"Penny for your thoughts." Guin's voice drifted over to Connor, and he turned his head to looked at her.

 "You don't really want to know," he replied with a half-smile.

 Guin shrugged, but let his comment go. "Have you been to Tucson before?" she asked, furrowing her brow. "I can't believe I haven't thought to ask that yet."

 "A long time ago."

 "How long ago?" she prodded with a half-grin.

 "A very long time ago," he responded with a wink.

 "A hundred years?" she teased.

 "Nah, more like a hundred and twenty." Connor grinned.

 Guin was rather proud of they ways they had discovered to communicate real information related to his Immortality without making it sound suspect. Anyone around them would think they were just taunting each other. "So what would you have been if you'd live here a hundred -- excuse me, a hundred and twenty -- years ago?"

 Connor pretended to think a moment before responding. "A saloon keeper."

 Guin tilted her head as she looked him over. "It fits," she said, nodding. She glanced out the window as the plane prepared to touch down. "I wasn't sure I'd ever come back here," she confessed uneasily.

 Connor shrugged. "Me either. But we're here, aren't we?"

 "Yeah, we are," she replied with a frown. "We certainly are."

 Their trip finished up as smoothly as it began, with few delays in getting off the plane, getting their luggage or at the car rental counter. Connor observed Guin's mood go from cynical to happily nostalgic as she wheeled the rented Mustang through the streets that were still obviously familiar to her -- the primary reason he'd let her drive. Guin turned up Swan Road, gesturing to a red brick church that came up on their right. "That's where the memorial service is being held tomorrow," she remarked soberly as her face reverted to its dark look. She continued on another couple of miles, turning west on Sunrise Drive, then making the turn onto the upward-sloping drive of the La Paloma resort, nestled in the Tucson foothills.

 "I don't know why you picked this place," Guin remarked sourly.

 "It looked like a nice place on its website," Connor replied evenly. "Still does."

 "Posh, upscale and hoity-toity." Guin wrinkled her nose. "And not worth the money. But I suppose we can afford it."

 Connor could observe her hard frown even in the dim light. He kept his tone calm. "We could have made reservations somewhere else. I told you the plans I'd set up." Unsettled by Guin's continuing silence, he added, "we're both tired and could use the rest. We'll stay here tonight, and then decide if we want to go somewhere else after that. Okay?"

 Guin nodded as she pulled into the valet parking area. As bellboys took their luggage, the two weary travelers stepped inside. Guin glanced around at the entryway as Connor got their room assignment settled at the desk. The lobby was filled with chic southwestern-style furniture, set in cozy little conversation nooks. Down a flight of steps, the opulent dining area looked out toward the lights of the city through floor-to-ceiling windowpanes. Glass-and-gold chandeliers hung from the ceiling. Guin shuddered at the extravagance, even as she was awed and overwhelmed by the place. Connor tapped her shoulder. "Are you ready?"

 "Yeah." She took his arm, and they got into the elevator. Their second-floor suite had a spectacular view of the city. As soon as the bellboy left, Guin flung herself across the bed and stared out between the open curtains.

 "That's some view, hmm?" Connor remarked, stretching out on the bed next to her.

 Guin nodded and rolled onto her back. "I'm hungry. But I'm too tired to move."

 "That's what room service is for."

 Guin made a face. "Too expensive."

 "I think we can afford it." Connor made a face back at her.

 "I'm sorry if my middle-class sensibilities offend you," she snapped, "but I wasn't raised with a lot of money, and I haven't spent a couple hundred years getting used to being rich. Less than two years ago I was living paycheck to paycheck and praying I could save enough to buy new tires for my car or get it repaired if it broke down, without having to starve myself to do it. And I probably still would be, if not for a bit of good luck. I couldn't have even afforded one of the smallest room at this place, much less a suite, back then."

 "I wasn't trying to make fun of you, Guin," Connor said gently, reaching over to touch her cheek. "Really."

 Guin sighed and looked away. "I'm sorry, Connor. I'm just tired. And I know that at this funeral I'm going to be facing at least a few of the people who dislike me simply because of my good fortune." She closed her eyes. "God, sometimes I wish that never would have happened."

 "Then you never would have moved to Scotland, and you never would have met me," Connor replied solemnly. Guin looked over at him and smiled.

 "And that would have been a crying shame, wouldn't it?" She touched her finger to his lips, then waved her hand in the air as she rolled onto her back. "What the hell, call room service. Pick me out something to eat, sweetheart, I'm too tired to decide." Guin watched as Connor sat up and leafed through the room service menu. "At least the funeral isn't til noon, we can catch up on some sleep and still be up in plenty of time to get ready and get there."

 Connor's hand hovered over the receiver. "So...are we staying here for our trip, or are we moving to a different hotel?"

 Guin shrugged. "It's not going to matter where we stay, they're going to think of me what they will. We've got the reservation, we might as well stick with this place." She sighed, then yawned. "Right now I'd crash anywhere I could get a comfy bed." Guin listened to Connor order them lamb chops, closing her eyes as her stomach growled. "They better get here soon," she remarked as Connor hung up the phone. "But I've got to call Claire."

 "Isn't it sort of late for that?" he asked.

 "Well, considering she is my very best friend, and I told her I'd call when we got in -- no, it's not too late." Guin sat up and drew Connor close to her. "And when I'm done with my call, and dinner's over, we'll feed some other hungers," she said enticingly, giving him a long, lingering kiss.

Connor slowly surfaced to consciousness, his mind gradually becoming aware of the arms wrapped around him and the head tucked against his shoulder. Smiling, he opened his eyes to gaze down on Guin's face. As tired as she had been the night before, she had been eager to make love -- or, as Connor had concluded over the past week, to communicate in the only way she felt capable of. She hadn't talked much about the funeral, or Sabrina, since receiving the e-mail notifying her of Sabrina's death. Instead, Guin had cleaned, cooked, and distracted herself in every way possible, and out-and-out refused to talk when Connor tried to bring it up. However, she had taken to greeting John with a hug, and touching Connor whenever she could, including the gentle nightly lovemaking that last night had only been a small part of. It was only after these sessions, in sleep, that her face took on a peaceful expression, and even then it was more of a blank look than contentment. Still, Connor hated to wake her, but the clock indicated it was already a quarter past ten. "Guin," he whispered, giving her shoulder a light touch.

 "Nyet, ne hochu," she muttered, not quite conscious, resettling herself against him.

 Connor bit his tongue so he wouldn't laugh. Protesting, and in Russian no less. "Da, nam nado razbuditsya," he replied.

 Guin groaned, then one eye flew open, suddenly awake. "Tell me you didn't say what I think you said."

 "What do you think I said?" Connor taunted with a grin.

 "That we have to get up -- but in Russian." Guin lifted her head to look Connor in the face. "What prompted that? Don't tell me I'm speaking Russian in my sleep again."

 "Dreaming of Misha?" he asked seriously.

 Guin shook her head. "No, dreaming of Claire. We have this weird habit of dreaming that we're talking to each other."

 "Even though you actually talked to her last night."

 "That probably just instigated it." She laughed. "We're usually on the same wavelength, and it just gets worse the closer we are to each other. Get used to it, since we're visiting her next week." Guin furrowed her brow at him. "So where did you learn Russian?"

