Disclaimer: Highlander and all associated names are the property of
Davis/Panzer Productions. They are used here without permission. This
fanfic is based upon and uses lines from the episode "Timeless,"
written by Karen Harris, and is written without her knowledge.
Frankly, very little about this fanfic is my original idea.

Note: One of my favorite Highlander episodes, of course, is
"Timeless." I got to wondering what exactly was going on in Alexa’s
mind during the course of the episode, and this is the result of my
musings. The scene on the porch is a transcript of the Eurominutes.
Any other lines you don’t recognize are mine. So, without further ado,
I present:


                        Time Stands Still

                               by

                             HonorH


       I was born and raised in Ontario, Canada until I was fourteen.
That was when my parents died in a car crash. After that, I went to
live with my Uncle Gabe and Aunt Rita in Vermont. They had a
daughter—Angel—about my age, and they were wonderful people, really,
but I never felt like I could trust them. That wasn’t their fault.
It’s just that when a kid finds out you can’t even trust your parents
to be there for you all the time, she has trouble trusting anyone
else. I made up my mind to be on my own and independent as soon as I
could.

       I’m not telling you this to make you pity me. I’m just telling
you this so you’ll understand where I’m coming from. I want no pity.
Sympathy is okay, I suppose, and I need a shoulder to cry on as much
as anybody, but pity adds insult to injury. Of course, self-pity is
the worst kind of poison. It kills you before your body dies. I know
that now.

       After I finished high school, I decided to go to college as far
away as possible from where I’d lived. Again, that wasn’t a reflection
on my aunt and uncle; I just needed to go somewhere where I could be
completely on my own. To find out if I could make it. Uncle Gabe
understood. He’s kind of a free spirit himself. Besides, his own
daughter now lives in New Zealand. Compared to that, Seacouver is
right next door.

       So the West Coast it was. I had a nice scholarship and the
settlement I’d gotten after my parents were killed, so it wasn’t too
hard from the financial point of view for my first year or so. After
that, I decided I needed a part-time job. Working at Wal-Mart didn’t
sound interesting to me, so I took around resumes to restaurants.
While I was walking around town, though, I heard the most wonderful
music coming out of what looked like a bar.

       Turned out it was a bar. Inside was Joe Dawson, playing his
guitar. I walked in, although I’d never been inside a bar—well, once,
to win a bet with Angel when I was sixteen. Anyway, Joe noticed me
watching him. I commented how much I liked his music, we got to
talking, and before I knew what had happened, I was shaking his hand
and agreeing to come in Tuesday for training.

       I love Joe. I really do. He’s been wonderful through this whole
thing. I can tell how protective he feels of me, but he’s never tried
to stop me from doing something I think I can do. I don’t even have to
tell him how I’m feeling; when I listen to his music, I know that he
already knows.

       I’m getting ahead of myself again. Adam keeps telling me to
live as much in the present as possible, and I try to, but I’ve just
got to get all this down so someone knows the whole story.

       Anyway, I’d only been working for Joe a few months when I got
my diagnosis. Does it matter what it was? It’s a disease, like any
other disease. The cruelest part of it is that it leaves the victim
looking healthy on the surface while it eats you alive underneath. I
told Joe right away—I wanted to be honest with him. He just looked at
me, sadness and understanding in his eyes, and told me to let him know
if I needed anything. Joe’s seen death strike the very young before.
He knows life’s not fair.

       I continued with school as long as I could. When I told Uncle
Gabe and Aunt Rita about my illness, they let me know I could come
stay with them. I didn’t want that, though. I wanted to meet death on
my own terms.

       Eventually, I had to quit school. I was at the end of my
financial and emotional resources. Joe took me on full-time. That’s
when I met Adam.

       I work regularly with about four other waitresses: Lisa the
California blonde, Roxie, and my roommates Shannon and Destiny. That
particular day, the whole crew was in. I heard Lisa talking to Destiny
as I came on.

       "Where does Joe come up with all these good-looking European
men?" Lisa asked. Well, whined. Lisa whines a lot. My troubles are
nothing compared to hers, apparently.

       "Orders ‘em from a catalog," Des deadpanned.

       I jumped in. "Mr. Gorgeous again?" That was the waitstaff’s pet
name for Duncan MacLeod before we knew his real name, just so you
know.

