Title: "Waiting"

Author: Tanja Kinkel 
e-mail: Angria@t-online.de 
Rating: PG
Characters: Primarily Methos and Alexa, secondarily DM, J 
Summary: While Methos rushes to MacLeod's aid following the dark  
quickening, Alexas faces life alone in Athens. 
Classification: Romance

This story is dedicated to Mary Galasso, kindest and most supportive
of all beta-readers
---------------------------------------------------------------------

The call from America came in the early hours of the morning, and for
a while, between her dreams and the drowsy awareness which was not
quite sleep, Alexa thought it must have been the alarm clock, waking
her for school. Then the phone stopped ringing: she heard Adam's
quiet voice whispering, and reality set in. School was many years
ago and a continent away. She opened her eyes and saw that the dawn
had not come. Who would call them at this hour, and why? She
contacted  her friends and what little family she had left at
regular intervals, the last time only a week ago, but she hadn't
given anyone the number of the convent outside of Athens where she
and Adam were staying at the moment. So the call must be for Adam.
Her eyes adjusted to the dark, and she saw the tenseness in his face
while he spoke with the unknown caller. She couldn't make anything
out of the short, cryptic answers.

"No... are you sure? Yes, I know... No... Well, then I'll just have
to improvise, right? No... okay."  He turned his head and looked at
her. "Joe, I'll call you back," he said, and hung up.

So it had been Joe Dawson, her former employer, and one of her best
friends. During their journey around the world, they had always
found the time to talk to Joe, write to him, or send him postcards,
and the fact that Adam had not even attempted to share this
particular phone call told her it must have been about something
bad. Something straight out of a nightmare, to judge by Adam's
expression. She had never seen him look like this before. Worried,
certainly, when he thought she didn't notice while she was taking
her medicine. But not like this, shocked, and torn, as if he had to
choose between two awful possibilities.

"What happened, Adam?" she asked and sat up. "Is Joe..."

"Joe's fine", he reassured her, and then shook his head. "No. No, he
isn't. Alexa, you remember Duncan MacLeod, don't you?"

Of course she did. Even had he not been one of Joe Dawson's friends,
the dark Scot would have been too handsome a man not to remember,
though she had found him a bit too intimidating to befriend him
herself. After all, he was an immortal. Alexa had started to train
as a Watcher before her sickness was discovered; Joe Dawson was to
have been her sponsor. However, while Watchers with physical
handicaps like Joe's were rare, but not impossible, the organization
wouldn't accept someone who would not even complete her academy
years. Which left her with fragments of knowledge about immortals
and their strange world with all its violence and beauty and no one
except Joe with whom to talk about it, until she discovered the
tattoo on Adam's wrist, shortly after they had left Seacouver. 

He had been a bit startled about the coincidence, but asking him
about his work as a researcher had helped her overcome the shyness
she still felt about this mystery man who had dropped into her life
when she had been sure that it was, for all practical purposes,
already over. So he had encouraged her curiosity, and told her more
and more stories that were certainly not to be found in any history
book. Back then, before she found out about other things, she had
wondered whether it had been all research or whether Adam had used
his friendship with Joe's immortal to get some first-hand stories
from him. It was what she would have done, if she had not felt so
awkward around MacLeod. Certainly, it was more than unusual for a
Watcher and an immortal to be friends, but Adam was a researcher,
not in the field, and she supposed if the organization overlooked
Joe's bending of the rules, Adam's transgression would be seen as
minor in comparison.

All of which didn't matter now that she thought she had figured out
the mystery. 

"He died, didn't he?" she whispered. No wonder Joe had called. She
knew he had thought the world of MacLeod; if another immortal had
taken the man's head, Joe would be in need of comfort from someone
like Adam who was - had been - a friend to both. She reached out to
embrace her lover.

"I'm so sorry", Alexa said. "I know he was your friend, too. Adam,
I'm sorry." But he didn't relax the taut, tense posture, and she
felt his head moving against her hair in denial.

"No, he didn't die. He's alive, but..."   He put his hands on her
shoulders and looked into her eyes. There it was still, the deeply
disturbed, foreign expression on his face. He sighed. "Well, the
short version is, he had a kind of nervous breakdown, something to
do with taking too many quickenings, and unless he gets help soon,
it will be incurable." He hesitated for a moment, then he continued,
speaking faster as if to ensure she couldn't interrupt: "Alexa, I
have to go and help him."