 Connor shrugged. "In Russia."

 "Well geez, I could have guessed that. Where in Russia? When?"

 "I'll tell you when you get out of the shower. We need to get ready." Connor gave her bottom a gentle slap. "Come on, lazy. Speshi! Hurry up!"

 "All right, all right," she said, laughing. "But you've gotta tell me later, or I'll be very disappointed." Guin rolled out of bed and padded into the bathroom.

 By the time Connor finished getting ready, he could feel the change in atmosphere in their hotel room. His intuition was confirmed as he stepped out of the bathroom. Guin was smoothing her hands over her black silk dress, looking markedly more morose compared to the state she'd been in upon awakening. She had pulled her hair into a tight bun at the base of her neck, and looked very much the forlorn saint from a Russian icon painting.

 Connor studied her blank face for a long moment, then held out his hand. "Give me the car keys." Guin turned her expressionless eyes up to him, the emotions packed down under the facade of silent strength. "You're in no shape to drive. Give me the keys." Shrugging, she handed them to him, picked up her purse and headed for the door. Shaking his head, Connor followed.

 The trip to the church was short, but there was still sufficient traffic to keep Connor's attention. "The 1820's," Connor said suddenly, breaking the silence in the car. Guin glanced over at him, brow furrowed. "That's when I learned Russian," he explained. "You said you wanted to know." Guin shrugged and went back to staring out the window. Connor sighed inwardly as he pulled into the parking lot of the church Guin had pointed to the night before. It's going to be a long day, he thought sadly.

 The inside of the church was a rolling sea of black figures, and the overwhelming sense of sorrow that emanated from them was enough to make Connor swoon. How many times have I been here, at this moment? he questioned himself uneasily. How many times have I buried those I cared for and loved? And above all, what have I learned from it all, and what can I say to make it easier for Guin?

 Connor couldn't help but notice a few disapproving stares shot in their direction as they started down the aisle. Those must be her ex-friends, he thought, the ones who think she's a rich snob now. Connor shook his head. It's a pity they can't see the wonderful person she is, regardless of her money. He glanced down at the woman by his side, who was struggling against tears as she was engulfed by the grief that surrounded them. She deserves better than that.

 A woman with long, dark hair and a light complexion stepped directly into their path, and despite her withdrawn sadness, Guin's face lit up as she recognized the figure. "Wyn!" she cried, embracing her friend. Connor felt an odd surge of jealousy as the two women hugged tightly for a long moment. Guin kept an arm around the other woman's waist as they finished their embrace. "Wyn, this is..."

 "Well of course I know who this is, Guinnie," the woman scolded. "You have to be Connor. I'm Wyn -- Bronwyn Martinez." She offered her hand to him, which he shook politely.

 "It's a pleasure to meet you, Wyn. I've heard so much about you." Connor smiled.

 "I hope not too much!" Wyn grinned broadly, despite the sorrow reflected in her eyes. "Don't mind me, I'm just trying to stay 'up' through this whole event. David -- my husband -- is in helping Jim contain his grief so this thing can start on time. I couldn't handle it, I had to come out here for a while." She hugged Guin to her side. "Besides, I had a feeling this girl would be here soon. My rhyme twin." Connor furrowed his brow. "Wyn and Guin, silly!" Wyn shook her head as Connor hid his laugh with a cough. "Come on, you two, sit by us. We can all cry together."

 Two men emerged from a back room as Guin, Connor and Wyn approached the front of the church. A moment later, a thin, blonde woman met up with the men. As this woman saw Guin, her eyes shot daggers in their direction. Connor could feel Guin's steel facade go up in defense.

 "Carol...oh, excuse me, it's Guinevere," the woman said cattily. "How wonderful, you came back to show off your nice new life to all of us poor slobs."

 "I came to grieve, like the rest of you," Guin replied evenly.

 The woman nodded, narrowing her eyes. "Sure you did, sure. So where did you get him?" she inquired haughtily, nodding toward Connor. "Is he a Scottish import, or did you just pick him out of the best hookers on Miracle Mile?"

 "Mary!" Wyn exclaimed, taking a step forward. Guin held out a hand to restrain her friend. Connor and the other two men simply looked on in shock.

 "I'm not going to justify that with an answer," Guin answered coolly.

 Mary shrugged. "Very well, Gu-in-e-vere," she said, stretching out the name contemptuously, "have it your way. You always seem to, Gu-in-e-vere."

 Guin's temper finally got the better of her. "Y'know, during all those good times we had playing role-playing games, you never had a problem calling me Guinevere or Guin when that was my character's name, so much so that you all called me that even when we weren't playing. Why do you have such a difficult time with the fact that I chose to go by that permanently?"

 "Because it's pretentious!" Mary snapped. "Just like you."

 One of the men finally stepped forward. "Mary, go."

 "Jim...."

 "You will not cause any more problems today. Just go. For Sabrina's sake." Jim gave her a deadly look, and Mary turned and walked off in a huff. The tall, sandy-haired man turned to Guin and opened his arms. "I'm sorry about that, Guinnie."

 Guin embraced him, pulling his head to her shoulder as tears formed in his eyes. "You've got enough grief, sweetie, you don't need us fighting too." She smiled and pulled a tissue from her purse for him. "I came here for you and Brina, not anybody else." Guin commenced the introductions. "Connor, this is Jim, Sabrina's husband, and that's Wyn's husband, David." Connor shook hands with both men. "And that, as if you hadn't guessed, was Mary." Guin gave a half-smile. "Well, now you know the story of where my name came from."

 "I'm not even going to ask what she has against you," Connor said firmly.

 "Well I have no shame, I'll tell you," David replied, tilting his dark-haired head forward. "Mary is notorious for borrowing stuff and not returning it. After the lottery win, she wanted to borrow a large sum of money from Guinnie, who wouldn't do it without something in writing." David grinned. "That, and Mary just has a mean streak the size of the Pacific. But Brina liked her. Or at least pitied her."

 The priest signaled to Jim that the services were ready to begin. "Are you sitting with us, Guinnie?" Jim asked.

 "If you want me to, Jim," she replied, "but I feel conspicuous as it is."

 "You have to sit with us," he insisted. "You're family. Well, as close as we've got anymore."

 Guin smiled. "Now I can't refuse."

 Connor sat on one side of Guin, with Jim on the other. Jim delivered the main eulogy, managing to retain his composure. A few of their friends spoke afterward. Connor noted that Guin was holding Jim's hand in her lap. He felt another twinge of jealousy. I don't really know these people, he thought, his mind reeling. I don't know this whole part of her life, of her past. I've heard something about it, but I don't know it. Connor stared at the priest who was speaking now, trying to ignore Guin and Jim with their heads bent together. And I'm a stranger here, not helping anything. Guin needs her friends, not me. Connor shook his head briefly. I shouldn't have come.

 The priest called Jim back up to the altar as the service wound down to a close. Connor could see the tears begin to streak Guin's face, but when he reached over for her hand, she pulled it away. He wanted to hold her, but he knew she'd pull away from that too. Better to let her be, for now, he thought with a frown. Guin wiped her face with the back of her hand, putting on her stoic face again as the service ended. She volunteered to help Wyn and David with some final straightening up as Jim thanked people for coming, leaving Connor to mill around in the aisle until the time came to leave.

