Dragons, Immortals, and Bears

(The Chaos Chronicles continue)

        Anne stood paralyzed at the door to the house that Duncan MacLeod had given her and her daughter, Mary, staring at the image of her dead husband, Mark Palmer, Chief of Obstetrics and Gynecology at 'Couver General. The keys to the front door jingled out of her hand and fell to the floor.
        "Mark?" she said in a very small voice.
        "Oh, Honey," the large man shifted little Mary to his left hip and stepped around Duncan, still on one knee on the floor, to gather his wife in his big bear arms. "Don't cry, Annie Darling. Oh, Honey, please don't cry. It's all right. I really am back. Everything will be all right now."
        Anne collapsed completely and the Bear just lifted her up in his enormous paws, shifted Mary onto her lap and then bore them both up the stairs to Anne's--and his--bedroom.
        Adam crept into the hallway from the parlor and Judge Stoner joined them.
        Duncan stood up and brushed off his knee.
        "Well?" Stoner said when he could stand the silence and the locked stares of the two Immortals no longer.
        Adam looked his direction, "Yes?"
        "Is somebody going to explain this?" Judge Stoner asked.
        Duncan looked up the stairs and then nodded towards the parlor. They followed him into the adjacent room and sat down in the liquid light of the new morning, Sean on Adam's lap, playing with the dust mote waves and speaking softly, the language of the angels.
        Duncan put his hand over his mouth, deep in thought, leaving Adam to the education of the venerable Judge Stoner.
        Adam stroked his brother's tiny back as he spoke, "You know that Malak was very ill during the hearing for the children's' custody."
        Duncan's gaze drifted out the parlor archway towards the stairs. He was clearly worried.
        When Stoner nodded, Adam continued, "I don't really know how to explain this, but in his delirium, he and Ram were in Hell with the rest of his people. They were all trapped within Malak's person. Just listen, I can't do better than this right now. There is no time to do more." Adam exchanged glances with Duncan.
        Adam continued, "So in a bargain to release Malak from Hell, Duncan and Ram agreed that, while the rest of the Danaans could be released to death, Marak would remain behind until such time as his--I don't know, ego--until his ego could be made flesh again. This child," he hugged Sean. "is imbued with the spirit, the ego, of a dear, dead friend who is alive again because Ram made it so."
        "I thought he would wait until there was a child," Duncan murmured. "I did not think he would kidnap Ram and Malak, so that he could be alive now."
        "Is that what has happened?" Judge Stoner asked.
        Adam breathed out heavily, "Yes, I think so. But I also think Malak and Ram must have both agreed to it, or it would not have been possible. That worries me almost more. Why would they? It will be interesting to see what Master Bear has to say for himself if he ever comes back down again."
        "Bear?" Stoner asked.
        "That is his nickname," Duncan grumbled.
        "Does he manifest as some bear monster?" Judge Stoner asked, remembering Malak as the wyvern in the Drieg Tower Club.
        "Oh, God," Adam said, "I hope not."
        "I think I'll go see to breakfast," Stoner said almost casually and left the two Immortals to their own battle.
        Anthony Jackson Stoner, lately of the Federal Bench, was more than content to fade into the background on this skirmish. He'd had his fill of adventure the last twenty-four hours and right now keeping the sausages from burning seemed a daunting enough endeavor for today's maneuvers.
        "Tony!" a very deep voice proclaimed behind him.
        Stoner turned around slowly. "You know me?" he said to the very large man looming over him.
        "Tony," the man's broad visage wrinkled up, showing his canines. "Did we or did we not put in the finest eighteen holes the 'Couver Greens Tourney ever saw?"
        "Doc?" Stoner blinked, "Dr. Palmer! You sly old b-" Bear, he thought to himself. I used to call him "Bear." Oh, Dear Lord, I know this bear. "You're dead!"
        Mark did a slow turn and shrugged his broad shoulders. "Guess Twain was right about the reports of my death being premature. What are you doing here?"
        "Making breakfast, Doc. Want some?"
        "Well, Tony," the broad arm wrapped around Stoner's shoulders, "I've got two lovely ladies upstairs, all tucked in and waiting for breakfast in bed. I was hoping you would do the honors for me while I speak with the gentlemen in the parlor."
        "You got it, Be--Mark," Stoner replied. He had been walking, all unawares, through a veritable fairy tale of heroes and dragons and bears. Oh my. No wonder they'd won the Couver Tourney. He'd already joined the circus some years ago and was just now realizing it. He remembered what his sainted mother always used to say, "Life is more wonderful than we ever know...and it's probably just as well we don't."
        The Bear and the Judge parted company at the stairs, Stoner headed up with the tray and Bear with his hands in his pockets, lumbered into the parlor to lay down the law.
        "Don't get up," Mark motioned them back to sitting with his paws out in front of him. "I would have brought you coffee, but you won't be staying that long."
        Duncan's charcoal shaded eyes never left the Bear. His was a wariness born in years of battles. He knew this for what it was, setting the terms.
        Adam held Sean too tightly to his chest and the babe began to complain.
        "I think six months will be long enough to find a new place to live," Mark said without emotion. "I should think you could manage at the dojo until then."
        "You can surely stay here," Duncan said.
        Mark grinned and ducked his muzzle, "I was talking about you and Adam and Sean, as in 'another state,' preferably another continent, but I won't be that particular."
        "You're asking us to leave?" Adam said indignantly.
        "And then some," Mark smiled. "For now, away from this place. In six months, away from this state. I will pack up and send your things to the dojo and I will cover any expenses involved."
        "But their school at Joe's, Lucille will be expecting them--Their schooling programs--" Adam sputtered.
        "Stop!" Mark roared. Then he gathered his graces and continued, "You will no longer speak of these two children as if they were a set. They are in no way to be involved with one another, even in speech. Am I understood?"
        Duncan stood, "I can fully understand your being angry at my bedding your wife, Dr. Palmer, but I don't see the justice in splitting up the children on my account."
        "It has nothing to do with you, Duncan. As I understand it, you have been as chaste as Diarmud before the fall," Mark paused and stared at Adam, "at least where Annie is concerned. Do not be mistaken," he changed the subject back, "I am very grateful for all you have done for my wife and my daughter. Very grateful. I will not deny there is vast recompense due you and yours, but the matter remains: from this time forward, the child, Sean, shall not be within two hundred miles of the child, Mary."
        "Nor are you to speak of Mary to Sean. As far as he is concerned, she does not exist. Do you understand?" Mark finished.
        Duncan walked over to Mark, "Before I am to disrupt my entire life, Mark, can you tell me why I should do as you ask?"
        "Because if you don't, I will kill you. Is that a good enough reason, Highlander?"
        Duncan gauged the large man before him. He was not joking. "Why would you kill your own brother?" he asked.
        "I know how this must seem to you, Brother Duncan," the massive features softened. "I could explain it to you, but I doubt you would believe it in any case."
        Duncan crouched down beside Mark's chair and put his hands on the wide forearm of the Bear. "Try me, Brother."
        "I will be here as Mary grows to womanhood, to shield and teach and care for her. When she is twenty four, I will depart in Malak's favor and he will take her as his wife. I will be reborn in her child, as Sean Byrnes was reborn in your son, Duncan MacLeod."
        Adam disappeared and the Elder Adam of his central self took his place as he held Sean and glared at the Bear. "But she won't love Malak if she falls in love with Sean, as she is destined to do."
        A similar subtle change resonated in the Bear.
        Duncan's senses reeled as he watched the ages upon ages inform the two before him. It was like watching ancient mountains speak, all deadly drops and black ice peaks.
        "And I will not live again, truly live, apart from Ram and Malak if that should occur," the Bear responded.
        "Why can you not return as the son of Sean and Mary?" the Elder Adam queried, his drumbeat pulsing power shaking the entire room.
        "Because Sean is destined to murder Malak," the Elder Bear pronounced. "Then would follow my death and Ram's death and the death of all the Facets and all the Powers, Anne included."
        "You think I am cruel and unreasonable, Duncan MacLeod," Mark turned his attention to the Highlander, "but I fought hard and long to get this compromise for you, because I know how much your son means to you."
        Duncan pushed up to standing. He was so furious he could hardly speak. "What compromise? What favors have you done me, Brother Marak?"
        "Be still," the Elder Adam intoned in words that hit Duncan almost physically. "The obvious thing would have been to kill your son." Turning back towards the Bear, he said, "You chose well, Marak. Sean's older brother might return the favor of bestowing you your destiny. Know this, to come after this child, you come through me, and I have bested you in the list, even before I was grown into manhood."
        "I let you win," Mark whined, suddenly falling out of character.
        "That's what you said, Marak. That's what you told everyone," the Elder Adam was still in full force, "But you and I know differently."
        Duncan watched in awe as Mark conceded to Adam.
        Adam was even more surprising as he graciously accepted, "We will do the best we can to keep the children apart, spending time in Europe, staying away from this part of the country, but we are not going to pick up and leave everything, every friend we have, simply to avoid a fate which, if I understand such things rightly, cannot be avoided in any case."
        "Agreed," said the Bear.
        "I hope you will continue Mary's lessons with Cross. I will give her my gelding and the Friesian stallion who saved her life. I take it you will see to their boarding and care?"
        "Oh, yes, thank you, Adam," the Bear agreed. "You are too generous."
        "I am, at that," Adam reappeared and Sean gurgled in recognition.
        Duncan held out his hand to Mark and they closed on an understanding. "Say goodbye to Mary for me," he said.
        The Bear nodded his head. "I wish things were different, Brother."
        Duncan started to answer in agreement, but Adam was already at the archway, summoning him. The Scot nodded and turned away from the Bear.
        The three of them left the house that Duncan MacLeod had rebuilt for Anne and Mary.
        They would never return here again.

