighting. "Where is this?"
"It used to be my bomb shelter," Cross explained, "Now it's a wine cellar and a place for hiding larger valuable objects. A hidden complex of rooms, this is only one of them, under the barn quadrangle."
"They know I'm here?" she asked, so unfocused her eyes seemed blind.
"No, I just said I'd see to you while they went to town with your husband. That's when the shackles and the drugs came up in the discussion. I can remove them if--"
"No," Ram said, "Not just yet. Maybe in a day or two..."
"Oh, Ram," Cross reached for her, then thought better of pressing her this soon. "Is there anything I can do to make this easier for you?"
"That's a steel door?" Ram lowered herself to her side and stretched out her lean legs.
"Yes, Ram," Thomas pulled up the sheet and settled it over her.
"What you can do, Cross," Ram said, her words muffled in the pillows. "Is leave this room and close that door and--" she fought for the last of her control.
"Yes, Ram?" Cross asked softly.
"Lock the door and don't come back until the noise stops."