 "How long are you going to be around, Guin?" Wyn asked as the group came together again.

 "We're here in Tucson til Monday morning."

 "We've been trying to find something fun to help take Jim's mind -- well, all of our minds -- off things, and we've decided to go to Old Tucson Studios on Friday. That's day after tomorrow, for your jet-lagged mind." Wyn smiled teasingly. "Will you come with us?"

 Guin wrinkled her nose. "I hate Old Tucson, but I'll go just to be with you all." She looked up at Connor. "If that's okay with you."

 He nodded nonchalantly. "Sure."

 "You have my number, Guinnie?" Wyn asked, hands on hips. "And tell me where you're staying, just in case."

 "I've got your number. We're at the La Paloma, under Andrew Beaton." Guin sighed. "I've missed you guys. I know, we've all got e-mail, but I've missed you anyway." She embraced each friend in turn.

 "Guess we'd better get going," Wyn commented as the priest looked over at them. "Let's say we meet at Old Tucson at eleven on Friday, okay?"

All the way back to the hotel, Guin stared out the side window of the car, not speaking a word. Connor shifted uncomfortably, letting the strains of music from the radio fill the silence between them. Arriving at the hotel, he held out his arm for her to take; her touch was so light she might as well have not been holding on at all, but at least she was letting him touch her. He gently guided her through the door of their room, heading for the bathroom himself as Guin moved to sit on the bed. When he came back out a few minutes later, her head was in her hands, her muffled sobs convulsing her rounded back. Gently he stroked her hair, pulling it out of its bun and letting it fall around her shoulders. He gently turned her head to face him, stroking her cheek. Guin looked into his eyes, her breathing coming out in harsh gasps. "She's gone," Guin whispered hoarsely, grasping his hands. "She's really gone."

 Connor nodded, pulling her into his embrace. "Yes, she is."

 Guin shook her head. "She was too young. She was...she was even a year younger than me! God, Connor, she was younger than me!" Connor held her tighter as the sobs shook her body, gently rocking her back and forth. Guin sniffled as her tears finally began to subside. "I'm wrinkling your Armani," she said with a brief laugh, smoothing his lapels.

 "I don't care." Connor smiled at Guin, wiping her cheeks.

 "You must think I'm being stupid about this. After all, you've probably been through this a hundred times."

 He kissed her temple. "And every time it hurts. Each person is an individual to be missed when they're gone. You've been through other people's deaths, Guin. And it doesn't make this one any easier, does it?" She shook her head. "I wish I knew what to say to you to make it easier. But I haven't found the answer to that in my five hundred years." He shrugged. "C'mon, I still talk to Heather and visit her grave, four centuries later. I'm kind of lacking when it comes to words of wisdom."

 "But you're here. That's what's important. I'm glad you came." She looked up into his face.

 "You're sure you're happy I'm here?" he asked.

 "What do you mean?" Guin cocked her head to one side.

 "Nothing." Connor shook his head, then kissed her cheek.

 "Don't 'nothing' me. Why did you ask?" Guin frowned as Connor remained silent for a long minute.

 "You and your friends needed each other today. I was just in the way."

 Guin took Connor's hand into hers. "Yes, I needed them, Connor, but I needed you too. I could feel you there, every second." She looked into his eyes. "I know sometimes it may not seem like it, but I do need you." Guin lowered her eyes. "More than I'm comfortable admitting, actually."

 Connor embraced her silently for a few moments. "So what now?" he asked. "Tell me how I can help you. What do you want to do?"

 Guin shook her head. "It's afternoon already, sorta late to make a start. And I'm so tired. Can we just sit here for a while?"

Connor reached back and propped the pillows up against the headboard, then kicked off his shoes and sat back, motioning for her to follow suit. Guin wearily curled up against him, her eyes fluttering shut. "Why is grief so tiring?" she asked with a sigh.

 "Because it involves so much of us," Connor replied softly. "Mind, heart and soul." He nuzzled her hair. "Sleep if you want to," he added in a whisper. "I'll be right here."

 "Connor, distract me," Guin pleaded. "Tell me what Tucson was like when you were here last."

 Connor closed his eyes, diving back into his memory. "Well, it was a lot smaller!" He laughed. "There were only a few thousand people here then -- three, maybe four. But there was a lot of traffic through town, people going westward toward California. The military had made the place pretty secure again after some bad years, and it had become a legal municipality -- in other words, it had a real government and law. It had only been under the U.S. flag for about twenty years."

 "Mmm," Guin interrupted. "It was under Mexico before that, and Spain before that. And it was under the Confederate flag for a little while too."

 "You don't need me telling you all this, you already know it," Connor challenged.

 "No, I just know a few things," she mumbled, shifting on the bed. "And I like hearing your voice. Keep going."

 Connor stroked her hair as she sighed and settled against him again. "Okay. Where was I? Oh yeah...Tucson had become the capital of the territory in 1866, though it lost that again in 1878 -- that was after I'd left. The main part of the city -- I guess that would be downtown now -- was only about ten miles by twenty. But the Apaches were still raiding the merchant caravans that were coming in and out of town, so people stayed pretty close together."

 "Where was your saloon?" Guin asked, her voice sounding sleepier.

 "Just off Congress. Is Congress Street still there?" Connor asked, raising an eyebrow.

 "Yep. Some things don't change much." Guin yawned. "Speaking of which...I really want to go see San Xavier Mission again. Can we go out there tomorrow?"

 Connor nodded, kissing the top of her head. "Anything you want. Now get some rest. I'll wake you in time for dinner."

In the late morning on Thursday, Guin drove westward on Sunrise Drive, which turned into Ina Road before it hit the freeway. She headed south on I-10, then I-19. On this last leg, the back side of San Xavier del Bac Mission was visible. Guin watched Connor out of the corner of her eye for his reaction.

 "The White Dove of the Desert," he intoned evenly. "Some things don't change much...although there wasn't this much civilization out here a hundred years ago."

 "A hundred and twenty," Guin corrected. Connor threw her a teasing glare as she turned onto the exit ramp, then onto San Xavier Road. The mission was visible on and off through the trees, and less than a mile down the road they came to an intersection where Guin turned north toward the exotic structures that made up San Xavier. Connor stared expressionlessly at the sandstone-and-white-plaster facade as Guin drove the last quarter mile and parked in one of the dirt lots across from the mission.

 "Well, that wasn't here," Connor said with a smile, gesturing at the colonnade of tourist shops behind the makeshift parking lot. "I'm surprised there isn't pavement for parking."

 "I don't think they've had the money," Guin replied. "They had to do a lot of fundraising just to get the money to restore the painting on the inside of the chapel." She smiled. "I never could come down here without putting a few bucks in the donation jars. And I gave them a decent sum out of my lottery winnings when I got that. Small price to pay for the only place that has given me so much peace." Connor began to move toward the main structure, but Guin stopped him. "Can we go up there first?" she asked, pointing toward a hill to the east of the mission. Guin shrugged, embarrassed. "It's important to me."

 Guin led Connor up the gradual slope of the short hill, guiding him to their left between two pillars topped with lion statues and around the side of the mound. There they came upon a fenced-off cave, with a limestone-colored slab and a statue of Mary in prayer inside. "A replica of the grotto at Lourdes," Connor said aloud, noting the plaque next to the fence. "Built in 1908."