       "Nope. Fresh blood," Des told me. "Tall, dark hair, good
nose—just your type, Lex."

       I laughed a little to cover up my anger. It wasn’t directed at
Des, it was at my disease. Men and I had never seemed to work. Now
that I was ill, it seemed I’d never have a chance to find someone
wonderful and make it work.

       I was angry a lot in those days.

       When I went out, I tried to spot the "fresh blood." He was
sitting on a barstool with his back to me and Joe was talking to him.
Joe had that "baseball" look on his face again. New guy’s going to get
an earful, I thought.

       I was actually in a pretty good mood that day, for the record.
My medication had just been adjusted to lessen some of the worst side
effects, and I’d made it two whole nights without soaking a pillow
with tears. I put on my best "waitress face" and dove into the crowds.

       A bar waitress gets flirted with a lot. You could look like an
escapee from Frankenstein’s lab and still get picked up if you serve a
beer with a smile. So I wasn’t really surprised to hear a bad line
from Joe’s new friend.

       "Excuse me, if I sat at a table, would you be my waitress?"

       It was the voice that did it. Normally, I’d have just given him
a noncommittal smile and gone back to work, but that rich voice with
its beautiful accent stopped me short. I took a good look at him. Des
was right about the nose, I thought. He wasn’t exactly a magazine
model beauty like Mr. Gorgeous, but . . . I liked what I saw. His face
seemed to tell a story.

       I decided to play. "Is he a good tipper?" I asked Joe.

       Joe grinned, playing along. "No." His new friend gave him the
hairy eyeball.

       "Well, too bad." I almost left it at that, but something made
me go on. "Makes up for it in cute, though!"

       I hurried off, giggling. It had been awhile since I’d really
flirted back with someone. Behind me, I heard that wonderful voice
again.

       "Cute? I can do cute!"

       When I came back to the bar (blushing like only a redhead
can—thank God for the dim lighting), the new man with the beautiful
voice had apparently decided the ice had been broken. He offered his
hand and introduced himself as "Adam Pierson."

       I looked at his face again. His eyes were so beautiful—how had
I missed it before? I forgot I was holding a tray and reached for his
hand. Nearly dropping the tray brought me back to reality. Flustered,
I forgot about introducing myself.

       "Um . . . where are you from?" I blurted like an idiot.

       The question took him by surprise. I shoved my foot further
down my throat.

       "Your accent. You’re not from around here." Like he didn’t know
that, Alexa. Oh, well, I thought. There’s no way this could get worse.

       Free advice: Never think that.

       "I’ve . . . traveled a lot," he said.

       "Really?" That caught my interest. My one big adventure had
been going to visit my cousin Angel in New Zealand two summers ago.
I’d loved it so much I desperately wanted to travel more, but that,
too, seemed out of my reach.

       I thought I’d quiz him. "Paris," I prompted.

       He shook his head. "Too full of Parisians. Even the French
don’t like Paris."

       That disappointed me. Paris was one of the places I’d always
wanted to go. Still, there were other cities. "Venice?"

       This time he made an impatient sound. "Venice, the smell alone
will kill you!"

       That all-too-familiar anger boiled up again. He’d seen these
places, possibly even lived in them. All I wanted was the chance to
visit them. And now he was treating his ability to go where he wanted
like it was some kind of nuisance.

       "A little young to be so cynical, aren’t you?" I heard the
frost in my own voice.

       He looked shaken. "If you say so . . ."

       "I just did." With that, I walked off. I felt my cheeks
burning, and a second later, my heart dropped into my stomach as I
realized what I’d done. I’d just insulted 1.) a cute guy, who happened
to be 2.) Joe’s friend. I stopped myself from thinking things couldn’t
possibly get worse and concentrated on serving the table the farthest
away from the bar.

       A few minutes later the general stir of the women in the bar
told me Mr. Gorgeous had just walked in. I looked over. He was
introducing a young woman to Joe and Adam. So Adam knew Mr. Gorgeous,
too. Wonderful. Joe went to the stage with the young woman and they
started playing blues together. She was really good—I wondered where
I’d seen her before. I tried to concentrate on my serving, but found
myself looking toward Adam again. He and Mr. Gorgeous were deep in
conversation. Des wandered over.

       "So what’s his name?" she asked me.

       "What makes you think he told me?" Playing dumb seemed the best
idea.