For a moment, she didn't believe what she had heard. She was naive
in some ways, but not in this. Even had everything else been right,
she would still have been horrified by this pronouncement, because
she knew that "nervous breakdown" for an immortal was a euphemism
for "going on a killing spree." But everything else was not...
right. These last months had been a wonder to her. Coming alive
again, discovering the world, discovering Adam and the person she
could be for him; not someone to be pitied or fussed over, not a
victim, the way her friends and her aunt and uncle at home regarded
her, something she had started to hate, no, a woman who loved and
could be loved. And when the shadow of her death did catch up with
her, sometimes at night, in a dream which left her crying and
trembling, when all her determination to live in the present could
not hold the future at bay, he was there, and he always helped her
to fight the desperation off until she could find her way back to
the present again. Only now, when he spoke of leaving her, she
realized how completely she had come to depend on him.

For that was what he had meant. Leaving her to go and help his
friend, which could easily get him killed. The ugly, cynical voice
in her head, the one which had made her push him away when she had
first met him, murmured: *Well, what did you expect? Did you think
he doesn't notice how quickly you're losing weight now? And all
those hairs in your brush each morning, he's so observant, of course
he noticed. He knows it's going to be soon now, and he's afraid, he
doesn't want to see it, just as you always knew. Here is his golden
opportunity to leave without seeming to do so.*

With an effort, she silenced the thought. It wasn't fair, and it
wasn't true. Perhaps Adam *was* afraid, but he wouldn't leave her
for this reason; she knew he wouldn't. They had been strangers when
they started their journey, true, strangers who had fallen in love,
but now she knew him, trusted him, believed in him and in his love
for her. He who was worried when they had lost each other in the
crowd at the Piazza d'Espagna for ten minutes would not leave her
for a second if he thought there was another way. Still, the idea of
being alone again scared her, and imagining him confronting an
out-of-control immortal frightened her even more. She wanted to ask
why, of all the people, Adam should be the one to "cure" Duncan
MacLeod. Wouldn't Joe Dawson, who, after all, had watched the man
for God knew how many years, be a much better choice? Or the
red-haired kid who hung around MacLeod, Ricky, Richie or something
like that? These were good arguments, but in her heart she knew what
she really would be asking was: *How can you leave me when you know
I'm dying?*

This, she vowed to herself, she would never do. What she and Adam
had was so precious because it was entirely voluntary. She could get
duty and pity at home, and it had smothered her. If she asked him to
stay, to ignore one friend's request and another's need, because
they, after all, were not running on borrowed time, if she begged,
he probably would stay with her. But it would not be a gift anymore;
it would be an obligation: she would start to wonder whether he
wasn't secretly waiting for the day she wouldn't be a burden
anymore, and in the end perhaps despise both herself and him.

"Then you must go," Alexa said, meeting his eyes and summoning all
the faith she had in him. He touched her cheek, tentatively, as if
to reassure himself of her reality.

"Alexa Bond", he whispered, "do you know what a miracle you are to
me?" Which was ironic, for to most people, he would be the living
miracle. For of course, she had known about his immortality for
months. If you lived with someone, it was hard not to notice that he
carried a sword with him all the time. If you knew about immortals,
it was impossible not to realize what exactly the sword meant.
Still, she had not spoken about it, waiting for him to tell her,
which he had done shortly before they had left the United States. By
that time, they had opened enough to each other for him to tell her
as well about his fear that she'd resent the unfairness of it all. 

Alexa was no saint. There were moments when she couldn't watch the
average person on the street without wondering why she had to die,
while they went on living. But for the most part, she took both
comfort and joy from the force of life she felt everywhere, knowing
so much would continue even when her own body failed her. Certainly,
the knowledge of Adam's immortality made sense of the fact that she
felt this life force in a particularly strong way when she was with
him. However, when he had mentioned his fear about resentment, she
hadn't  dived into these deliberations; instead, she had laughed and
replied something which was the truth as well - that she had always
known he'd survive her for many years. Mortal, immortal, from where
she stood it made no difference; it was Adam himself who was
important to her.

Except now his immortality could take him away from her. During
their travels, they had never met another immortal, at least to
Alexa's knowledge, and she believed Adam would have told her. Now he
was going after one who was not only not in his right mind, but
also, according to Joe Dawson, one of the best sword fighters who
ever lived.

"Promise me," she said fiercely, not caring anymore whether this
showed any of the ugly doubts which had risen only moments before,
"promise me you'll survive."