 Guin nodded. "I don't know why I like coming up here. I'm almost as at home praying here as in the church itself." She pointed to the top of the gate. "People come here and leave personal things on the fence here, photos, shoes, all sorts of stuff, hoping for miracles. That's what the original shrine in France is supposed to bring, I think."

 "Have you ever put anything there?" Connor inquired.

 "Yeah, I have." Guin paused, giving a glance around to make sure no one else was listening. "I was having some hard times, emotionally and financially. It was a particularly low point in my life. I just wished for a little peace then." She laughed. "That wasn't exactly what I got -- I won the lottery instead." After a moment lost in thought, Guin took off the small pewter cross hanging around her neck, bent her head over it for a few silent seconds, then hung it on the fence. "When I made that wish," she explained, "I only left a hairpin -- it was the only personal thing I had on me at the time. I guess I sort of 'owe' a better offering." Guin shrugged. "I don't suppose I really owe God anything but my thanks, but it makes me feel better."

 The pair made a circuit on the path around the hill, taking in the distant view of Tucson to the northeast and of the more rural land to the south, then descended the hill again. "I'd like to go into the church itself last," she told him as they passed the gift shop at the end of the main mission building. "And the only other thing to really see is the museum." Guin stopped in front of a doorway with the museum hours posted next to it.

 "Then let's go," Connor responded, gesturing for her to enter first. Without hesitation Guin dropped a $20 in the donation box as the passed into the first room of the museum. A display of some of the oldest artifacts from the area, as well as a history of the monks who had run the mission from its inception, occupied the first room. The pair made a cursory examination of this exhibit, then went through the archway into the second room, which had some of the earliest photographs of the church, carefully preserved.

 Guin nodded toward the first one. "1871," she read from the label. "And Mr. MacLeod was in Tucson..."

 "1874 to 1876," Connor replied, absorbed in the photos. "He was only at San Xavier a few times, though. It was really more suited for the natives."

 "Mmm, I see." Guin continued to peer at the first photograph. "The garden walls and such have changed quite a bit. I suppose that's because a lot of them were damaged in the earthquake in 1887..." Guin's voice trailed off as Connor put his hand under her chin and gently guided her face toward another photo.

 "I think you'll find this one interesting," he said, positioning her directly in front of the picture. The carved doorframe of the church was the focus of this photo, but under the arch of the doorframe stood a man -- and despite the odd hat, longer hair and dusty cowboy-ish clothes, he looked very, very familiar.

 Guin put her hand over her mouth to stifle a laugh. "Ummm...very interesting," she said finally, her jaw still unhinged. Guin turned her face to Connor. "Wonder if they have a copy of this in a book or something in the gift shop." Connor's eyes lit up as they met hers. The pair walked through a door at the far end of the room, turning and climbing a short, narrow stairway into the third and final room that had religious-oriented artifacts. They passed through this room quickly and walked out onto the back patio, hardly giving a glance to the garden behind the mission as they made their way back over to the gift shop. Guin led Connor to the rear of the gift shop, where they began to leaf through the books. A few minutes of silence passed between them as they searched the volumes. Finally Guin nudged Connor with her elbow, triumphantly holding open the pages of a slim book toward him as he looked over at her. Connor smiled, taking two copies of the book to purchase.

 "I want to frame one picture," he explained at her puzzled look. "For the new room, when we get it built." She nodded.

 At the counter, Guin also selected a plain wax candle in a glass holder to purchase, paying for all three items and putting the change in the donation box. "Why the candle?" Connor asked as they stepped outside again.

 "You'll see." Settling the bag containing their new purchases over her forearm, Guin headed toward the front entrance of the chapel, Connor following close behind. He stopped and pointed out two figurines on the left and right sides of the facade. "The cat and the mouse," he said. "Do you know the story?"

 Guin nodded. "When the cat catches the mouse, it'll be the end of the world," she replied. "Or, depending on who you listen to, as long as the cat and mouse stay apart, there will be peace between the Spaniards and the natives."

 "I should know better than to ask," Connor responded with a laugh. "You love legends, after all."

 "There are quite a few about San Xavier. But they're not as exotic as some of the Scottish legends."

 They entered the church, which was quiet since the daily morning services had ended. The only thing barring total stillness was the recorded history of the mission that played on an endless loop. There were only a few people inside -- a couple in prayer, others taking pictures of the rich facade of paintings and figurines that adorned the transepts and altar-space. Guin watched Connor's eyes rove over the walls, which also had scattered paintings and murals, including the Last Supper. Connor's muted expression as he gazed was that of sentimental affection. Guin took his hand, and they walked slowly down the right-hand aisle toward the front of the church. Connor turned around to look back at the choir loft and up into the triple domes, the paintings seeming to come alive against the white plaster walls. "They've done a good job restoring," Connor remarked. Guin looked up at him expectantly, but he shook his head. "In the 1870's, the church was only beginning to be brought back to life after many years of disuse, because the Mexican government had been suspicious of the Spaniards and ordered the monks to leave. It had been left to the elements and the animals, especially birds and bats. It was a mess back then."

 Guin walked into the right-hand side of the transept and pulled the candle she had purchased from the bag, lighting it from one of the array of similar candles already burning in racks there. She set the sturdy glass holder and its now flickering contents next to its counterparts. "For Sabrina," she said quietly. "For my dad. For Angus, for Heather, for Brenda, and everyone else we've had to say goodbye to." Guin looked up at him, and Connor smiled back at her.

 "You're a strong little lass, aren't you?" he said, gazing at her lovingly. "Deep as the ocean and sturdy as the mountains."

 Guin blushed and ducked her head shyly. "Only sometimes." She took Connor's hand again and led him to the empty front pew. They sat quietly for a few minutes, gazing at the array of reds, blues and gold on the richly painted facade behind the altar. Her fingers still entwined with Connor's, Guin silently lowered her head in prayer, and he did the same.

 Suddenly Guin felt Connor's hand squeeze hers involuntarily, and she looked up in time to see his head shoot up, his eyes tracking rapidly across the span of the church, searching. I know that look, she thought, and it's not a good one. She watched Connor's eyes stop and connect with those of one of the monks who still tended the church, a tall, lanky man with dark hair and eyes. After a moment's stare, Connor's expression relaxed into a smile, and the monk's look of fear similarly melted.

 "Jax!" Connor greeted the monk as he approached them. "It's been...a long time."

 Jax nodded. "It's Brother Matthew now. Been a long time since anybody called me Jax." He clasped Connor's shoulder. "And you...?"

 "Well, it's Andrew Beaton, but I go by my 'middle' name now, Connor."

 "Some things never change." Jax smiled.

 Connor laughed. "No, some things don't." He nodded to Guin. "This is Guin Barnes." After a beat, he added simply, "she knows."

 Jax nodded in acknowledgment. "I think I have a spare moment or two...would you like to take a walk? Catch up on things?"

 "Sure." The threesome made their way to the back of the chapel and out of doors. They began to walk westward along the street that ran in front of the mission.

 "So you're a monk now?" Connor began. "Forgive me, Jax, but that's...surprising."