       Des gave me a look. "Please, Lex, he’s been watching you all
afternoon, and when you went to the bar, he talked to you. Are you
saying he didn’t introduce himself?"

       I gave in. "Adam. And you’re right about the nose."

       She sighed. "Okay, I won’t steal him."

       "Thank you so much," I shot back. I definitely didn’t want to
discuss what a jerk I’d made of myself. "You can have Mr. Gorgeous."

       She looked wistfully over to where he and Adam were talking.
"He’s probably gay."

       I gave her a look. "You always say that about cute guys."

       "I know." She shrugged and grinned. "Makes it less of a
disappointment when they never ask me out."

       When I got home after my shift, I took my meds and went
straight to bed. Sometime in the night, I woke myself soaking my
pillow.

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

       The next day, I had a doctor’s appointment. I got pinched,
poked, and prodded while the doctor made vague "Hmmm" sounds. When he
finished the exam, he wrote me out another prescription

       "What’s this for?" I asked. Demanded, really.

       He sat down. "Alexa . . ." he began.

       At that point, I knew it was going to be bad. Dr. Schuyler was
a very proper man. He seemed to belong to another century, actually.
As long as I’d been going to him, I’d been "Miss Bond." To tell you
the truth, I liked it. All the other doctors immediately used my first
name, and some shortened it to "Lex," which only Des can safely use
with me. It had always seemed a little presumptuous to me. So now,
hearing him use my first name alarmed me.

       He’d stopped. I looked him straight in the eye. "Please, just
tell me."

       "Alexa," he began again, "your latest batch of blood tests just
came back. I’m afraid the news is . . . not what I’d hoped."

       I felt my internal hourglass lose a little more sand. "How
	   bad?"

       Silence for a long moment. Then: "I’d say a year at most."

       I looked down at my hands, oddly numb. So this was it. I’d
known my illness was terminal, but to know that next year I’d not be
here . . .

       "I’m sorry," Dr. Schuyler added gently.

       "Yeah. Me, too," I whispered through a tight throat. After he
left the examination room, I dressed quickly and left. I managed to
make it into a bathroom before I lost my lunch.

       Dying’s a bitch.

       I got cleaned up and managed to make it to Joe’s only fifteen
minutes late. I apologized.

       "How’d it go?" he asked.

       I swallowed a bit of bile before answering. "It’s not getting
any easier, if that’s what you mean." It sounded like an awful thing
to say, and I realized that, but Joe just shook his head as if to tell
me an apology wasn’t necessary.

       "Wish there was something I could do for you."

       I wanted to tell him that he already had, far more than I could
ever repay, but I knew I wouldn’t be able to get that out without
crying. Instead, I took my tray.

       "By the way, you have a customer." Joe’s tone warned me I might
not like whoever it was.

       I looked over and my heart sank. It was Adam, sitting at a
table and looking boyishly nervous and incredibly cute. Why now, I
thought. I mustered my dignity and made my way over to his table,
trying to think of something to say. Conjuring my "waitress" persona,
I smiled at him.

       "Either you like to drink, or you’re crazy about the blues," I
said. Stupid, I know, but it was all I could think of.

       He just grinned, fidgeting a little. "No, I was waiting for
	   you."

       Why did he have to say that? I was holding myself together with
chewing gum and duct tape and he had to say something wonderful like
that, something I’d always wanted to hear from a man. Why did it have
to be now, of all times? I couldn’t speak. I knew if I tried, I’d
start bawling or something equally idiotic.

       His smile got a little wider, and he drew in a breath. "I see I
leave you speechless. This is an excellent start."

       I shook myself, trying to pull my persona back together. "Start
to what?" I inquired.

       "To," he started counting off on his fingers, "dinner, a film,
a concert, a smile, a sunset, a walk, all of the above, whatever you’d
like." He grinned mischievously.

       I couldn’t help but giggle. "Do women really fall for that
	   line?"

       He looked a little abashed, which I found endearing. "I don’t
know. I’ve never used it before."

       Never. There was that word again. Never go to all the places
I’d wanted to go, never get married, never have a child . . .

       "Never is a really long time." The words were out before I
could stop them.

       Now he just looked embarrassed. "Well, to the best of my
recollection."

       What he must have been thinking of me, I thought. I sound like
a crazy woman. Please, God, just take me now and end the torture.