        "Are you all right?" Duncan tossed the question into the maelstrom of silence which had crashed around the confines of the T-bird all the way down the road to Seacouver.
        Adam checked on Sean, sleeping in his car seat in the back. "Yes, I am, Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod. And yourself?"
        "I don't know," Duncan answered truthfully as the bay town appeared beyond the last rise. "Do you believe what Mark said?"
        "I believe that Hell does all kinds of things to your mind, Duncan," Adam began slowly. "I believe that Marak believes what he said and that is more important than the truth, whatever that turns out to be. I believe also, that we were lucky to get out of there with our lives."
        "Yeah," Duncan maneuvered through the next switch back in the descent. "I had that feeling myself. You were just about as scary as Mark was."
        "Mois? Scary?"
        "Yes, Adam. Whatever has happened to you--"
        "I'll keep a lid on it," Adam laughed, "Maybe we can have one of those 'talks' you're so fond of."
        "Talks?" Duncan downshifted as the descent grew steeper. "Oh."
        "Now that you are--hmm? unencumbered, annulled, available--" Adam's grin grew ever wider.
        Duncan slowed the car to a stop and eased onto the shoulder. He put his head down, forehead on knuckles on the steering wheel. "Can we table this to some other time when--"
        "Never mind," the Elder Adam pronounced. "I will not be asking you again. Ever," he added, shaking the car with the pounding aura.
        With that, Adam laid his elegant hands on the baby in the back seat, so lightly the child did not even stir. Then he opened the passenger-side door and stepped out of the car.
        "It is time for me to leave," Adam said simply, damping down the aura, "It is long past time, I fear. Be that as it may, Duncan MacLeod, I am too old for this roller coaster, and I am getting off now for the sake of both our sanities. I will no longer be standing in the shadows, hand dutifully on my forelock, waiting for the Lord of the Manor to cast his glance my way. I am better than that. You are better than that. Go back to your life, MacLeod, and I shall return to mine."
        "Adam!" Duncan reached for him, but the lanky legs darted Adam away.
        Then the Oldest Immortal jumped backward off the edge of the road, down to the next switchback and out of sight.
        Duncan closed the passenger door and drove down to the next level, but when he got there, Adam was nowhere to be seen.
        Duncan couldn't even feel him, he was already so far away.

        "Mac!" Dawson called out cheerily to the tall shadow in the doorway to "Joe's," his bar. "It's been a while. Come on in, just catching up on paperwork."
        Duncan followed the blues man, Watcher, and Power into the empty bar.
        "Oh, and aren't you getting to be a big guy," Dawson took Sean from Duncan's arms and sat down with him at one of the tables near the bar. "Help yourself, Buddy. Sunday drinks are on the house."
        Duncan walked slowly round the bar, poured a double Scotch, knocked it back, and poured another.
        "Buddy?" Dawson played 'pull out the old man's beard' with Sean. "Where's Adam?"
        "A lot has changed lately," Duncan's voice seemed weighted with woe.
        "I'll say," Dawson agreed, "I've been on the network with Cross all morning, sorting out your melee. Buddy?"
        "What?" Duncan stretched a kink out of his back and began a slow pace, back and forth in front of the mirrored shelves behind the bar.
        "Is Malak really dead, Duncan? Is that where Adam is? Off someplace licking his wounds."
        "Oh," Duncan couldn't seem to focus on anything for very long. "Yes and no. Malak's gone, but not for good. He's supposed to--" Damn, he searched through his memory of the morning, a world away. "He may be back in twenty years or so."
        "I don't understand, Buddy."
        Sean got tired of beard pulling and moved on to cane-teething.
        "I don't either," Duncan poured another scotch and came around the bar. "The condo is let to Marak now, I guess."
        "Bear!" Dawson said, eliciting an excited squeal from Sean, who liked to be sociable in conversations.
        "Yeah," Duncan made a sound like the cough of a great cat. "It seems I am kicked out of Seacouver with Sean, because he has some notion that Sean is going to kill him when he grows up."
        "What?"
        "It's crazy," Duncan shook his head and threw back the third double scotch. "The whole world's gone mad."
        Sean started squirming in Dawson's arms, looking one way and then the other, fussing in little coughs and grunts.
        "Easy, Sean," Dawson started rocking and humming to the child. "Are Anne and Mary going to be all right? I assume they're staying with him."
        "Oh, yes," Duncan sighed, "They're all one big happy family up at the house I gave her and where I am never to show my face again, thank you very much."
        Dawson grimaced, "Ooooh. Sorry, Mac." Sean escalated his squirming, bouncing up and down on his chubby legs, babbling a mile a minute.
        "Mary won't be coming to school here any more. She's not to see or hear anything about Sean any more, ever again." Duncan got up and returned to the bar for another go at the Scotch. The brew seemed to be burnishing, rather than calming, his mood.
        And Sean's mood was not far behind. "Dadahm!" he squawked in an ear-splitting wail.
        Duncan's whole body cringed.
        "Mac?" Dawson tried to quiet the distraught babe who just kept sobbing his brother's name.
        "He's gone. All right?" It was clearly not all right. "Just gone, left, off to Bora Bora, whatever! I don't expect we'll be seeing him again anytime soon."
        "Oh, dear, oh, dear," Dawson murmured, rocking Sean.
        Duncan dug in the baby bag and handed over a bottle. Sean was mollified for the moment.
        "What happened, Mac?"
        "Damned if I know," Duncan threw back double scotch number four, trying to find the one wrong step he'd taken in the past single turning of this sullen orb. Where the hell had he gone wrong, that everything should have suddenly turned to ashes?
        "I thought you and he--" Dawson didn't exactly know how to frame the question.
        "I thought so too, but there you are. Gone." Duncan made an abracadabra gesture and "vanished" a fifth scotch.
        "You can stay here with me," Dawson offered. "We built a bedroom off the nursery that's really nice and--"
        "I am not a child, Dawson. I know how to live alone," Duncan snapped, "God knows I've had enough practice."
        "You may not be a child, Mac," Dawson said in controlled tones, "but Sean is, and you haven't exactly been doing the childcare all by yourself, not since his birth."
        "I'm sure I could manage it," Duncan sneered, "How hard could it be?"
        Dawson chewed the inside of his lip. Oh, brother! "I was only offering as a friend, Mac. I meant no slur on your ability to stand like a solitary rock in the middle of the damn ocean."
        "And I thought you might have a little empathy for my loneliness," Joe added bitterly. "But, hey, what are my concerns in the epic doings of Immortal heroics?"
        The chastisement sank Duncan down on a barstool, his hands folded in fists, rocking and gritting his teeth. "I'm sorry, Joe," he said, "I haven't hurt so bad since Tessa died. I don't know what to do. I just don't know--"
        "That's a start, Mac," Joe couldn't get up with Sean just drifting off to sleep in his arms, so he let his soft, smoky voice travel for him, over to the Black Gaelic Mood on the barstool, offering notes of hope and help, sympathy and solace, sending Joe's love where his legs could not go.