 Jax laughed. "Considering what I have been, yeah. But I changed when I met you, Mac..." Jax hesitated. "You showed me what it meant to think bigger than just myself. And I'm putting that learning to good use. I even became a monk the legitimate way, too -- and I met some really interesting people along the way."

 "So what happens when you get too old -- without aging?"

 Jax shrugged. "I'll move on, find another place that needs me, alter my certifications. I want to continue my work as long as I can."

 Rather than responding, Connor took the bag from Guin and pulled out one of the books. "Now, you can't tell me you're not responsible for this," he said, pointing out the old picture to his friend.

 "Well, that is one I took a long time ago," Jax said with a grin. "But others found it and put it on display, I didn't push it on them. It does show great detail of the doorway..."

 "And pretty good detail of the guy, too," Guin chimed in.

 Jax laughed. "That too."

 "Connor was quite amused by it when we saw it," she continued. "So how did you two meet?"

 "Do you want to tell her, or should I?" Connor asked Jax, one eyebrow raised. Jax shrugged. "Very well, then," Connor continued. "Well, I told you about the saloon...I'd been here about six months when this rag-tag guy shows up..."

Tucson, 1874

 Connor carefully polished down the wood bar under the guttering gasoline lanterns. Clean the glasses, fill the lanterns, he added to his mental list as he wiped the sweat from his brow. And try not to die from the heat while you're doing these things. When he had arrived in Tucson in March, the weather had been fairly nice. He should have taken that as a warning that the summer would be nearly unbearable. The oppressive August heat, intensified by the wetness in the air from the now frequent summer rainstorms, compelled most people to keep their doors and windows open whenever possible, hoping for the breezes -- however hot they might be -- to blow through. After the last of the soldiers from Camp Lowell had left the tavern room, Connor had closed the door to signal that the saloon was closed -- but he was beginning to regret the lack of air circulation.

 The buzz of another Immortal hit him clearly before the door opened. Connor had felt one several times that week, but he was hoping it wasn't someone out hunting. The dark-haired stranger who had walked in now approached him and said bluntly, "You. Me. Midnight. The abandoned barn at the end of Congress Street."

 "Isn't it a little warm to be pursuing the Game right now?" Connor asked wearily, once again wiping the sweat from his brow. "Maybe in a couple of months we won't be dying from overheating while we duel..."

 "The smart remarks don't impress me," the stranger hissed. "Midnight. Be there, or I come after you." He walked back out of the saloon, and Connor sighed in his wake.

 "Your loss," Connor muttered, glancing at the clock as he took off his apron. Eleven o'clock. Enough time to refill the lamps and clean a few glasses...

Midnight was silent along the town's streets. Tombstone has the reputation for gunfights, Connor thought with a frown. Tucson's much more civilized -- except for the occasional man with a bad attitude. And of course he had to be Immortal on top of that. Connor clutched his katana to his side, the weapon hidden under his long coat. Making me go out in a coat when it's still hotter than hell itself outside...I'll make him pay for that.

 Fire had severely damaged the first barn built on the property at the end of Congress Street. The family had built a second one, but had not yet torn down the first. It'll make good kindling come winter, Connor thought, cautiously opening the door. It's about ready to fall down anyway. In the moonlight shining between the broken sections of roof, a flash of metal caught Connor's attention.

 "So you came," the stranger said, stepping from the shadows.

 "I came." Connor slid out of his coat and held up his weapon defensively. "I am Connor MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod."

 "That's nice," the man growled, lunging at Connor. Connor deflected the first blow, as well as the next few that came in rapid succession. Only a few short clangs of steel later, however, Connor had disarmed the other man, who dropped to his knees.

 "That was too easy," Connor hissed, his senses heightened for any warning of foul play as he held the katana at the back of the man's neck.

 "Just take my head and get it over with, all right?" the man spat out.

 "You want to die?" Connor asked, raising an eyebrow but not relaxing his stance.

 "That's what I challenged you for. Now do it!"

 Connor shook his head. "I won't do it," he responded, taking several steps back. "I have more honor than that. But I'd like an explanation. Actually, an introduction might be nice."

 The man frowned as he slowly got to his feet. "My name's Jackson Emory, though my friends call me Jax. Heck, most people call me Jax."

 "Well, Jax, may I suggest that if we're not going to have an honest fight, we should have an honest talk. And that's best done somewhere a little more private, like the saloon." Connor gave a sly smile. "Though I should take your head just for getting me out here in this heat, in a long coat."

 Jax smiled faintly. "That could be arranged," he said cynically, picking up his sword and coat. "But I could use a drink first."

 Connor nodded, walking slowly and silently with his new acquaintance back to the saloon. Once inside, Connor shut and locked the door. "So I gather you know about the Game," he began, pouring them both shots of whisky.

 Jax nodded. "My teacher told me enough."

 "And he taught you all about the Rules?" Connor asked.

 "Yep. And the only one I care about is 'there can be only one' -- and I know I don't want to be the last one of us left, so why go on?"

 "Why go on?" Connor raised an eyebrow. "Are you serious?" Jax nodded. Connor shook his head before continuing. "Jax, there's more to the Game than winning, if you can call being the last one that." Connor tossed back his whisky, his steadfast gaze unsettling the other man. "My teachers emphasized that if all you think about is winning the Prize, you become selfish and power-hungry. But you can set your sights on more realistic goals -- like keeping the chance at the Prize away from those who would misuse it."

 "Is that what you do?" Jax looked at him suspiciously.

 "I try." Connor frowned. "Sometimes that's all that keeps me going -- knowing that, just maybe, I'm keeping something terrible from happening to the world when the Prize is finally won." He shrugged. "I was told a long time ago that Immortality is a gift, and if I can use that gift to shift things in favor of the good, then I will."

 Jax was contemplating Connor's words when a thin girl of about ten years of age with long brown hair stumbled sleepily out of the back room. "Connor?" she called through a yawn.

 "Elisabeth, go back to bed. I told you not to come out here in your bedclothes." Connor motioned for the girl to go back in the door she had just come out of.

 "But the tavern's closed," the girl replied. "At least I thought it was," she added, eyeing the stranger at the bar.

 "He's a friend of mine," Connor answered. "Go back upstairs, Lizzie. I'll be up in a little bit." This time the girl followed his orders, turning around and disappearing back inside the door.

 Jax jerked his head toward the now-closed door. "Where'd you get her?"

 Connor frowned in thought as he poured another round of whisky, trying to decide how much to tell. "I found her on my way here. Her family was on the trail, they died from the fever that's swept through here the past few years. In fact, by the time I found her, her family was dead, the horses were dead, and she was barely alive. I brought her here with me, nursed her back to health." Connor shrugged. "It's what anyone would do."

 Jax shook his head. "Not everyone would do that."

 "Well, that's what I had to do," Connor responded. "I couldn't give up on her, she had such a will to live. She's part of the reason I settled down here -- she needed the stability."

 "That's very noble of you," Jax said with sincerity.

 Connor shrugged off the compliment. "She needed a family, I gave her one, of sorts. Family is important."

 Jax snorted. "I never had a family, and I survived just fine. Grew up in an orphanage, broke out of that nasty place when I was fifteen -- 164 years ago. Not everybody needs family."