       He didn’t, so I tapped my pad. "I’m . . . waiting." Get this
over with, Adam. We’ll both be so much happier.

       I wasn’t prepared for the look of utter defeat that crossed his
storybook face. "Draft beer," he sighed. I wanted to crawl under the
nearest table.

       "I got it," yelled Joe. Had he been listening in? I hoped not.

       As I turned I caught a glimpse of Lisa, blonde, tanned, and
leggy. She was much prettier than I, and Adam could have had any woman
he wanted in the bar. Why had he picked me? I turned back to him. He
was looking intently at me with those incredible eyes of his.

       There’s a unique freedom in having made a total fool of
yourself. You can’t sink any deeper. So I asked him, "Why do you want
to go out with me?"

       He looked as if the answer to that should have been
self-evident. "Because . . . the alternative is unthinkable."

       I’m firmly convinced that no woman with a pulse could have
resisted that. It knocked the breath out of me and sent a surge of
electricity through my brain.

       "Okay," I gasped. "Tomorrow, if Joe lets me have it off."

       Triumph replaced the earlier defeat. "Oh, he will," Adam
insisted. "I have . . . pull here."

       I nodded again and floated away, unable to feel my feet.
Unfortunately, between then and lunchtime, I had time to think. What
was I doing, making a date? Adam was the kind of guy I could easily .
. . get to like. When he learned I was dying he’d probably break speed
records getting out of my life. Who was I kidding? I begged Adam’s
probable location out of Joe and went to find him during my lunch
break.

       He was sitting in a park that overlooked the city. It was
pouring rain, but he didn’t seem worried about it. How many times had
I sat up here myself, sketching the moods of the city? Seacouver looks
wonderful in the rain. Not all cities do, but Seacouver does. As I
approached, he looked up at me and switched off his Walkman.

       "Joe said I’d find you here." He was soaking wet. Didn’t he
know he could catch his death of cold? There I was, thinking about
death again.

       "Lucky guess," he insisted. "That or I’ve become horribly
predictable."

       I had to smile at that. He moved some blankets around that he’d
been leaning on to make me a seat and told me to "pull up a slab." I
sat, covering him with my umbrella, and we listened to the rain for a
moment. This is nice, I thought.

       "This is nice," he said. I was amazed.

       I decided the direct approach was best. "I’m, um, a little
concerned about something," I told him.

       He nodded. "Yeah, I sense that."

       "This date we’re supposed to go on . . . I don’t think it’s a
very good idea." Please, Adam, don’t ask me why.

       He got that mischievous glint in his eye again. "Thought you
liked me. A little."

       That was the problem, of course. I did like him. I told him so.

       "It’s my nose, isn’t it? Yep, it’s my nose." Now I was giggling
madly.

       "It’s not your nose. You have a very nice nose," I insisted.

       The gleam in his eyes turned devilish. "It’s my accent, then.
You think I’m English. Now, I don’t have to be English . . ."

       He started in on Russian and a few other languages, and I was
suddenly laughing harder than I had since I got my diagnosis. "Don’t
make me laugh," I pleaded, gasping for air.

       "Why not?"

       "Because it’s not fair!"

       "It rarely is." His voice was softer, almost sad, and he
reached up to brush a few strands of hair off my face. I stopped
laughing. His eyes were so beautiful, and his touch was so gentle on
my face, and I was wondering what it would feel like to kiss him as he
leaned in closer, and he smelled so good . . .

       What was I doing?!? I pulled back with a gasp. "I’m sorry," I
whispered, not knowing what I was apologizing for. I looked away from
the disappointment in his eyes.

       "What is it?" His voice was gentle, coaxing. "You can tell me."

       I hurt inside. Yes, I could tell him. I could tell him and
watch him suddenly lose interest in me, maybe go on one date with me
just to be nice, and I’d never hear from Adam Pierson again. I didn’t
want that, I realized. How had I let this happen?

       But I had to be honest with him. It wouldn’t be fair otherwise.
I forced myself to look into those beautiful golden eyes as I told
him, "I’m dying."

       He just nodded a little, looking sad but not surprised.

       "You see don’t you?" I didn’t think I’d gotten through to him.
"We can’t go out on our date tomorrow."

       Then he did the worst thing he could have. He nodded. I felt my
heart sink, but told myself it was for the best.