Answering to what she had meant, not to the words, he said: "I'll
come back. I will, Alexa."

********************************************************************


Helping Adam pack his things and driving him to the airport, looking
for stand-by-flights to London or Edinburgh while getting the
schedules for both ferry and air planes from England to France:
these chores enabled Alexa to take her mind off anything which
wasn't an immediate problem. It was only after he was truly gone
that the double demons of fear and loneliness showed their ugly
heads again. She decided to visit the town anyway, strolling through
Athens at a leisurely pace, not in the hectic, driven way the
tourist groups did. But when she wanted to buy some grapes at the
market, without Adam to translate, she felt her alienness for the
first time since they had arrived in this ancient, lovely country.
Still, in the end she got along, using her hands and arms, and
gesticulating like a mad fishwife. It was funny, in a way, and
cheered her up a bit.

She probably should wash the grapes, but what the hell, she thought,
it wouldn't matter one way or the other. Instead, she ate them,
sitting in the shade of a tree between the steps of what was left of
an ancient theatre. Down in the middle of the ruins, yet another
tourist guide demonstrated the acoustics to his group, the members
all promptly feeling that they had to recite something worthy. Alexa
smiled, remembering Italy.

There had been the choice between seeing a play performed in the
ancient way, in Ostia, masks, Latin language and all, or a Gianna
Nannini concert. Adam went for the Gianna Nannini concert, and
persuaded her with a mixture of bad jokes and what she secretly
called his "little boy lost look".

"And you call yourself a scholar and a historian," she had teased.

"Oh, I am. Do you think the Romans went to see Plautus for cultural
enhancement? Back then, you went for the fun of it, and made the
actors' lives living hell when they didn't deliver. Believe me, the
crowd at a rock concert is much more in tune with that experience
than those worthies in Ostia could ever be."

So Gianna Nannini it was, and he was right, it was fun, screaming
her lungs out with hundreds of other fans, jumping up and down like
a teenager again; it was one of those occasions when she could live
utterly in the present, with no thought of past or future.

But he had promised her a play in the ancient way sooner or later,
and at Epidauros, he had finally delivered. This had been an
incredible experience as well, watching the actors move in an alien,
slow, but very graceful way, more chanting than speaking, with Adam
whispering the translation of their words in her ear. Now and then,
he couldn't resist trying her gullibility by inventing things like
Menelaos asking Hecuba whether she didn't want to act as a marriage
guidance counselor, and each time she found him out she pinched him,
which resulted in a little tussle until they had both found their
seriousness again. 

Thinking of the play, *The Trojan Women*, now, Alexa remembered
there had been  a scene when he had seemed not only very serious
and attentive, but also sad in a way which went beyond being moved
by the story. It was the scene where Cassandra appeared, Cassandra
the prophet, who was to be taken by Agamemnon as his slave and
concubine.  First she had thought that this was because of all the
death Cassandra prophesied, including her own, that this reminded
him again of their situation. Then, she had wondered whether he had
seen this play all those centuries ago, when it was first written,
on an occasion which was sad to remember now. It was one of the few
moments when she felt she could actually see Adam not as a young man
of her generation but as someone burdened with the weight of no one
knew how much time. He even looked slightly different on these
occasions; there was sadness, yes, but nothing of the vulnerability
which had drawn her to him when they first met. Instead, he had
seemed to withdraw from anyone and anything, his mobile features
becoming drawn like one of those Roman portrait busts he had shown
her. It didn't last, somewhat to her relief; soon after the
Cassandra scene was over, he became her Adam again, translating the
Hecuba-Helena-fight with gusto and giving Helena lines like "And who
do you think you are - Miss Ellie?" till she pinched him again.

"Well, it was what Euripides *meant* - he just didn't live long
enough for the joyful experience of American soap operas, he had to
draw his comparisons from dull Greek ones..."

Remembering this, Alexa's smile faded as she felt her loneliness in
the present once more. Don't be ridiculous, she admonished herself.
It hasn't even been a full day. You lived without him before; you
can do so again, even if it is difficult. And that's "live", not sit
around, feeling sorry for yourself.