 "I disagree," Connor contradicted him. "You're born with a family -- even if you never know them. But there's also a family that you choose -- the people you decide to associate with. Not just those like Elisabeth, but other mortals and Immortals you trust and allow into your life." Thoughts of Ramirez and Kastigir flashed into Connor's mind, as well as his student and kinsman Duncan -- whom Connor had recently seen retreat to Holy Ground after tragically losing a mortal Indian family he had taken as his own. "What about your teachers?"

 "Teachers? Ha!" The sneer on Jax's face said it all, but he continued anyway. "My first teacher killed the lady I loved because she was a distraction to me. My second teacher tried to take my head in my sleep. I don't trust anybody anymore, except myself. I gamble, I cheat, I steal." Jax stared at the counter. "And I keep moving so that I don't have to fight, because no one ever taught me very well."

 "So why did you change your mind?" Connor asked, pouring them another round of drinks. "Why did you decide to challenge me instead of moving on again?"

 Jax shifted uncomfortably. "Because I'm tired of it all. Tired of the running. Even tired of being the low-down snake-in-the-grass that I know I am."

 "It's never too late to change," Connor said sagely. "You just have to be willing to make the change." Connor paused, weighing his words. He selected a key from under the bar and held it out to Jax. "Take a room upstairs for the night," he said, nodding toward the open staircase at the back of the saloon. "I'm leaving you with the offer of being your teacher. Sleep on it, think it over. You can give me your answer when you're ready."

 Jax reluctantly took the key from Connor's hand. "Why should I trust you?" he asked, eyeing Connor warily.

 Connor shrugged. "You don't have to. Just as I don't have to trust you. But if you're looking to change, looking to stop running, and looking to learn how to fight better, I might be able to give you that chance. You've heard my philosophies tonight, it's up to you. Sleep on it, and let me know in the morning." Connor picked up his sword and coat and headed for the door Elisabeth had disappeared through. "Good evening, Mr. Emory." Connor shut the door behind him and locked it securely. He headed up the narrow staircase to his personal apartments, leaving his katana and coat in his bedroom before checking in on Elisabeth.

 "You're still awake," Connor observed, sitting down on the edge of Elisabeth's bed.

 She shrugged. "I can't sleep. It's too hot."

 Connor stood up and opened the screened-over window further. "That's as far as it goes, Lizzie. There's just not much of a breeze tonight. Not a cool one, anyway." He returned to her bed. "Now tell me what's really bothering you," he said with a smile, looking into her face.

 "That man doesn't like you. But you said he was your friend."

 Your sensitivity to these things still astound me, child. Connor's smile widened, and he patted her hand. "He's a new friend, Liz. He's still learning to trust. But I think he's a good man at heart." Connor brushed the hair from her forehead and gave her a fatherly kiss. "Do you want me to read you to sleep?" Elisabeth shook her head. "A hug?" She nodded, and they embraced.

 "Connor?"

 "Yes?" He looked at her quizzically as she laid back down on the bed.

 "I love you."

 Connor smiled. "I love you too, Lizzie. Now go to sleep."

 Jax smiled as Connor finished. "She was a great kid, wasn't she?"

 Connor nodded. "I didn't have enough time with her," he said wistfully.

 "What do you mean?" Guin asked.

 "They found family of hers back East. They took her from me in 1876. That's when I decided to leave Tucson." Connor's introspective face told Guin he still mourned the loss of his family. "We kept in touch for a while, but the separation was very painful."

 Jax nodded. "I remember the look on your face when you had to say goodbye. Both of your faces, actually. That was a miserable day." Jax threw an arm around Connor's shoulders. "But this man was the best teacher I ever had," he said proudly. "He taught me a lot, and I'm talking a great deal more than swordfighting."

 Connor shrugged as he turned a shade of red. "I don't think I did anything special. You did it all yourself. But that fire...that was the turning point for you, my friend."

 "Fire?" Guin asked as they finally turned around and headed back toward the mission. "C'mon, spill it. Inquiring minds want to know."

 Connor laughed. "All right, all right...it was about seven months after Jax and I met. He accepted my offer to be his teacher, and I had given him a job as a bartender. We were working in the saloon, and business was slowing down for the evening..."

Tucson, March, 1875

 Connor stepped outside with a sigh. The saloon had been busy, and this was the first chance he'd gotten for a breath of fresh air. The days were getting warmer, but the nights still had a definite chill to them. Connor wasn't looking forward to another Tucson summer, but he had come to like the town and its people. Elisabeth had made a lot of friends here as well, and he couldn't bear to take her away from that. And then there was Jax, who was learning not only how to fence better, but how to trust, and how to be an honest man. Connor was proud of Jax's progress in all of these areas.

 Connor caught a flicker of light in the corner of his eye, and turned to see flames leaping from a building a couple of streets down. He stuck his head inside the saloon doors. "Fire!" he shouted to the men inside. "I think it's the McAndrews place." The men abandoned their liquor and jostled their way outside, Jax taking up the rear and closing the door behind him. "Come on," Connor urged him, pushing him as they ran toward the flaming building. "I have a bad feeling about this."

 The fire at the McAndrews home had intensified by the time they arrived, despite the bucket brigade assembling to put it out. Connor caught up to Mrs. McAndrews, who was in hysterics. He attempted to calm her down. "My children," she finally choked out. "Michael and Laura are still upstairs." Despite their comparative youth, Elisabeth had adopted the five- and six-year-old McAndrews children as playmates.

 "No one's gone in for them yet?" Connor asked. She shook her head. Connor and Jax looked at each other and nodded. "We're going in," Connor told her calmly. "We'll get them out."

 Connor quickly grabbed two horse blankets from the barn and soaked them in a standing bucket of water. He handed one to Jax, and they wrapped themselves in the blankets. "Ready?" Connor asked. Jax nodded, and they ran into the burning building.

 The stairs had scattered flames dancing on them, and the pair could hear the children crying somewhere above. "Laura? Michael?" Connor called up as he began to climb the steps. "Can you get to the stairs?" The children came into sight as Laura tugged her younger brother after her. "Good girl," Connor told her, then pulled the blanket around him and rushed through the flames to the head of the stairs. Jax followed close behind. "You take Laura," Connor told him, "I'll get Michael." The men wrapped the children in the blankets and, holding the children tightly, dashed back down the stairs and through the nearly-engulfed ground floor to the doorway. A cheer went up as the men ran out into the night air.

 Mrs. McAndrews rushed over, embracing her children as Connor and Jax let them go. The two men patted out some still-smoldering spots on their clothing, watching the ongoing attempts to put the fire out. "How can I repay you?" Mrs. McAndrews asked the two men.

 Connor shook his head. "We don't need repaying, ma'am."

 "But you saved my babies, there must be something my family can do for you gentlemen..."

 "We're just glad they're safe. And Mr. McAndrews will be too, when he gets back into town. That's all we can ask for." Connor looked over at Jax, who nodded. The pair turned to help with the firefighting, but were turned away.

 "Go home, you two, you've done your part," said Charles Smith, a frequent patron of the saloon. "We'll probably be giving up on this soon anyway. The fire will just have to burn itself out, I think. It's too big."

 Reluctantly Connor and Jax walked back to the saloon, once in a while glancing back at the burning building. Jax shook his head periodically. "What's wrong?" Connor asked.