        "Well, if it isn't my favorite forbidden fruit," Lucille laughed broadly as she rolled into the bar on a wave of pure sensuality and too much good cheer.
        Duncan picked his head up off his forearms where he'd been trying to bury a headache while Joe instructed him on this or that fine point of tending babies. He looked first at Lucille and then at Joe, accusingly.
        A twinkle lit the bartender's slate blue eyes, "I may have exaggerated about my loneliness," he grinned, "just for effect, you understand."
        "Hello, Sweets," Duncan nodded.
        "You two look like the ass-end of Doomsday. What gives?" She snuggled into Joe's lap, the pale blue jersey of her very fetching dress draping him in artful folds and Lucille's own stunning curves. "I could leave," she whispered, brushing his ear with her lush lower lip and rendering her question more or less moot.
        "Well," Sweet Lucille warbled like the first lark of day, "I hear congratulations are in order. Hail, all hail, the conquering hero. And you look like you need some of Momma Sweet's special headache cure, Honey," she traced a feather light stroke across Duncan's forehead. "I will just go prepare it."
        Duncan started to decline, but thought better of it. These Powers could be treacherous, so pumped with their own new Immortalities. And Lucille was a Power even before she tasted dragon.
        Bustling around behind the bar, she was well aware of her various attractions, teasing them both without a word spoken, bending a little too far over for the ice, and such. Peach snapps and ice and a little rum, a little...now where were those baggies?
        "Adam off with little Sean?" she asked as she turned off the blender and poured the peach slush into the plastic zip bags. "Hello, earth to Duncan?"
        "Adam's gone," Dawson said. "Sean's sleeping in the nursery next door with the intercom on."
        Lucille waltzed back to their table. "Here," she handed one of the baggies to Duncan. "Put this over your eyes, and when it melts, take a sip, and then put it back on your head, and repeat until the bag is empty, and I guarantee your headache will be gone."
        Duncan took the bag, mumbled a thank you and gasped as the impossibly cold plastic froze his brain. Wheww, but it did help, a great deal, just took a little getting used to.
        "I hope not seriously gone, gone," Lucille sighed. "What did you do?"
        Duncan slid the ice pak down enough to peek at her over the top. "What did I do?"
        "Well, you must have done something, Duncan," Lucille wagged her pale finger in his face and retook her perch on Joe's lap. "That man loves you so bad he can hardly breathe."
        "You wouldn't have thought so today," Duncan grumbled.
        "Have things been going badly in that sweet little nest Anne built you out back?" Lucille was nothing if not straight forward.
        "Well, I've been staying in the main house with Anne and Mary," Duncan put the ice back over his eyes.
        "Oh, Duncan," Lucille pursed her lips and then pressed them softly on Joe's temple. "So how were you taking care of Sean?"
        "Adam doesn't mind taking care of the baby. He enjoys it. I visit," Duncan paused, "often."
        "When you went for those special visits to the cottage to be with Adam?" Lucille thought that was romantic.
        "We haven't had time for special visits. Adam has been busy with Sean and I've been busy with things in town and the night rides with Malak and--."
        "So you took Sean in and let Adam have some time to pursue his interests?" Lucille asked.
        "No," Duncan opened the bag and took a sip. It was surprisingly good. "I told you, Adam really likes--"
        Lucille made a snorting, spitting noise of exasperation, "Men!"
        "What?" Duncan slapped the bag back on his pounding face.
        "The wonder, Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod, is not that Adam has left you, but that he did not do it a long time ago. You're impossible! What was the last straw?"
        "What?" Duncan did not understand what she was prattling on about.
        "What made Adam finally angry enough to tell you to stuff it?" Lucille translated.
        "Oh," Duncan tried to think back. "We were in the car on our way down here. Something about Mark being back--"
        Lucille punched Joe, "You didn't tell me the Bear was back."
        "I only just learned it, Lucille," Joe answered in his own defense.
        "--and Adam started joking around about my being up for grabs, or some such--and I'd just lost my wife and my daughter and my house--and I really was in no mood to start thinking about joining the fruit-of-the-month club." Duncan took another drink of peach daquiri.
        "Oh, Duncan!" Lucille moaned.
        "I didn't say that to him," Duncan answered, "I didn't say anything at all."
        "I'm sure you didn't have to," Lucille shook her red brown waves.
        "You are twisting things," Duncan complained. "Dawson!"
        "Hey, Buddy," Joe said as kindly as he could, "If you'd treated a woman that way, I'd say you were a jerk of the first order."
        Duncan came up from the ice. "Really?"
        Joe nodded, "Really, Mac. Adam's been awfully good to you. Believe me, just the baby care is an incredible sacrifice on his part, the more so since it does not come easily to him. I seem to remember you fussing around here about how inconvenient it was to have him off visiting Cross. And Lucille and Anne and I were doing most of the chores even then."
        Sean gurgled and called out, "Dadahm," over the intercom. Duncan waited. There was no other sound. "He must be dreaming," he observed.
        Duncan turned his attention back to Lucille. "You're talking as if I don't miss him, as if this isn't killing me that he's gone."
        "It isn't," Lucille answered coldly.
        "Lucille," Joe reminded her of her manners.
        "Well, if it was killing you, you'd be going after him and nothing would stop you until you had him back. You just can't decide Duncan. It seems as if it is all right for him to love you, but you're a little uncertain about the other way around."
        "But I do," Duncan replied, "I really do love Adam."
        "I know you do," Joe stepped in to defend the Scot. "I know you do. It's a little the way I loved Ram. I really did love her," Joe sighed deeply, "I just didn't love her enough."
        "Well," Duncan finished off the daquiri. Lucille was right. His headache was gone, but his heart was beginning to hurt worse than his head had. "Let me see if I have the list: I am a neglectful father, an insensitive lover, an all-around jerk, anything else?"
        "No," Lucille said lightly, "I think that about gets it."
        "Well," Duncan took a deep breath in and pushed back from the table. "I suppose the first order of business is to start learning the proper care of my son. Is Lady Lucille's School for contrite fathers open with special Sunday tutorials?"
        "Most assuredly," Lucille slipped off Joe's lap and floated towards the nursery door with the Highlander in tow.
        But it seemed Duncan was too late converted to be of any use.
        Sean's crib was empty.