       "Absolutely," he agreed, then added after a moment: "We’d
better make it tonight."

       I didn’t think I’d heard him right. Then he smiled gently, and
I realized I had. He knew—and he still wanted to go out with me.

       Who are you, Adam Pierson? I wondered.

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

       We agreed that he’d come to the bar and pick me up after my
shift ended. I left him sitting on the park bench and started to make
my way back to work, feeling lighter and happier than I had in a long
time.

       But then the doubts started again. What if he decided he
couldn’t handle my illness? What if I got really attached to him—and
then he left? Or if he decided to stay, how would I know it wasn’t out
of pity? And if it wasn’t, did I have a right to put him through the
ugliness that lay ahead? After all, I was going to die on him. It
wasn’t right, I decided; a man like him shouldn’t have to say good-bye
so soon.

       I was shaking all over by the time I got back to the townhouse
I shared with Des and Shannon. I called Joe, telling him I’d gotten
sick again.

       There was a long silence on the other end of the line. "Are you
sure?" Joe’s gravelly voice was gentle, but I could tell I hadn’t
fooled him.

       "Yeah, Joe," I said. "I’m sure. When Adam comes by to pick me
up, just tell him I’m sick, okay?" At least that wouldn’t be lying, I
thought.

       "Okay, Alexa. I’ll tell him."

       I hung up the phone and started crying. When I finished with
that, I decided a little drawing might help me cheer up, so I pulled
out my sketchpad and charcoal pencils. I’m not sure what I started out
to draw, but before I knew it Adam’s face was looking out at me from
the page. I set the sketchpad down. Why was this happening to me now,
of all times?

       The phone suddenly rang. Don’t answer it, Shannon, I thought.
Too late. I heard her talking. Then she called me.

       "Alexa? Phone for you!"

       Maybe it wasn’t him, I thought, all the time hoping it was and
hating myself for hoping. I went down the stairs. Shannon covered the
receiver with her hand and looked at me, wide-eyed.

       "Who is Mr. Sexy Voice and where have you been keeping him?"
she demanded.

       I looked at her beseechingly. "Please, Shannon, tell him I’m
sick, I can’t come to the phone."

       "You’re nuts," she declared, but turned back to the phone.
"Look, Alexa’s sick and in bed. Maybe I could . . . well, yes, but . .
. yeah, but . . . well . . . I don’t think . . . okay, maybe for a
minute. Hold on." She looked back up at me. "Alexa, talk to him. Or if
you won’t, make someone else tell him no," she pleaded.

       I’d never forgive her, I thought, taking the phone. "Hello?"

       "Alexa, it’s me, Adam. Please don’t hang up. I just want to
talk to you for a moment."

       I tried to steel myself. "Adam, I’m sorry. It’s just . . . not
going to work."

       "It can," he insisted. "Please give me a chance, Alexa."

       I shook my head, forgetting he couldn’t see the gesture. "Adam,
this is just going to be hard on both of us. Can’t you see that?"

       "I know." I felt a lump rising in my throat at the gentleness
in his voice. "Let me come over and see you. I don’t even have to come
inside. I’d just like a chance to talk."

       I was weakening, but I had to stand my ground. "It’s not a good
idea, Adam. Believe me, I know. Things will just be easier if we don’t
see each other."

       There was silence on the other end for a long moment. When he
spoke again, his tone had changed subtly. "All right, Alexa. If you
really don’t want to see me anymore, tell me so now, and you’ll never
hear from me again. I’ll even stay away from the bar. Is that what you
want?"

       Yes, I thought. I should tell you yes. Go live your life and
forget about me.

       That would have been the unselfish thing to do. I couldn’t
manage it. I couldn’t make myself say it.

       After who knows how many silent minutes had ticked by, Adam’s
wonderful voice spoke again, very softly. "May I see you tonight,
Alexa?"

       "Yes," I heard myself whisper. He said he’d be there in fifteen
minutes. I hung up, deciding I’d forgive Shannon after all. Otherwise,
I’d be a hypocrite.

       Fifteen minutes later, there was a knock on the door.

       "Am I late?" Adam asked, offering me a long-stemmed rose.

       "Only about a year." I took the rose from him. It was a bud,
actually, just starting to open. I stepped out onto the porch.

       "You shouldn’t have come," I told him. I wondered how he’d
gotten my address. The only way for him to do that would have been to
out-stubborn Joe or Des, and I didn’t even want to think where that
might end.