 Jax turned his face to Connor, his eyes shining. "We saved lives tonight." Connor nodded, waiting for Jax to continue. "Don't you understand?" Jax's enthusiasm was overflowing. "We saved lives. With what we are, we have to prepare so much to take lives, and to lose those around us...but tonight, tonight we kept lives from being lost."

 Connor smiled. "That's a new feeling for you, isn't it?"

 Jax nodded, his face reddening slightly. "I suppose it is. Does it always feel this good to give back to someone something they'd thought they'd lost?"

 "Well I haven't been around that long," Connor laughed as he clasped Jax on the shoulder, "but from my experience, yes."

The present

 "That was a turning point," Jax agreed. "I knew what it meant to give hope. That's why I'm doing what I do now. My stint as a photographer, and my one as a saloon keeper, were all right I suppose. But to reinforce hope and faith through my work here is very rewarding."

 "So what about that photograph? How did that come about?" Guin asked.

 Jax laughed. "A man came into town with photographic equipment, and I sort of adopted him, whether he liked it or not. I was very interested in this relatively new thing. He was taking some photographs of the mission, and Connor and I followed him out here one day. He and Connor were talking, while I was trying to find the right distance and focus for the camera. They didn't even know I'd taken the picture."

 Connor shook his head with a laugh. "And did I look awful that day or what?"

 "Well, you were in your traveling gear," Jax grinned. "And it was a dusty trek between what was Tucson and the mission. But it's a pretty darned good picture if you ask me."

 The three had come back to the front of the chapel. "We should be going," Connor said with chagrin. "But now that I know where you are, I'll be sure to come back for a visit."

 Jax held out his hand. "You're welcome any time." The two men shook hands, then pulled each other into an embrace. "God bless," Jax told them, making the Sign of the Cross over them.

 "Thank you," Connor responded. "Take care of yourself, Jax." Connor tipped an imaginary hat as Guin took his arm and they walked back to the parking lot.

 "Wow," Guin said quietly as they settled into the car again.

 "What?" Connor asked.

 "I just have a whole new perspective on you," she answered. "I mean, Duncan had said a few things about you as a teacher, but this...wow."

 Connor shrugged. "I didn't do anything, he did it all himself."

 "But you gave him that chance, Connor. If he'd run into some greedy, power- hungry Immortal instead of you, he would've been headless a long time ago. And from what I've seen, that would've been a loss to the world."

 "Well, he changed my life too. He kept me from despairing too much when they took Lizzie away. And I trusted him enough that I gave the saloon to him when I left." Connor took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "He was a good friend. Good family."

 Guin turned the engine and pulled out of the parking lot. "Did you ever see Elisabeth again?"

 Connor shook his head. "No." He gazed out the window, deep in thought, as Guin turned down San Xavier Road and got back on the freeway. Finally he spoke. "When I came upon Elisabeth's family's wagon, I was sure there were no survivors. I only stopped to find out what I could, in case anyone was looking for them. Lizzie was so weak, but she made all the noise she could muster when she heard me." Connor smiled faintly. "She was a fighter. But very sensitive too. She could see things in people that no one else could." He laughed gently. "She read me like a book from the moment she saw me...but she trusted me instantly."

 "Did she know about your Immortality?"

 Connor shook his head again. "She was too young to explain it to then. And I didn't want to put anything like that in written form afterward, it was -- is -- too dangerous." Guin nodded. "She knew I was teaching Jax to fence in the cellar. And I think she sensed that there was something different about us. But we never talked about it." Connor sighed. "We talked about everything but that. She was a sweet, kind child. And she grew into a lovely, sympathetic woman, who won over the heart of a nice young man and had a wonderful family. I only regret not being able to be there for her as she got older, but how could I have explained living so long? In fact, it was only 40 years ago that she died." He frowned. "It's been too long since I visited Elisabeth Aufmuth's grave."

 Guin stiffened. "Who?"

 "Elisabeth Aufmuth. That was her married name."

 "Connor, Aufmuth was my mother's maiden name. And from what I've found, it's not that common. I was always interested in my ancestry, and I didn't memorize any names too far back, but my mother's great-grandmother's name was Elisabeth Aufmuth. And she died in 1953, at 85 years old." Guin glanced over at him while trying to keep her attention on the road. "If that means what I think it means, I owe my existence to you saving my great-great-grandmother's life."

 Connor shrugged, reaching over to stroke her cheek. "That would explain why you seemed so familiar, with her sensitivity and compassion. And her feistiness." Connor grinned as he studied Guin's face. "There's even something of her in your eyes and face..."

 "Stop it. Stop it now. You're scaring me." Guin shook her head. "This just can't be. It's too weird."

 "It's weird that you resemble her?"

 "No...argh...you know what I mean!" Guin sighed, frustrated. "It's just too weird that you rescued a woman who gave birth to the man who fathered the man who fathered my mother. That's just...weird. Warped. Bizarre."

 "No stranger than me being Immortal." Connor furrowed his brow at her. "What's wrong with it?"

 Guin grimaced. "It's kind of...well...it's like I'm sleeping with my great-great-great-grandfather."

 Connor burst out laughing. "Now that's a different way of looking at it." Connor finished his bout of laughter and shook his head, his smile remaining. "Don't think of me as her father, then. Just a friend who helped her out. No kissing cousins here."

 "I'm glad I amused you," Guin said sarcastically.

 "Guin, don't be like that," he scolded. "You know what I mean. It's not like I messed around with her. She was ten, for God's sake."

 "That wasn't what I was thinking, Connor. But I was thinking...well...it's like I owe you, on her behalf."

 Connor shook his head. "You have no obligation to me because of Elisabeth. I may have literally saved her life, but she more than repaid me with her own gifts." He smiled broadly. "And now she's more than repaid me with the gift of her descendants."

 Guin blushed. "Where to now?" she changed the subject.

 "Wherever you want to go, Lizzie...I mean Guin." Connor laughed evily.

 "Doooon't!" she whined, making a face at him. "Or I'll take you out into the desert and leave you there."

 "I didn't think there was anyplace that far from civilization these days."

 "There are a few," she replied. "Most aren't that far though, you're right." Guin thought for a moment. "I know where I can take you that's not so touristy -- out beyond the western mountains of the valley. I got lost out there once. Drove for two hours before I found my way back to Tucson." She chuckled.

 "I take it you didn't get scared?" Connor raised an eyebrow at her.

 "Nah. I knew which general direction I needed to go to get back. I was just enjoying being out for a while." Guin pursed her lips. "We can find a place on Ina to eat lunch, and then head straight west from there -- that will get us on the first leg of the journey." Guin took the Ina exit and turned eastward -- "where most of the civilization is," she explained to him. As they waited at an intersection, Guin squealed with delight.

 "What?" Connor asked, puzzled.

 Guin pointed to a sign at the side of the road. "The Celtic Festival and Highland Games are on Saturday. Can we go?" She gave him a pleading look.

 Connor shrugged. "Of course, if you want to."

 "I've gone the past couple of years, I always have a good time. Albeit this time it'll probably make me homesick. But it's an interesting experience. The Scot descendants around here are really into it, kilts and all."

 "Damn, I knew I forgot to pack something." Connor grinned.