        Duncan MacLeod had been running at top speed for two, no three, days now. He had not slept or eaten, or even had a truly coherent thought to call his own since Adam--Oh, Dear Lord, let it please be Adam who has done this--had taken his son, Sean. He seemed to have been running in loops, unrewarding circles of searching and desperation. Each full circle led him back to Joe's, and here he was again. Signing things. Losing things. Falling away from the world in stuporous stumbles and woeful wanderings.
        "Duncan?" Jack Feldon placed what must have been the twentieth document under his nose. "Only three more to go," the lawyer who had defended them at the custody hearing coaxed him. "Sign where the little red sticky things are. That's right. Are you going to be okay?"
        Duncan smiled weakly at the joke. "Right as rain, Jack. Right as frigging rain." He signed off on the marriage annulment, the adoption of Mary, the secondary ownership of the house...everything.
        "Any word about Sean?" Jack asked as the last signature was done, the copies separated out, and the originals safe in his briefcase.
        "No, Jack. Why would anything be going right today?" Duncan mumbled wearily. Or ever again, he was beginning to think.
        "I just want you to know that Dr. Palmer is not going to press charges," Jack pulled out a signed ageement to that effect, "In return for your cooperation in the matter of Anne's marriage and Mary's custody. You do understand about the restraint order?"
        "Yeah, Jack. I understand," Duncan knocked back the last of his latest double scotch. The only amusement he'd had in the past three days was beating the holy shit out of Master Bear. Felt really good, right up to moment Mary had jumped on top of him, clamped her tiny teeth into his leg and insisted that he leave her sainted daddy alone. Damnation! What a child she was! Four, almost five, and fearless as a berserker.
        "Dr. Palmer understands you were not yourself because of Sean's disappearance," Jack continued, "He knows you thought he had something to do with that, but--"
        Duncan put up his palms, "I was wrong. I admit it. All right, is that it?"
        "That's it, except--"
        "Except--?" Duncan tried to hurry the frumpy little lawyer.
        "Mary says if Unka Dunk hurts her daddy again, she will muss him up so bad he'll have to wear a nametag," Jack tried not to laugh. Sweet Lucille, Mary's nanny, had the most colorful vocabulary on the continent.
        Duncan knew if he laughed, he would cry, and if he cried, he would be so entirely lost, he'd never find his way back again. "Tell her, Unka Dunk will heed her warning. 'Bye, Jack." He watched the lawyer shuffle out of the office they'd borrowed from Joe to deed away his life. He thought again about how Anne had frozen, scared to death, in the corner of the parlor, while he and the Bear went at it like lions. Little Mary dove into the fray without a second thought and stopped them, showing considerably more maturity than the nearly six thousand years of life the two "grown" men owned between.
        Joe Dawson appeared at the door. "Mac?"
        Duncan's attention jerked back to the present. "Yes?"
        Joe shook his head, "Sorry, Buddy. Just reporting back in. Thomas says no word, nor sight of the elusive Dr. Piersen, or your son. He has the Facets out beating the bushes and he's watching the transportation venues. He hasn't tried to leave by bus, plane, train, rented or purchased auto...nothing. He has the new European crew keeping an eye open, just in case we've let him slip out unnoticed."
        Duncan nodded, hardly hearing much of the report past the fact they had been no more successful than he. "You don't think Cross is hiding Adam and Sean?" he asked.
        "He isn't, Mac," Dawson said, "I know he isn't."
        "He hid Ram after that business with the stallion," Duncan said.
        "He called me as soon as I got home from the hospital. When you and Adam were upstairs in my bedroom--" Joe let the thought drift away. "Anyway, Cross told me exactly where Ram was, just like he called you to tell you where Adam was when he didn't come home from your excursion north."
        Duncan nodded. Cross was too honorable to lie about his missing son. "You don't think there was another Immortal in that plot to kill Sean. One we missed. And--" he couldn't even bear to say it aloud.
        "Duncan," Joe's smoky tones held their own against MacLeod's dancing doubts, "Cross has the most thorough tracking system you can imagine. If a strange Immortal had entered the surrounding five hundred miles, he would know it."
        "Why don't you try to get some sleep, Mac," he added.
        "I have some more calls to make, Joe," Duncan's burring accent was thick as sea fog, the "r's" buzzing up against his front teeth like angry hornets. "Okay if I borrow the phone?"
        "Sure, Buddy," Joe sighed, closing the door behind him.
        Duncan didn't even look up, "Yes, give me the number for the Stanley Park Zoo. I'll hold." With the phone cradled against his left shoulder and ear, he started typing furiously on the computer, running through the airline schedules, trying to find something, something, anything. "Yes, thanks," he dialed the zoo. "Hello, I need to speak to someone who can give me a list of patrons visiting the zoo in the past two, no, make that three, days. I'll hold."
        Well, it was stupid, but Sean loved the zoo, maybe Adam was floating around 'Couver and in need of some diversion. He could have taken the child to the zoo. It might have happened. "No, I don't have a warrant or permit. Why can't you just fax me the gates' receipt list? All right, who do I need to speak with. Yes, I'll hold," he had canvassed the entire town, end-to-end, sending out every raw nerve, listening for Adam's signature, for Sean's, which was louder. Nothing, nothing. "No, I can't wait a week! Well, you do seem just about as well-behaved as your monkeys, and nowhere near as satisfied!" Duncan reached up and moved the receiver away from his ear. Same to you, bastard.
        Duncan hung up the phone and leaned forward on the desk. Sean could dead by now and there was nothing he could do about it. His brain started to loose its moorings and his thoughts drifted ever farther away from the unmerciful shoals.
        His life, or at least the part that dealt with Adam and Sean, played out before him in a concordance of lights and emotions. Duncan saw again the white, vaulted apartment where he'd first met the researcher of the Methos project, and later beneath the cold dark bridge where the Old Man had nearly walked into his blade, because he thought it would help the Highlander win out against Callas.
        He saw Anne, teary-eyed, bringing his son to him. His heart warmed to the memory of that first touch. Duncan felt again the impossible love for his son that filled him up to bursting. He remembered all those late night patrols when he and Adam had taken Sean to Paris to live on the barge. He laughed again, remembering the tale of Piersen running the boat into the Holy Isle.
        Lucille was right. All that time Adam had spent on the barge, alone with the infant colicking and teething, and Duncan God knew where. He was an insensitive boob. No wonder the man had left. They weren't even romantically involved then, well, not physically involved. Duncan wondered if they had always belonged to each other, by some unwritten Destiny, like Malak and Mary. Dawson had related the tragic tale which Cross told of Malak's Fate.
        Then that strange night at the Villancourt's Estate when Duncan had enacted the elaborate ritualistic intimacy, which Ram had outlined for him, to understand Adam's peculiar sexual tastes. He supposed that was their first night having sex together, though only Adam had the sex. The drugs had allowed Duncan to just pretend he had actually participated.
        That was just about a year ago, Duncan mused. Not exactly a first kiss, but he supposed it qualified as a beginning of their "affair."
        Right after that, they had returned to 'Couver. There they had found Sean's mother, surprisingly alive and married to Joe Dawson. Adam had begun the counterfeit journal that had ended with Ram's reemergence in the cathedral and all the dragons, but Ram, dying in the fatal consequences of Adam's elaborate lie.
        Duncan's head reeled. In short order, he and Ram had come together like lovers of longstanding. He had proposed. Malak had been revealed to quash the proposal. Malak and Dawson had gotten together with the result that Malak was reduced to broccoli, a cataleptic episode that was to last the next full season.
        Then--when was that?--in June, just as summer began, Mary started to die from some dragon transformation none of them understood. Well, Anne understood enough to wake Malak and make him heal the child. Which was a miracle of great joy, except for the fact that it left Malak vulnerable to the sentence the dead dragons had laid upon him.
        Was it only June when Malak had gone to hell? So much had happened since. The next month, Duncan had married Anne and started the wheels in motion to adopt Mary.
        And Adam? He was such a convenience--necessity, really--Duncan just took it for granted he would tend Malak, first in catalepsy, then in Hell. It wasn't that the Highlander didn't help with the dreadful task, but Adam did the worst of the work, always with enough sarcasm that it was impossible to be grateful to him. He may not have gone to Hell to rescue Malak at the last, but Adam had preserved the dragon through that damnable sojourn, and never complained at all.
        And Adam had stood up in court, for all the world to hear, had proclaimed himself gay, had testified that he was hopelessly in love with Duncan MacLeod. Had taken the subsequent jeers and lears with a surprisingly even temper, even the bashing and broken nose he received on his return from the Cross Estate.
        It was that day, nearly a year after their first "encounter," when Duncan and Adam had finally placed their affection for one another in a physical context. Duncan chuckled. He'd put a candle in the window for Adam. Adam had gone to Anne and actually asked for his hand in marriage.
        A few bright warm days later, Adam's stallion had been killed, as had Dawson in an accident at the Cross Estates. Duncan had been there to comfort him. They had held to each other a brief time longer and then been feted at Joe's, something of a wedding reception, where Lucille and Joe and Anne and the children had wonderful food and cake and presents and everything was perfect. Was that only a season ago? Duncan thought.
        They had returned to the dojo while the back house was being built and Anne was away, but Duncan spent most of his time on the construction and Adam just sort of--what? Duncan tried to remember. He really didn't know what Adam had been doing except babysitting Sean, and Mary, sometimes, and waiting.
        They had drifted away from each other after the Reception, maybe sleeping together a handful of times, in the following days, months. The first fervor had dimmed and they always managed to get into an argument which left them not speaking to one another for days. Then Anne had returned. Adam and Sean had moved into the new guest house and Duncan had moved in with his wife and daughter.
        They hadn't been intimate since. The only thing which bound them together was baby Sean. And Adam had waited and waited, in uncharacteristic patience, something he had gained at the Cross Estate from the talented and wise Master Thomas. Another full season of waiting, in fact, Duncan thought.
        But they had come together on the field of battle, Shield Brothers, and they had found each other and their self-deprivation fell away. They had made love the night before Adam left, terrible, wonderful, furious unions, desperate and tender and laden with lust, laced with love. So why, the next morning, had Adam just walked away?
        Because he gently tried to ask me to be with him again, Duncan thought. He made it sound as if I would be taking him on the rebound, but I think he meant to ease my sudden loss, to let me know that he was there for me.
        And all I could think of was: people will think I'm a faggot...and I'm not ready to deal with that yet.
        It must have been clear to Adam, Duncan reasoned, even if the Scot had never, ever said as much to the Eldest Immortal.
        So Adam had left. What else, really, could he have done? But he had come back for Sean and that was entirely out of character. The last time Adam had lapsed off the beam, when he went to be with Cross, the good Dr. Piersen had merely left them all behind, forgotten.
        Oh, please, Duncan prayed again, as he had too many times to count in the past three days, please let it be Adam who took Sean. Please let Sean be well, and cared for, and not afraid, or hurt, or alone, dying. Please.
        He offered his own life into the bargain. He would drop down dead this moment if it would insure that his prayer would be answered. Duncan wiped his eyes. He needed to get washed and changed and go out to search the coming night for his son. His fear and his grief served no one.
        Pushing up and staggering out the door to the alley, he leaned against the T-bird and cleared his head before he got in and started it up. Faithful old black pony, he patted the car, carry me home.

         The spring moon rose over the dark field. Thomas Cross stood alone by the mound of dirt where Duncan MacLeod had buried the Father of All Horses. It was almost summer, Thomas thought, and the mild winter had gone by unnoticed, rolling with Adam Piersen and with his very odd mother, Chaos, and then with the Father. What a sweet time it as been, Father. How I will miss you. How many times will I smile thinking of this or that, some little thing done or said, some precious treasure to keep with me always.
        "I am sorry the end came so hard for you, Father," he felt the tears begin as he spoke aloud without realizing it. "I hope you rest in peace and joy in your Father's arms, as I hope to one day lie in yours, Father." His voice cracked. He knew he would never get through the threnody, the hymn to sing Malak to rest.
        Behind him, the clear bass took up the melody and began the hymn. Thomas turned around. Oh, he thought, Dear Grant. He stood very still as Grant came up to him and folded his large arms around his shoulders, finishing the hymn. "We will go home now, Beloved?" Grant asked softly.
        "Yes, Grant," Thomas ran his knuckle under his wet lids. "It is time for us to go home."