       Adam didn’t seem to notice my cold shoulder. He gestured toward
the townhouse. "So what are you keeping in here? Your husband?"
Getting no response, he tried again. "Lover? Boyfriend? The Seven
Dwarves?"

       Exasperated, I looked at him. "Yes, that’s exactly it. My
husband, my boyfriend, my lover, and the Seven Dwarves."

       "I’ll take them all on. I’m not afraid!" I couldn’t even laugh
at his cuteness. I was too busy berating myself.

       "I shouldn’t have agreed to see you," I told him. "It was
stupid, really."

       "Why?" The question was so soft I barely heard it. Frankly, I
was amazed he’d even ask.

       "Because you don’t need to be a witness to what I’m going
through." I was almost pleading with him. "It’s going to get ugly."

       "You look beautiful to me." There he was again, saying those
wonderful things, the things I’d always wanted to hear a man say to
me. I couldn’t speak through the tightness in my throat, and I
couldn’t take my eyes from his. "Whatever you’re going through, I can
handle it. If you’ll let me."

       "But why would you want to?" I was begging now. Why was he so
intent on me? Why now?

       "Because the alternative is unthinkable."

       The implications of that statement took my breath away. I think
it was in that moment that I fell in love with Adam.

       For the first time since I’d opened the door, he looked away,
if only briefly. "How long . . ?"

       I shrugged, looking away, trying to swallow the lump in my
throat. "Less than a year . . . I . . . they don’t know." Anger welled
up again. Why did I have to think about my expiration date? I just
wanted this moment, standing there on a warm night with the scent of
flowers around me and this wonderful man in front of me, to last
forever. I sought out his eyes again. "Do you . . . do you ever wish
that time could just stand still?"

       There aren’t words to describe the look that crossed Adam’s
face. He looked like he wanted to laugh and cry at the same time, as
if the universe had played a cruel, if funny, joke on him. He seemed
to shake off the mood after a second and pulled something out of his
coat and offered it to me. I stepped into the light from our kitchen
window to get a better look.

       "Plane tickets?" I wondered out loud. "To where?"

       "Wherever you’d like." Adam’s voice sounded suddenly husky.
"Everywhere, if there’s time."

       Now I was floored. He was suggesting that we just up and go
anywhere? Just like that? It couldn’t possibly . . . there was no way
. . .

       "It’s not that easy," I whispered, desperately wanting him to
prove me wrong.

       "Yes, it is," he insisted. "You can spend whatever time you’ve
got left dying, or you can spend it living . . . with me."

       I sucked in a quick breath as the memory of my Granny Janice,
diagnosed with advanced-stage lung cancer and toting an oxygen
canister around, yet still running her young, able-bodied employees
into the ground, flashed to my mind.

       "Old Hades may get me in the end," she told me once, "but he’s
gonna have to work for it!"

       And here I was, sitting around waiting for Hades to drop by. I
looked deep into Adam’s eyes as he gently took my hands, still holding
the plane tickets, in his own.

       "Please, Alexa. Say you’ll come with me."

       Time stood still.

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

       Two days later, I awakened to the unfamiliar sensation of hope.
Adam and I had discussed things the night he came to see me and
yesterday we’d both made arrangements to pack up and leave. It was
official. I was running away with a handsome and exciting man. I
giggled and headed for the shower.

       There were so many places I’d wanted to see just in the U.S.,
I’d told him. We decided on a road trip across America first, going to
see all the places I’d never been. Then we’d head across the Atlantic
to some places Adam actually liked. Egypt and Greece topped his list.

       Something seemed different about my reflection as I pinned back
my hair and put on a bit of makeup. Then I realized I was smiling. Not
the polite smile I pinned on to go out in public or the waitress smile
I used at Joe’s, but a genuine, ear-to-ear grin. Where had my smiles
gone, I wondered. Had I been so lost in self-pity that I couldn’t
recognize myself happy anymore? Adam was right. I’d been spending my
time dying, not living. This, I decided, would be my awakening.

       As I padded down the stairs, I smelled something wonderful.
Shannon, who wants to be a chef, had made me a light fruit crepe for
breakfast. As I looked at her and Des, I realized how much I would
miss them both.