*He should be here*, the cynical voice in her head countered. *Here
with you. Then you wouldn't have to moon about him. Let's face it,
my dear, he chose being with his friend MacLeod over being with you.
And why not? MacLeod, nervous breakdown or no nervous breakdown,
isn't going to fall apart before his eyes in the very near future.*

*No*, Alexa argued back, hating herself for the thoughts, yet being
unable to ignore them. *Sickness of the mind is no less real and
dangerous than sickness of the body. More dangerous, if it's an
immortal. There are other people who could suffer; with me, it's
only one person, and I'm not that sick. Not yet. He knows I'm strong
enough to be on my own.*

*That doesn't mean he has to test it.*

*That means he trusts me. He doesn't regard me as someone without
any strength who cannot live without people to support her. And I
trust him. He'll manage to help his friend, and then he'll come back
for me.*

*Then let's hope he won't find you in the Athens hospital.*

*He won't.*

She rose and joined the newest bunch of sweating tourists down in
the arena, English, to judge by their accents, and cursed with a
guide who obviously did not speak more than a few phrases.
Presenting herself with a bright smile, she asked whether they
needed help and offered to show them around since she had been
staying in Athens for some time now. The guide glowered at her, but
the group of Midland housewives and early pensioners gratefully
accepted. It was an impulsive action, but playing the wise guide
actually turned out to be fun, and by the evening she had even been
propositioned by a retired major who seemed to her like something
out of an Agatha Christie novel. And it was a wonderful distraction.


Only after she'd returned to the convent did she realize she had not
taken her pills during the day. She considered doubling the evening
dosage, but decided this would probably do more harm than good. She
had already eaten in the town, but asked and received some bread
together with her usual water for the night. The nun who gave it to
her told her Adam had called and would again at 11 p.m. She frowned
while delivering her message; Adam's sudden disappearance probably
puzzled her. This was one of the few Catholic convents in a country
of Greek orthodoxy, not wealthy, which was the reason why they
rented some of their rooms. Still, they took more interest in their
guests then your average hotel manager, and probably feared they had
a potential teary breakup on their hands.

"It's a family emergency, sister," Alexa said reassuringly, feeling
herself reassured that Adam was obviously still alive. Later, she
wondered whether this was not indeed the best way to describe it.
According to Joe, the Watchers had theories about the origins of the
immortals, but no proof. Certainly, those who didn't kill each other
on sight formed strong attachments, perhaps creating the family they
never had. Was this how Adam saw MacLeod? As a brother?

She wanted to ask him, but when he called he sounded incredibly
worried and tired at the same time. He had been in Glenfinnan, he
told her, getting the ancient sword of the MacLeod clan since the
Scot might need something like that to ground himself to his past.
Then, he'd had an update from Joe, about the ship MacLeod was
presently working on, which had arrived a day earlier in Le Havre
than expected. Adam had literally managed to catch the last boat
from Dover, but was, for the moment, without a clue where to look.
Tomorrow he could, of course, visit the local office of the ship's
company, but he doubted MacLeod had given them a real address.

"Perhaps he said something to one of the people he worked with,"
Alexa suggested, not sure whether primarily she felt relief because
Adam wasn't in danger yet, sadness for his sake, or frustration
because the longer he had to search for MacLeod, the longer he was
going to stay away from her.

"Probably not, but it's worth a try. I'll certainly get their
addresses. Thank you, Alexa."  He sighed, then added: "I wish you
could be here."

"I don't", she replied lightly, wanting to make him smile as he had
so often done with her. "You sound terribly gloomy, and today I've
met the most adorable, cheerful Major - and he has an even better
British accent than you do!"

"Can't let you out of my sight, can I?" he said, and the banter they
started comforted them both. After she had hung up, she took one of
the sweaters he had left behind, pressed her cheek against it and
found that she could, indeed, go to sleep.

*********************************************************************

The next day, Alexa decided to take a walk in the area surrounding
the convent. She had loved the gigantic trees in Yellowstone Park,
but there was something about those small olive trees with their
half-burned leaves... Perhaps it was their very oddness, looking so
dry and crooked with their torn roots long exposed to the sun, but
still flourishing, still giving birth to new twigs and fruit. And
the bizarre shapes; she wished she had the talent to draw. There was
her camera, but photos just weren't the same. Sometimes she could
understand all those myths about gods changing humans into those
trees, about dryads living in them, about Oedipus disappearing from
the face of the earth right here, in Colonos. There was certainly
something eerie and timeless about the place.

Later, she drove into Athens again, for she had suddenly remembered
there was one museum she still had not visited. It was one of the
more modern ones, about the Greek war of independence against the
Turks, not something she was very interested in, but still, no newly
acquired knowledge was ever wasted, and it would pass the time.