        Duncan was sure he'd feel better after a bath. No, shower. Damn, he was still on Adam time. Still, he didn't feel sober enough or awake enough to fight a shower tonight. Definitely a soak, a really hot soak was in order. He fumbled with the keys and entered the darkened dojo. Duncan clicked the light, nothing. A couple clicks more and a try at the opposite wall and the office, reminded him there had been some lapse in the electrical bill payment. Of course, why not? What a perfect metaphor. It wasn't as if it could be any darker.
        Which meant that the lift wouldn't work either. Duncan's tired legs attempted to turn off the power as well, but he willed them up the main stairs to the second floor, then up the long spiral stair to the third, fourth, and...
        He came out of the dark well into a lake of fire. No, a sea of flames. His tired, drunken eyes took a while to accomodate. Oh.
        Around the loft were crystal bowls in every hue, all with clear kerosene, floating wicks whispered across the surfaces sending liquid lovely light throughout the loft. There must be hundreds, he thought, set on every surface, some with clear marbles in their depths, some floating flowers below the wicks.
        One, on the window by the stair, so close he could feel its heat, had a, a...
        Red zebra. Sean's!
        Duncan's legs finally said, "Enough!" and collapsed him to the floor. "Adam," he moaned, hoping this lighting display wasn't something in the nature of a demented ransom note.
        He felt their auras then, bright and singularly theirs, suddenly out of the stillness like trumpets.
        He felt their faces next to his, heard their warm, happy voices, knew they were well.
        Duncan wanted to hold them and tell them both every way that they made his life a life worth having and treasuring and...
        But he had searched for them too long and too hard. He had no strength left for when he finally found them, waiting for him. And now--Duncan almost wept with the injustice of it all--they would have to wait for him to come back to consciousness, for all the drifting lights were circling darkly and in another breath he was gone.

        "Are you angry with me, Grant?" Thomas asked the giant, silent man who stood over him kneading the grief-knotted muscles of his back.
        "Angry?" Grant replied.
        "Yes, Grant," Thomas repeated, "I have shamefully neglected you for nearly half a year now. What must you have thought?"
        "Why I thought you were being the most considerate lover that ever graced the fair earth, Tom," Grant's unexpectedly long answer caught Thomas by surprise.
        "Come again, Grant?"
        "You were giving me time to indulge my passion for our Mediterranean friend," Grant explained.
        "Dragon?" Thomas turned his head to look over his shoulder at his usually reserved partner.
        "He and I both understand that you take precedence to him, Sir," Grant added.
        "Grant!" Thomas laughed lovingly, turning his whole body and sitting up, "You, hussy!"
        "I try," said Grant, with a wit dry as the Sothern Drifts.
        "Oh, my," Thomas tried to catch his breath between guffaws, "Oh," he said tenderly, "I do love you."
        "I never doubted it, Sir."

        Duncan woke up clean and warm and snuggled into the counterpane, a dozen odd pillows, his son, and his good friend, the room still awash in the ebb and flow of the liquid candles.
        Sean crawled up on his chest and started gurgling and babbling. Adam propped up on an elbow and patted the baby, nearly a toddler at a year and a half of happy baby time. He prompted Sean who stopped burbling Swahili and stared at Duncan, his small face a mask of concentration.
        Sean looked at Adam, who nodded, encouraging him.
        Sean pounded on Duncan's chest, rocking forward, pushing himself through the moment, "Paahp," he said, pursing his lips, exploding the vowel, and pursing his lips again. Then he beamed like sunshine as Duncan praised and hugged and glowed with an equal light.
        Every time Duncan slacked off, Sean "Popp'ed" again, and delighted in his father's great joy.
        After several minutes of this, Adam said quietly, "Do you want to kill me now, or later?"
        The next 'Pop' getting no reaction, Sean went with a salvo of 'Dadahm's'. Adam melted as always, but he waited for Duncan to say it was all right before he took his brother back.
        "Why would I want to kill you?" Duncan said sleepily, accepting the lemonade and cookies Adam served on a plate on his chest.
        "For being such an ass, mainly," Adam appropriated one of the cookies and held it up, just out of Sean's reach. "Be quiet, Sean," he said.
        Instantly, both their auras disappeared, and Duncan jerked, spilling his drink. "How?"
        Adam gave Sean the cookie and praised him to the high heavens. "It's a trick I learned from Cross. Sort of."
        "You will have to teach it to me," Duncan took a cookie before they all disappeared down chubby little Sean's happy face.
        "I could try," Adam said, reaching for one of the towels near the basin by the bed. "Sometime when you are not so tired, Duncan."
        "I am," Duncan agreed. "I wanted to tell you how sorry I am for--"
        "Oh, please, Duncan," Adam explained to Sean how the cookies had to go in one at a time. "Don't, please. I, I, there is no excuse for what I did."
        "Just keep lighting those candles, Adam," Duncan felt himself drifting off again, "So I can find my way home."

        Duncan woke up suddenly. He thought he must have dreamed, but he could not remember what. The loft was empty. The floating-wick candles were nowhere to be seen. There was a light on over the stove in the kitchen. He remembered the power had been off last night.
        A cold terror gripped him and sped his pulse. Maybe it had all been a dream. Three days of no sleep and no food and way too many double scotches, had he just come home and made up a dream so he could rest? All night and--God, it must be the middle of the day by the look of the sun!--all this time and he'd simply slept while his son was missing.
        His body knotted up in a spasm of folded arms and legs around the awful feeling in his gut. Duncan knew he must gather his wits and get out of here to continue the search, but all he could do was spin around the emptiness that yawned like an old wound at his center. All he could hear was the sound of his defeat, ringing and ringing like a death knell in his ears. He had failed the watch.
        "Easy, easy," Adam's voice and presence intruded into Duncan's suffering. "Duncan, wake up, you are having a dream! Duncan!"
        Duncan opened his eyes cautiously. The loft was the same as before, except that Adam was here beside him and the bathroom door was now open. He thought it had been closed when he first woke. "Where's Sean?"
        "It's Wednesday, Duncan," Adam said calmly. "School day. Sean said goodbye to you, but you were dead to the world. Lucille and Joe will be caring for him today and Cross and Grant will be running surveilance. I think they're all going out to Stanley for a field trip to the zoo and a picnic. Then back to Lucille's for naps and then supper and a video, 'Dumbo,' I think."
        Duncan sat up and looked around, "He's not coming back?"
        Adam dug in his pocket for Duncan's cellular. "I told them you might want to spend the day with him. I'll call them and then I can go get--"
        "No," Duncan tried to force his breath deeper, slower. "I know Sean will be fine."
        "Lucille thought you and I might want to sort things out, so she and Joe will be babysitting tonight," Adam said cautiously, "And those arrangements are flexible as well. I just thought you were so tired that you needed some time to rest, if nothing else."
        "That's fine," Duncan tried to wake up all the way. He swung his legs over the side of the bed. "What happened to all the candles?"
        "I put them away in the cabinets on the fourth floor," Adam tipped his head sideways, wondering at the question. "Except for that one," he pointed to the center east window. There was a single tiny crystal sphere, cobalt glass with a floating wick, lit.
        "Maybe a bath," Duncan ran his hands through his hair. How could he have slept so long and still feel so tired?
        "It's waiting," Adam said handing over a white terry robe. "All set up. I'll bring the coffee in."
        Duncan pulled on the robe and shuffled over to the bathroom door where he halted. "What the--?"
        "I know, I know," Adam shooed him onward with a flick of his long fingers, "just humor me. Bernard made me promise. I know it's not your style."
        Duncan didn't budge, "Rose petals?"
        Adam crossed his arms and shook his head.
        "Bernard?" Duncan asked.
        "Just go," Adam said, "I'll get the coffee and tell you the whole story while you soak."
        "But rose petals," Duncan complained.
        "Think of them as an excellent source of Vitamin C," Adam suggested, heading for the kitchen.
        By the time Adam returned with the coffee tray, Duncan was neck high in warm water and rose petals.
        "Oh, if I had a camera," Adam chortled wickedly, setting down the tray and handing over a cup of coffee.
        "I'll tell you what Mary Palmer told me, Adam."
        "Which is?"
        "And I quote--I'll muss you up so bad you'll need a nametag."
        Adam dissolved, "Oh, I am going to miss that little one. Maybe things will cool off with Brother Bear."
        "About the same time Hell cools off," Duncan grumbled, slapping the offending petals out of his way as he rose up in the tub just high enough to drink the coffee without choking. "You know I'm going to smell like a florist shop."
        "Trust me, Duncan," Adam settled down on the floor beside the tub and picked up a coffee for himself. "Anything would be preferable to the way you smelled last night. Sean and I could smell you coming up from five floors away."
        "So?" Duncan prompted.
        Adam stared.
        "So, Bernard. So?"
        "Oh, yes, the story," Adam shifted around to a more comfortable position and handed a pastry over to the Highlander.
        Duncan held up the powder sugar twistee cream thingee between thumb and forefinger as if it were poisonous. "Don't you have something a little, um, more simple, more--"
        Adam traded him for a plain glazed donut. "Sorry, mate, all out of hardtack. So, you want to hear the story or no?"
        One more donut and Duncan was ready to sink beneath the petal pool and listen.
        "Sean and I were on our way here on foot and we passed a small shop, Interiors by Design, or some such. They had all these floating candles in the window and Sean just went crazy cooing over them and talking to the flames. He more or less made me take him inside. The store was nearly empty of people and I thought, 'I'll go in, get a candle, and then off we go.' But, no, this slender, all-too-precious person pops up from behind the counter, recognizes me, and goes off, calling his friend, Bernard, in to meet me and they just had to tell me how I was just the tragic romance of the decade, and--"
        "Well, the two men were babbling along at Sean's favorite pitch and he was joining in, laughing and commenting and-- It was funny, I suppose, but I was in no mood and I hadn't quite planned out my escape and I knew being identified by someone so close to the bar wasn't going to help with the completion of a clean getaway."
        Adam paused, "Well, Jason and Bernard were just convinced the candle was something in the nature of a reconciliation gift or some other romantic nonsense and they just immediately got caught up like two demented cupids in the idea they were going to save our relationship...or die trying."
        "Our?" Duncan replied.
        Adam rolled his eyes, "Trust me, Duncan, you're not the sort that goes unnoticed even without the rumor you're changing your religion."
        "What?"
        "Do you want to hear this or not? Well, then save your questions to the end," Adam admonished. "Jason decided we should do over the bedroom in several hundred candles, turn off the power, so you'd be returning to a dark house, and--well, you got the full effect last night. Bernard decided he'd come up with a wonderful breakfast and bath for apres, I believe was the way he put it. I couldn't have disappointed them if I'd wanted to. They were on a mission. Jason packed the candles and me and Sean in the delivery van and brought us over here, set up the candles, and Bernard arrived with the special coffee blend and the petals and the perfume and--"
        Duncan dipped his hand in the bath water and brought it up to his nose, "Adam!"
        "It's a nice smell," Adam said, "You don't always have to smell like you just got out of the gym, or in the case of last night, the distillery."
        "Anyway, Jason and Bernard were sure they had patched up what they considered the match of the century--except, of course, for their own special acquaintance. Sean and I just sort of hung out here and waited for you to come home. We tidied and cleaned and read and played and napped. It was a nice rest."
        "For you maybe," Duncan declined help washing his hair. "Why?" he asked.
        "I've been thinking what I would say when you asked that," Adam began, "I don't know the answer. It would be easy to blame it on you, on how easy the terms like faggot and queer and that last one, fruit-of-the-month club, come to you. How that reflects how ashamed of me you are."
        "I never!" Duncan sat up straight and stared at him.
        "No, I stand corrected," Adam replied, "You never use those terms out loud. You are always very, very careful not to say anything bigotted or derogatory. While I appreciate that, it almost hurts more that you don't just say it. No, that isn't it. That isn't the reason, though I wrote it off on your ledger for most of this time. I am not any more pleased about this than you are, any more easy about being 'outed' so publicly and before I even knew I had such inclinations. No, it wasn't that either. You have trapped me, Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod, you and your son, Sean. I think what I did was my last gasp attempt to be free..." he paused. "And even then, I had to come back for part of my chains, I had to take my shackles with me...it was just a stupid, stupid thing, Duncan. It will never happen again."
        "Because you don't feel trapped anymore?" Duncan leaned on his arms on the tub's side and stared at the Eldest Immortal.
        Adam stared down at his palms, "No, no, Duncan. I am caught fast. I could chew off my paw and it wouldn't do any good. I am so sick in love with you and with your son, I would simply return to the trap and stick my other paw in."
        He shook his head and sighed, "And I'd be happy to do it, too." He laughed at his own wonder of the situation.
        Duncan reached out his hand. "Are you hurt?" It was one of those warrior things you say at the end of the battle when you're checking through the troops: Where are you wounded? How bad? Do you need immediate attention or can this wait?
        "Mortally," Adam said, though he was not at all frightened or pained when he said it.
        "I do love you," Duncan offered quietly.
        Adam smiled and shook his head again, "Not that way."
        "How do you know that, Adam?"
        "The same way I know about the fruit-of-the-month club, Duncan. I am more my mother's son than I care to admit most times. I hear you when you speak and when you do not."
        "Then hear this," Duncan let the petty discomforts about their situation drain away from him into the warm water. He fixed his eyes on the young, old man before him, sitting like a child on the bathroom tile. Duncan filled his eyes with Adam's form--the lovely long back, the elegant hands, the incredible profile, at once regal and boyish, the curve of his neck--all the visual things about the man that stirred him.
        Then Duncan took a deep, steadying breath and opened his heart. From somewhere very long ago came an old gaelic song, a truce between brothers who had turned to warring, but now sought reconciliation. All he could remember was the chorus, over and over, never resolving:
        We will lay down our armor and offer our arms
        That have held one another for so long.
        We will lay down our armor and offer our arms
        That have held one another for so long.
        Again and again, until he was open to his center, to the place where his affection for Adam was a stunningly simple thing, not at all unlike the tiny cobalt candle in the window.