       "Shannon, Des," I began, hoping I wouldn’t start crying. "I-I’m
sorry about the way I’ve been acting . . ."

       Des cut me off. "Oh, hush," she ordered. "I’ve been just as bad
with my full courseload and work. Now eat, or we’ll call your Aunt
Rita."

       I did as I was told. After taking my meds, I knew I had to say
goodbye. I hugged both of them and we went through half a box of
Kleenex and I had to re-apply my mascara. Then I looked at them
seriously.

       "You guys don’t think this is crazy, do you? I mean, running
off with a man I’ve known for less than a week?"

       Des shook her head. "Actually, Lex, I think this is the sanest
thing you could do."

       "What she said," agreed Shannon.

       The doorbell rang. "That’ll be Adam," I said. "I’ll write and
send postcards and sketches, okay?"

       When I opened the door, though, the man who smiled at me most
definitely was not Adam. It was Mr. Gorgeous.

       "Hi," he said. I felt Des and Shannon’s eyes growing wider.

       "Uh, hi," I managed.

       "I’m Duncan MacLeod, a friend of Adam’s," he told me. "He’s
still closing the deal on that van, so he asked if I’d pick you up and
take you over to Joe’s."

       "Oh . . . okay." He could stop traffic, I thought, but I like
Adam’s face better. "Let me get my stuff. Oh, and these are my
roommates, Destiny Michaels and Shannon Delacourt." I knew I’d never
have been forgiven for not introducing them.

       Duncan MacLeod hefted my two heavy duffels into his car like
they weighed nothing. I took one last look at my town house, with Des
and Shannon standing on the porch, and realized it would be the last
time I saw it or them. I blinked back the tears that the thought
brought to my eyes. Suddenly, everything was making me laugh or cry,
as if Adam’s presence in my life had freed my frozen emotions to flow
again.

       Duncan MacLeod was pleasant company as we drove to Joe’s, but I
could tell something was eating him. He had a troubled look on his
face. I didn’t know if I should ask him about it.

       It was a fine morning for Seacouver. The earlier rain had
washed the air clean and now the sun was shining. There was enough of
an early-morning chill in the air that I was glad I’d put on a jacket.
Joe and Adam were waiting outside the bar when we pulled up. Adam and
Mac, as I learned Duncan MacLeod’s friends called him, started loading
up the van.

       I’m gonna feel like a flower child in that thing, I thought,
and giggled again. Joe asked me about our itinerary.

       "We’re driving coast to coast in the van," I told him, hearing
the enthusiasm in my own voice. "Adam likes to call it our ‘Tour of
the New World.’"

       "Well, it’s all new to you, now, isn’t it?" came Adam’s voice.
He stepped to my side and tucked one of his arms around me. He likes
the way I fit under his arm. So do I.

       Joe seemed a little sad. "Sounds great. Then what?"

       "Egypt," answered Adam.

       "Isn’t that romantic?" I blurted. My choice of words surprised
me, but I realized I was being romanced by Adam. We were almost
strangers, he and I, but that wouldn’t last very long. I knew that,
and yet it didn’t make me nervous at all.

       "Well, he’s certainly the man to take you." Joe still seemed
sad as Adam shook his hand.

       "Thanks, Joe," Adam said. I wondered what he was thanking Joe
for as I stepped forward to hug my former employer.

       Parting with Joe was even more painful than parting with my
roommates had been. You mean so much to me, you dear, dear man. I like
to think my father would have been someone like you, given the time.
But he, too, died too young.

       "We’ll write," I choked. I was going to cry again, so I got in
the van. Adam stepped up to the window. He nabbed my nose between two
knuckles and then batted his hand away. It was a silly gesture, but it
made me laugh when all I wanted to do was cry. I looked back at Joe as
Adam walked around the van. I don’t think he knows that I heard what
he said to Mac.

       "It’s not long enough."

       And Mac’s soft reply was, "It never is."

       I know now that they share a unique sorrow, one born from
losing more than mortals could ever imagine. Then, I didn’t know. All
I knew was that as much as I wanted to spare Adam the pain of losing
me, he’d made his choice. Who was I to say that his choice was wrong?

       I’d made my choice, too. Adam got in the van and started it up.
"Ready?" he asked.

       "Ready." Then we ran away, Adam and I. And if Hades really
wants me, he’s going to have to catch up, because I’m not going to
wait for him.



                           .The End.