The museum held a surprise for her. There was a corner devoted to
Lord Byron, who had died during that war, as she recalled. The
small exposition consisted mostly of letters, some miniatures and
the odd manuscript. One of the letters looked strangely familiar,
which was ridiculous, but after a while, she realized the cause for
this feeling of déja vue. It wasn't the letter; it was the
hand-writing. Not Byron's hand-writing, one could see that in a
glance; this letter had been dictated to someone else. The Greek
letters on the small shield beneath the manuscript probably said to
whom. Adam had taught her the Greek alphabet, but in this case, it
wasn't even necessary. He must have written that letter. These were
his T's, his B's, and the always drawn out e's. She stood a long
time next to the shelf, pondering. The reality of Adam's immortality
hit her once again. He had been there to write this letter, about
170 years ago. Had been another person, had had another life with
friends and lovers long gone now. In another 170 years, he would
still be there, provided nothing happened to him. Visiting Athens
again, perhaps, and not alone. She wondered whether she was jealous.
No, she decided, neither of the past nor of the future, for
sometimes she imagined Adam alone, after her death, when they could
comfort each other no longer, and the thought hurt. She had made a
secret phone call to Joe on her own, making him promise to be there
for Adam when the time came. It was the present she begrudged.

*Why*, the dark side she fought against asked spitefully, *couldn't
MacLeod wait with his breakdown until you were dead? Why must he
come between you now, for that is what he has done, isn't it? And
Adam chose him, not you.*

*This is ridiculous. Illness doesn't wait for a convenient time, as
I know only too well. And Adam didn't choose between us. Do I want
him to feel for no one else but for me, to abandon all others for my
sake?*

*Yes*, her tormentor said, but the Alexa who replied *No* was
stronger.

*What kind of love would that be? And if he did something like that,
would he be the man I fell in love with?

No.*

*******************************************************************

While she sat in a cafè, watching the people passing by, a ball some
children played with nearly hit her. Alexa caught it, reacting by
the instinct honed not only in school but in Joe's bar where one had
to evade all sorts of sudden obstacles with glasses intact. She
threw it back, and a game evolved between her and the children. She
ended up running with them and laughing so hard it left her
breathless. They hardly understood a word she said, for the few
Greek phrases she had memorized were hardly appropriate here, but it
wasn't necessary. That's what "having a ball" means, she thought
happily, returning to her chair in order to pay the bill, still
fighting for breath.

*I wish I could have a child.*

The thought stopped her cold. There it was again, the invasive
future. Years ago, she had hardly ever thought about having
children. Sometimes, yes, but not often.  Not long out of her own
childhood then, she had still had so many plans for herself.
Besides, in her opinion, you had to settle down with someone you
really wanted to spend the rest of your life with before conceiving
a child. By the time children became a real option, it had been too
late.

*I do, though. I wish I could have a child. A child who is a part of
me and of Adam. Both of us living on. That's real immortality. But
even if I was healthy, even if I had another fifty years, Adam and I
still could never have children. We could adopt someone, but it
wouldn't be the same. Would it? Perhaps it would. Months ago, I left
all of my family behind in order to go away with a stranger I fell
in love with. It can't be so difficult to fall in love with a
strange child as well.*

*Stop it*, Alexa ordered herself.  She had to stop thinking about
what could never be; that was the best road to despair.

*Beats thinking about Adam finding a crazy MacLeod and getting
beheaded this very moment.*

Taking a deep breath, she decided she had to find some tourists
again, and quickly.

******************************************************************

This time, she returned to the convent early, but the evening
dragged out, and still Adam did not call. She tried to read, but it
did not help; she thought of calling Joe, or even her aunt and
uncle, but the fear of doing so in the very moment Adam tried to
reach her, thus blocking his call, held her back. Finally, she
decided to write him a letter. If he was dead, she'd burn it. If -
when - he returned to her, she'd hide it. He could read it after her
death, for she tried to write down all that he meant to her. But her
fears crept in again, and she tore up letter after letter, until
Adam did call, and she realized with a start that it was past
midnight.

"You are alive," she said, stunned and too relieved to be angry.

"I'll always be alive. I promise you."

"Did you...?"

"Yes, I found him. He...'Bad' doesn't begin to describe it. Sometimes
I felt the man I knew wasn't even there anymore. And then I felt
the opposite. Something terrible happened, but maybe some good will
come out of it. He's more in control now, so there's a chance. And
he surrendered his sword to me. Tomorrow... tomorrow we'll see
whether he can reintegrate again. We're on the way to a place I know
that might be helpful, but we had to stop for the night. I've got
the swords locked, don't worry, but I've been running on empty for
48 hours now; I need some sleep. So does he. We're staying at an
inn. If this thing tomorrow works, I'll call you from here before we
return to Paris."