        "The zoo, Sir?" Grant's implaccable granite visage affected a pose of a cloud shadowed mountain peak.
        "The zoo, Grant," Thomas changed gears as they hit the switchback descent into 'Couver.
        "Babysitting, Sir?"
        "Think of it as bodyguarding the royal heir, Grant," Thomas maneuvered the Benz down the winding approach into the bay town.
        Grant sighed. Gale force storms over primal seas did not make such a sound. "But the zoo--"
        "Weren't you the one complaining the other day how I never take you anywhere?" Cross forgot the double-clutch on the next gear change and the transmission made the whine he felt like uttering.
        "I never complain, Sir. I merely commented."
        "Well, I'm taking you to the zoo, and that is that," Cross reviewed the itinerary in his mind. Did he really believe that the Father of All Horses was coming back someday, two decades hence, to wed this very child? Yes, he most certainly did. And that was that.
        "The zoo," Grant repeated, in yet another variation, this one laced in the irony, the absurdity of all things in general, and this excursion in particular.
        "You will love the panthers, Grant," Thomas promised, "And I will buy you cotton candy."
        The dead, slate eyes turned slowly toward the diminutive black master of the Cross Estates.
        Thomas felt the eyes upon him, even if he knew better than to return the glare. "I am taking you to the zoo, Grant. You will eat cotton candy. You will enjoy yourself."
        "If my Master commands," Grant said in a somewhat less than obeisant fashion.
        "He does," said Cross.
        And that was that.

        Duncan plowed his way through the breakfast Adam set for him at the kitchen table before the sunny window. Everything was wonderful, and he said as much, around mouthfuls of grits and gravy, sausages and eggs--well, Bernard's quiche lorraine--but Duncan refused to think of it as such.
        "You're not eating," Duncan paused between course number four and five.
        "No, Duncan," Adam said, clearing the fourth remove, "I had a little something earlier and I'm not particularly hungry."
        Duncan put his fork down. "Are you all right?"
        "No," Adam said lightly. "Not anything like."
        Duncan stifled the moan that crowded his throat, "What's the matter now?"
        "If you and I are going to be around each other on a regular basis, Duncan," Adam put the dishes in the sink and brought back a tiny crumbcake with intricate frosting filagree over its surface. Perfect apple slices graced the plate, and a single tea rose. "You will just have to get used to the fact that I am neither sunny, nor perky, nor particularly industrious."
        "You are unhappy about something?" Duncan asked. The apples tasted of lemon, but of course, they'd waited two days for his return, and without the lemon they would have been brown.
        "I do not need a reason to be unhappy," Adam smiled. "But don't worry about it. I can manage perfectly well until this passes. It always does."
        His mouth full of cake, Duncan mumbled, "Wha's gotten intya now?"
        At the sink, up to his elbows in suds, Adam looked over, "Did you say something?"
        "I asked," Duncan gulped down the tumbler of juice, wiped his mouth on the back of his hand and tried again, "I asked what the matter was?"
        "You know the Blackness?" Adam tried to remember the exact Gaelic term for the Highland melancholy.
        "Ah, ye've been struck by the Humours," Duncan said.
        "Doesn't ever feel all that humorous," Adam commented.
        "I've a cure," Duncan said brightly.
        "Time and only time," Adam murmured as he went back to stacking and rinsing. "That's all the food," he looked up at Duncan, but the table was empty. Sploosh, he dropped the round quiche casserole into the suds as strong hands unsnapped his jeans and reached for the zipper. "Duncan!" he snarled disapprovingly.
        "Shhh," Duncan said, so close to Adam's ear, it made the Elder Immortal tingle all over. "Ye must nay disturb the healer at his task."
        "Right," Adam laughed, and then gasped, as the ripping descent of the zipper admitted the broad fingers beneath the denim and then beneath the cotton. "Duncan, I need to finish the dishes," he complained, but it was a feeble complaint, if that.
        "If ye keep chattering like that," Duncan whispered, brushing his soft lips against the flush that rose up the graceful curve of Adam's long neck, "Ye'll spoil the spell."
        Adam opened his mouth to reply that the Scot was just making all this up and that there was no such spell, and that...but as he turned his head, the full lips found his own, the warm and velvet tongue snuck inside and drove his words, with his thoughts, away.
        Adam surrendered and pressed his flesh, proud and then some, into the strong hands as his long back melted into a sinuous arc and he began to sink beneath the heady sensations: the insistent, probing, crushing mouth, all sugar and cinnamon and sausage, the firm, wide chest pressed against his back, the strong hands moving laterally and the slow slide of his jeans and shorts down the slope of his buttocks. Adam flailed for the counter and a purchase that would keep him from falling. All the while he tried very hard not to need all the air in all creation, but he finally had to break from the impossibly lush warmth of Duncan's mouth and breathe. In the next moment, Duncan's hand moved between his legs and Adam pitched over the counter, gasping and whimpering in little mewling sounds, noises of pure pleasure and abject begging.
        "Shhh," Duncan pulled up Adam's sweater and laid his chest against Adam's naked back.
        The sudden sensation of all that skin against skin nearly finished the Elder Immortal almost before they had rightly begun, but he gripped the opposite edge of the counter and tried to steady himself, to wait...which lasted all of several instants. Then Duncan pressed against him and the conditioning which Cross had implanted in the Elder Immortal came to the fore, loosening the muscles, dropping the pelvic floor and taking the Highlander in so smoothly, that it was suddenly Duncan's turn to make all those funny noises.
        And that sound was all it took to bring Adam to full, thrashing, pumping orgasm and Duncan with him, both men gasping raggedly and laughing between breaths as Adam hung onto the counter, his knuckles growing white with the effort.
        "Well," Adam said finally, uncurling his rigid fingers from the edge. "Is that how the spell is done?" He had to admit, though, the depression had lifted.
        Duncan withdrew gently and leaned forward to kiss Adam's back. "Yes," he answered, folding his arms around Adam's torso and tightening them into a firm hug. "I seem to remember it taking longer, though," he said lightly. "Perhaps you could help me practice that last part. I seem to have gotten a bit rusty."
        As if, Adam thought, but aloud he said, "Well, anything I can do to help. Healing can be a most difficult art. It begs practicing. Who am I to complain in the pursuit of such a noble endeavor?"
        He felt Duncan bobbing in silent laughter against his back.
        "Who indeed?" the Highlander said.

        Mary Palmer, formerly MacLeod, stood by the tall man in the grey suit and reached up, clearly demanding the spun pink cloud of candy that the man was holding, but not eating. She tugged his pants' leg and asked in her very best Princess of Everything voice, "Please?"
        The tall man, who like most adults it seemed, couldn't take his eyes off her baby brother, finally looked down at her. He scrunched his grey eyebrows low on his scary face, but Mary was not put off. "Please," she said again and reached up for the spun cotton on the paper cone.
        "And why should I give this to you," he said in a deep voice.
        Mary lowered her voice as far as it would go and answered, "Because you don't want it."
        "Didn't your parents tell you not to speak to strangers?" the man said.
        "Only if they were dange, danjrous," she said, putting her fists on her hips.
        "And I am not danjrous?" the man asked.
        "Only on the outside," Mary answered, watching the stone face crack. The Princesses of Everything had this magical power, to melt people.
        "If I give you the cotton candy, will you keep that a secret?" he asked.
        "Yes I will," Mary said with all the seriousness of a vow. "I will never tell. Promise."
        "Well, then, take this candy to your mother over there, and ask her if it's all right before you eat any," the tall man in the grey suit said. "And would you give her this note please?" he scribbled something on a pad of paper, ripped it off, folded it and handed it to her with the candy. He bowed very low. "Have a good day, Lady Palmer," he said.
        Mary ran all the way back to Anne who was deep in lovey conversation with Mary's daddy. She told her mom about the man and the candy and then she gave her the note.
        Anne read and then looked up suddenly, this direction and that. The man in the grey suit was gone. She threw away the cotton candy, much to little Mary's dismay.
        After that she lied to the Bear and they all three left the zoo early.
        Mary didn't even get a chance to say goodbye to Lucille and Sean and Joe.
        ...or Mr. Granite, either.
        He would have gotten me another candy, Mary pouted all the way home.

        "Here," Duncan threw Adam a new shirt and a beautiful sweater, all in shades of beige accented with the blue-grey-green of Adam's eyes. "You might want to wear these."
        "Or I might want nothing at all," Adam mused, lounging on his side on the bed watching Duncan get dressed, an enjoyable occupation if there ever was one.
        "Humor me," Duncan sat down and pulled on a soft pair of loafers. "I bought them for you a while back."
        "I take it this is something in the nature of a commentary on my wardrobe?" Adam unfolded the items and pulled off the tags.
        "All right," Duncan pulled a light Erin sweater over his turtleneck, "I just thought you'd like to look like you actually bought your clothes rather than picked them out of the charity barrels."
        "Aren't we getting precious, though," Adam took off his shirt, T-shirt, and pulled on the new shirt and sweater. "See?" he said, standing up, and turning around, "It doesn't matter what I wear. It looks sloppy."
        Duncan was amazed. The Old Man was right.
        "Much in the same way," Adam commented sitting back down on the bed, "that you would look formal and gorgeous in burlap."
        "You think so?"
        "And now the man's fishing for compliments," Adam spoke to his shoes as he knocked the mud off and put them on. "Yes, Darling, you are the most striking man in five counties, if not the entire continent. And, by the way, are you going to tell me what's up?"
        "You can't hear me all the time, can you?" Duncan twisted sideways and faced Adam.
        "Only about some things," Adam admitted, "If I am listening really hard. Speaking of which, you don't seem to be hearing me, either...and I'm speaking out loud. What is this getting dressed up all about?"
        "We," Duncan stood up, grabbed both their coats, already "loaded" with their swords and sauntered towards the lift. He keyed in the lock combination. "We are taking this show on the road."
        "What?" Adam just got his second shoe on in time to dash for the lift and enter before the cage door closed. "Hey!"
        "Duncan?" Adam took his coat and put it on. The weather would soon be too warm for the coats and they'd have to start stashing their weapons in all sorts of creative places. "Where are we going?"
        "Out," was all Duncan would say.
        Adam hurried out the lift, trying to keep up with the Scot, who was making like a man on a mission. When the dojo was locked, Duncan said, "Which way?"
        "To what?" Adam asked, squinting in the afternoon sun.
        "That place where you got the candles," Duncan answered as if he had made himself clear all along.
        Adam thought a moment. "I can't remember," he shrugged.
        "Adam!"
        "Two blocks that way," he pointed east, "six blocks north. And might I add, I really don't think this is such a--Duncan!" Adam hurried once again to catch up. The Highlander was already halfway down the block.
        When Adam caught up again, he tried, to no avail, to dissuade the Scot from this apparent course. He knew what Duncan was like, how committed he could be to any course once he'd decided, but he also knew Duncan had no idea what he was letting himself in for. He tried to explain about the degree of bigotry and derision that went along with being gay, itself an entirely ironic term. Adam explained about how AIDS and pederasty entered into the equation, or at least the fear of these. How mortals would react if he were to be too public with this.
        "And what would happen to your custody of Sean?" Adam said at last, when all the other reasons for discretion were a wash. "What would you do if we were called into another hearing?"
        "Then the three of us would be out of this jurisdiction so fast, they wouldn't know we were here at all," Duncan stood on the corner and waited for the light.
        "But Duncan," Adam sputtered as the light turned and he was reduced to chasing after the long-strided Gaelic stepson again.
        "You worry too much, Adam," Duncan said as they reached the door of the shop. "It's not as if the whole city doesn't know your affiliation. It wouldn't be fair if I remained, what is that term?"
        "In the closet," Adam mumbled.
        "Really?" Duncan looked back at him. "How odd." He opened the door to the shop. A tiny bell tinkled on its spiral metal hook.
        Adam ducked in behind him just as the door closed with another tinkle. "Duncan, this isn't like a battle. You can't--" he looked up. MacLeod was already over at the counter, introducing himself to an ecstatic Jason.
        "Well, Jason," Duncan's warm voice intoned graciously, "I can't tell you what a kind thing you did for Adam and Sean, seeing they got home all right, and then the lovely array of candles for my own homecoming. I hope you will let me repay you." He reached his broad hand over the counter towards Jason, a slight man with pale red hair and freckles and a tiny diamond in his left ear.
        Adam couldn't hear what Jason had to say by way of an answer. It was clear the little shopkeeper was all aflutter. He saw the man fold his hands up, asking Duncan to, "Just wait. Right here. Won't be a sec." And then the man floated through a door at the back, shouting for Bernard.
        Adam grabbed Duncan brusquely by the elbow, dragging him for the door. "We can probably make it out of here before--"
        Duncan rolled out of Adam's grasp and returned to the counter, "Adam, honestly, where's you sense of honor?"
        "It isn't like that, Duncan," Adam hissed. This anachronistic approach was going to get Duncan in deep trouble.
        "Oh, hush, Adam. You're the only one who sounds bigoted around here."
        Which was more than sufficient to shut the Elder Immortal up.
        Duncan was most attentive as Jason introduced him to Bernard and they shook hands. Duncan thanked him for the breakfast, "And the rose bath was--interesting," Duncan smiled.
        Bernard shook his head, "Oh, now that I've met you I can see that was all wrong. You are definitely a clove and pine person. I won't make that mistake again." He said it as if he committed at least a venial sin.
        "Well, the thought was perfection," Duncan complimented him.
        And Jason blushed he was so proud of Bernard.
        "But you have not said what I could do in return?" Duncan repeated.
        Adam just stood back in the shadows and rolled his eyes.
        "I am very new to this," Duncan admitted.
        Jason thought this tall, dark man was just too charming to live.
        "But I am not new to the conventions of honor and gratitude," Duncan finished.
        Bernard's hand went up to his throat. "I, we, well, Mr. MacLeod, we couldn't possibly ask. It was a gift. We were too happy to--"
        "But isn't there anything you need?" Duncan asked in all seriousness and respect.
        Jason hit Bernard in the ribs and motioned him to the back of the store where they had a very heated argument.
        Duncan joined Adam who was trying to occupy himself studying the various nicks and nacks that the store afforded. "What is the matter with you, Adam?"
        "This isn't like 'Oh, goodie, let's play gay-for-a-day,' Duncan. You don't know. There will be repercussions," Adam whispered so loudly, Duncan jostled him.
        "Are you ashamed of me?" Duncan asked.
        Adam groaned and gave up trying to explain.
        "Mr. MacLeod?" Bernard joined them.
        "Yes, Bernard," Duncan didn't know his last name. He thought maybe Jason had left it out of the introductions on purpose.
        "Well, Jason will have my hide for asking you this, but--"
        "Yes?" Duncan leaned down so that their gazes were level.
        "Could you come back in the office and I'll explain," Bernard stepped back and swept his arm towards the door behind the counter.
        "Adam," Duncan called out sweetly.
        Adam cringed visibly. "Yes?" he answered in a far deeper tone than was usual for him, or even necessary.
        "Could you help Jason pick us out some different teas?" Duncan followed Bernard into the office.
        Jason swooshed up, too enthusiastic for words, and Adam slouched along murmuring monosyllables as the storekeeper packed them up the Oolong and the Djarling and so forth.
        An hour later, Adam was even less communicative as Duncan joined him outside the shop, exchanging happy farewells to the owners and promising to see them for dinner on Tuesday next.
        Adam started off, back for the dojo, silent as the moment before the lightning and the full storm.
        "Adam, I just don't understand you sometimes," Duncan mused as they stood on the corner with the light that never seemed to be green in the desired direction.
        "Duuuuh," Adam glowered. "What the hell was that all about?"
        Duncan shook his head. "You know I had no idea how much prejudice there was against such private decisions....still....in this most modern of times."
        Finally, Adam thought, some of this had gotten through the very thick Gaelic cranium of his younger friend.
        "Do you know that despicable DA at the hearing, Milton, has gotten the bankers together in a cartel to freeze out the gay store owners in this section of 'Couver. They've called in the loan on that store and Bernard doesn't know what he's going to do," Duncan's sense of indignation was at full fire.
        Adam heard the sound beneath the words. It was all too familiar. But maybe he was only being paranoid.
        "We can't have that," Duncan was saying. "That's entirely unjust!"
        Oh, dear, Adam thought. "It is a sad truth, Duncan. Mortals are often cruel to those who frighten or confuse the general order of things."
        "And you know that person, that Milton, is running for City Council this next month on the campaign promise of clearing the 'unsavory elements,' by which he means the gay community, out of the 'Couver Bay District area," Duncan said.
        "That's a shame," Adam indicated the light had changed and started across the street.
        "And you know what, Adam?" Duncan caught up to him on the other side.
        Don't say anything you'll regret, Adam reminded himself silently, then aloud he said calmly, "No, Duncan, what?"
        "No one is running against him!" Duncan was as excited as a hound on the scent.
        "Oh," Adam said lightly. If I just don't slow down, he thought, maybe his fervor will cool and he won't come up with any bright ideas about--.
        "Congratulations, Adam!" Duncan said brightly.
        Adam stopped dead still. "For what, Duncan?"
        "As of this moment, you are the campaign manager for the," Duncan thought a moment, "the Bay Couver Party for Simple Justice."
        "A rainbow ticket?" Adam said in a hoarse whisper.
        "You know it's right what they say about the village raising the child," Duncan continued on, lost in thought, "It's time I contributed to this village, in the name of my son. I am going to get on the City Council and work on some of these inequities. I am sure this isn't the only one."
        Adam's long frame slumped suddenly against an opportune brownstone wall, his jaw down on his collar. He wasn't ready to be the "other-half" of a gay activist. "Duncan," he whined, "you aren't really gay!"
        "So?" Duncan asked. "You're right, I don't find men particularly attractive--"
        "Oh, that makes me feel all kinds of masculine," Adam smirked.
        "You know I don't love you just because you're a man, Adam," Duncan amended.
        "Oh, well, then, that makes all the difference."
        "But that isn't the point. This is not about orientation, it's about fairness, it's about--" Duncan paused.
        "Wait, don't tell me," Adam pushed against the wall. "Good and evil."
        "Oh, Adam!" Duncan was clearly delighted. He placed his hands on Adam's hunched shoulders and kissed him on the forehead. "I knew you'd understand!"
        Duncan strode off for the dojo, making plans and going through strategies and resource lists in his mind.
        Adam looked left and then right.
        Except for a rather disappointed looking young woman picking through the fruit in the front of the small green grocer's, no one else had seen Duncan MacLeod kiss him.