"I love you," Alexa said, not wanting to sound trite and yet needing
to say it, as she knew that the danger of losing him was still very
real. "And I believe in you," she added. Trying for her natural
optimism, though it was hard, she added: "So I know it will work."

He was silent for a moment, then he said, again speaking quickly as
if he feared she would interrupt: "There has never been someone like
you - who accepted me so completely - who believed in me like you
do. And this is why you give me more then I ever could give you."

Silence once again returned, but neither of them was able to let go
yet. Finally, Alexa whispered: "Adam, I know you are tired, but
could you - could you just tell me a story - until I sleep?" So that
I can hold on to the sound of your voice, she thought, but didn't
say it aloud. He understood anyway.

"I've been told many things, but not that I put people to sleep," he
answered.  "I must be losing my touch. This is a challenge, Alexa.
Don't complain if I keep you awake for hours now!"

"I never did," she returned, and to hear him laugh lifted something
of the sorrowful weight from her, just like it always did. He
started to tell her what he called "the true story behind that bore
Beowulf," and she curled up on the bed, not caring that she was
still dressed, receiver in hand, listening to that voice which had
captivated her from the start, clinging to the reality of it. It
kept away the shadows and the loneliness, and after a while, she
didn't distinguish between words anymore, letting the sound cover
her like a warm, soft coat.

*********************************************************************

When she awoke in the morning, the receiver was still in her hand.
Hastily, she replaced it. There was still enough water for her
morning pills, and she wasn't hungry anyway, so she skipped
breakfast, waiting, instead, as she had done the previous evening.
Waiting for the phone to ring. Walking up and down in the room, she
found one of those Greek sets of "worry beads" the men in the cafés
carried with them, not rosaries but looking similar. She had seen
them finger them endlessly, and tried it for herself. Indeed, it had
a calming effect, but the calm was limited. It didn't prevent her
imagination from showing her all kinds of deathly scenarios. When
someone knocked on her door, she flinched, having forgotten for the
moment that there were other people in the world.

"Miss Bond," said Sister Sophia, who spoke the best English in the
convent, "you're so thin, you really should eat something. Mother
Superior is worried about you."

"I'm fine," Alexa replied and found a passable smile, "it's just -
I'm not hungry, and I'm waiting for a phone call."

Sister Sophia clicked disapprovingly with her tongue. "This modern
obsession with phone calls - we never should have installed separate
phones in the guest quarters. But people insisted. Well, if you
won't come to breakfast, breakfast will come to you!"

She disappeared, and after a while returned with a full tray. Alexa
did not want to be ungrateful, so she tried some of the fruits,
which were the easiest thing to swallow. She had just made up her
mind to pack something of the bread away for later, when the phone
finally rang.

"It worked! Everything is alright now - well, as much as it can be -
my love, it worked!"

She had never heard such unrestrained relief and joy in Adam's
voice, never but once, when she had agreed to come with him.

"I'll try to get a plane from Paris this afternoon," he said, still
slightly breathless. "You can't imagine how glad I am that this is
over."

"I'm a little relieved myself," she replied between laughter and
tears. Now that there was no danger anymore, she felt generous
enough to embrace the whole world, so she added: "But are you sure
your friend should be alone now? If you want to stay with him for a
while longer..."

"No," he interrupted. "You're right, he shouldn't be alone, but there
is someone waiting for him who'll take care of his recovery. Right
now, all I want is to come back to you."

*******************************************************************

It was night again, and some of the people who waited with Alexa for
the late flights dozed, but she was wide awake. Not with worry, not
with fears. Even all taunting doubts that had haunted her these last
days had disappeared, leaving nothing but anticipation. But when she
saw Adam behind the barriers, together with a dozen other tired
travelers, what she felt wasn't as much joy as it was, strangely enough, 
peace. His absence had brought all her fears out in the open. It had 
been horrible, but she had dealt with them, had defeated them. Maybe 
the future brought further troubles, and as the day of her death drew 
closer, it would certainly bring back the fear again. Not now, though. 
The future might be hostile, but there had always been a time for Adam 
and her, and now it was theirs again - the present. And right now, this 
very moment, Adam crossing the barrier, then breaking into a run to meet 
her, seemed to last forever.


THE END