        "She's asleep, Anne," the Bear announced as he lumbered into the bedroom and lowered his ursine self on the eyelet counterpane. "She had a lot to say about her day at the zoo," he sighed.
        "She told you," Anne put away the off-prints on Emergency and Acute Management of Trauma, and leaned forward towards him, draping her pale arms over her knees.
        "Yes," Mark Palmer, newly back from the world of the almost dead, scratched his muzzle and contemplated the motion of the spheres. "Sean was at the zoo with Cross and Grant, Joe and Lucille."
        "It is going to be hard keeping them apart," Anne commented. It was not exactly clear if she meant difficult in execution, or straining on the emotions, or both. It sounded more as if she wished him to reconsider his seemingly unreasonable edict about keeping Sean and Mary apart from one another. She had yet to hear the explanation, though she'd seen the explosive violence between the two men who called her "wife." Duncan's restraining order was part and parcel of that lapse in the amenities when the Highlander thought the Bear had stolen his son.
        "You haven't asked me any questions since I returned, Anne," the Bear noted.
        Anne shrugged and lay back on the mountain of pillows. "I don't really want to know any other answers, except that you are here, that things will be all right, that you still love me. I know all those answers already, Mark. What else is there?"
        "Nothing," Mark settled back beside her. What did she need to know about Fate's dire dealings? What difference if he knew the day he would die forever and be reborn in an infant yet to be conceived? Were he mortal, he'd have about two decades left anyway. Why did she need to know that with certainty? What worth the truth, if it poisoned the present? He was alive when he should have been dead forever. Past that his dear wife really didn't care to delve.
        The Bear moved his great paw with surprising gentleness along the strap of her nightgown, sliding it off her smooth shoulder. Tomorrow the paperwork, the questions, the fight to regain his place at the hospital. Tomorrow. Tonight, his precious daughter lay sleeping peacefully down the hall and his beloved wife lay expectantly in his arms. He bowed forward and placed a soft kiss on the round of her breast.
        "If my brother were here," the Bear said almost sadly, "he would know how to praise this moment, this perfect time. All I can say is petty or tired or ordinary, but know Anne, I love you, that you are blessed to me, that in my old oafish heart there beats a sweet misery, a sacred starry place, wherein you dwell forever."
        "You give your brother too much credit," Anne said simply and curled up in that self-same starry place wherein she was his own sweet misery.

        Joe Dawson stood by the tall windowed wall of Lucille's elegant loft, staring out at the lights of the bay city, shimmering in the briny mirror beneath the dark, dark night. "What do you think, Darlin?"
        "Shhh," Lucille rose up the steps to her crystal garden to stand beside the blues' man who was as dear to her heart as any who might visit this airy domain. "Sean is just now asleep."
        Joe moved his cane over to his left side and gathered her in with his right. "So is the city," he commented, "it's like a gumshoe novel out there, all gaudy and wicked, the seething city."
        Lucille laughed softly, "Only if I get to be the moll."
        "Who falls for the slightly greying, mature song master," Joe added.
        "Who is less than he wants to be, but more than he seems," Lucille added her turn.
        "Collar turned up against the salty, stinking air, hunting the darkness in the belly of the beaste," Joe countered.
        "Looking for a single ray of blessed light, but finding only neon," Lucille said sadly.
        "Then he saw her," Dawson nuzzled Lucille's pale petal ear, "Not so much a light, as a softening of the darkness, a deliciously evil concoction of shadows, shallow and deep in all the right places, sensuous as the moment after moonset."
        "Oooh," Lucille said with a purr out of that same darkness, "Ya got me."
        Then they floated down--or was it up?--to the deep pile carpet, the moll and the blues' singer, the Watcher and the Power.

        "Grant?"
        "Yes, Sir."
        "Are you asleep?"
        "No, Sir."
        "Did you enjoy the zoo?"
        "You mean the bestiary at Stanley Park, or life in general of late, Sir?"
        "Oh, Grant. Oh, my, I do believe you're developing a sense of humor."
        "These are trying times, Sir."
        "Really, I hadn't noticed. Maybe it only seems that way because Mary stole your cotton candy."
        "Good night, Sir."
        "Good night, Grant."