 "Very funny, wise guy. I'm not kidding about leaving you out in the middle of nowhere, so you'd better behave yourself." Guin stuck her tongue out at him.

 "Yes ma'am."

 After a hearty Mexican food lunch, the pair headed west on Ina Road, watching as it narrow to two lanes, bordered by electrical poles and other minimal signs of civilization. As the road petered out, Guin turned south, where the houses were somewhat less scattered for a while. Soon they too became scarce, however, and the scenery turned to majestic saguaros, spindly cholla, towering ocotillo and willowy palo verde trees littering the desert expanses and towering mountains. "This is more of what I remember," Connor said quietly. "Without the road, of course, but this is...familiar."

 The afternoon was spent wandering destinationlessly around the various roads in and around Saguaro National Park West, stopping at several designated pull-off spots just to quietly take in the scenery. At their final stop, Guin gazed up at the saguaros clinging to the mountainside, the rays of sun fanning out behind the stone peaks. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. "It's not Skye, but it's got its own kind of magic." She looked over at Connor, then snapped her fingers. "Sabino Canyon. I knew I forgot something we ought to go see. We'll have to fit it in on Sunday."

 Connor laughed. "You plan too much."

 "We've only got a certain amount of time here, I want to re-visit everything that's important to me." She shrugged. "I'm gonna squeeze it all in. So sue me."

 "I guess I can live with that."

 The sun was beginning to set, heavily streaking the high clouds with a shimmering rose color, a contrast to the slats of deep blue sky. Guin and Connor watched silently as the colors blended, muting to a soft aqua before giving up their tint to the navy-blue darkness dotted with starlight and invaded by the light of a quarter moon.

 Guin sighed, and Connor looked down at her. "Ready to go?" She nodded, and they got in the car, turning it back toward the glittering lights of Tucson.

"I don't believe we're here," Connor grumbled as they walked around Old Tucson Studios, accompanied by Guin's friends Wyn, David and Jim.

 "Shh," Guin whispered in warning. "Behave. It isn't my favorite place, but I want to be with my friends." Connor fell silent, but Guin noted his disapproving eye roving over the "old" buildings -- many of which were actually quite new, after a fire only a few years earlier had destroyed a section of the Old West-style film studio and tourist attraction. The new structures had been weathered to look old and fit in with the buildings that had survived, but from the unimpressed expression on Connor's face, Guin knew that he didn't think any of it was very authentic-looking.

 Wyn frowned as she gestured toward the playground and amusement attractions. "That didn't used to be here," she said contemptuously. "It makes it seem so un-serious. I know, I know, it's more of a tourist attraction than anything else, but I would think that it would take even more away from it as an Old West movie set."

 Connor smiled triumphantly at Guin, and she elbowed him. "If you look at old pictures," he said, throwing his significant other a dirty glance, "Tucson didn't ever really look like this."

 Wyn raised her eyebrows. "Are you a historian, Connor?"

 Connor shook his head as Guin sunk her teeth into her lip, biting back a smile. "Not really," he replied. "I'm interested in lots of different things."

 "Well, your beau is full of surprises, isn't he?" Wyn directed at Guin.

 "Oh yeah." Guin finally let her smile break as she wrapped her arms around Connor. "Chock full of surprises."

 "At least they've still got the gunfights," Wyn continued, oblivious to the silent communication between Guin and Connor. "That's what I like coming out here for. Although they don't start falling from the roofs and such til later in the afternoon."

 "Yeah, those are fun to watch," Guin replied, watching Connor struggle to keep from rolling his eyes. "You two are quiet today," she said to Jim and David, who were walking a few steps ahead of them.

 Jim shrugged, and David flashed them a warning look. Wyn leaned over to Guin and Connor and whispered, "He's been like this since Wednesday. Hardly says a word to anybody, just keeps his head down and avoids everybody. He even tried to back out of coming here."

 "He's grieving, Wyn," Guin whispered back. "Let him be. I'm not exactly feeling happy all over myself, I can't imagine what he's going through."

 Wyn frowned. "We were just trying to cheer him up for a little bit by bringing him here. I guess it wasn't such a good idea."

 Guin took her friend's hand. "It was a good try, Wyn. He just wasn't ready for it."

 "I don't want to even fathom the thought of losing David that way," Wyn said quietly. "I can't imagine losing anyone I loved that much."

 Guin looked up at Connor, who gazed down at her with a reassuring smile and gave her a gentle squeeze. "I could imagine it, but I wouldn't want to live it." Guin released Connor and caught up with Jim as David dropped back to walk with his wife. "How's it going?" she asked, wrapping an arm around her friend's shoulders.

 Jim shrugged. "Okay."

 "We haven't forgotten her," Guin said quietly. "And neither should you. But you should try to have a bit of fun. She'd want you to stay happy, so that you stay mentally healthy."

 Jim nodded. "It's just tough."

 "I know." Guin gave his shoulders a squeeze. "I lit a candle for her at San Xavier yesterday."

 "Yeah?" Jim looked up at her, offering the first smile she'd seen from him that day. "Sabrina liked that place. She'd appreciate that."

 "I'm sure she does appreciate it," Guin said with a smile. "And that she wants you to give your friends here a chance to do something nice for you."

 Jim shook his head, but grinned. "You knew her better than just about anyone, Guinnie, I suppose you'd know what she'd want." He sighed. "She really missed you when you left."

 Guin bowed her head. "If I had known how precious time was, I would've stayed."

 "No, no regrets now," Jim admonished her. "She'd want you to be happy, and God knows this town and some of the people you knew were getting to you." He laughed. "When you e-mailed her about this cool guy you'd met who wore a kilt for you and took you on a horseback ride and romantic picnic, she squealed and shouted and danced around the room. Every step of your relationship, she was happy for you. Sabrina knew good things were waiting for you in Scotland. That's why she didn't tell you how serious things were."

 "You mean she lied to me about the cancer being in remission?" Guin tilted her head, her eyes serious.

 Jim nodded. "I was instructed not to tell you too much about her condition either, so you wouldn't worry. There's nothing you could have done anyway, except fret over her, and you know Sabrina -- she wouldn't have stood for that."

 Guin sighed heavily. "I wish I'd known, Jim. I kept putting off calling, thinking things were all right. I would have liked to have really been able to talk to her one last time." Guin wiped a stray tear from her eye. "She was precious to me too."

 "I'm sorry, Guinnie. I didn't want to break my promise to Brina, but I can see now that I should have." Jim lowered his eyes.

 "It's okay, Jim. I can understand why you didn't. I forgive you both. You know me too well, to know I'd fret that much. She knew what was in my heart anyway." Guin gave him a gentle squeeze, then slowed down for the others to catch up as they came to the main street. Still holding on to Jim, she reached back for Connor. Taking her hand, Connor walked up beside her.

 "Aren't you lucky," Wyn teased her, "dual escorts." Motioning toward the growing crowd, Wyn said, "The gunfight is about to begin. This crowd's going to get hectic. If we lose each other, let's meet back by that restaurant over there." Jim unwrapped himself from Guin and followed Wyn and David into the growing audience.

 "I think we've just been surreptitiously ditched," Guin said with a laugh. "Actually, I know they just want to sneak the best look they can get at the fight -- even if it means abandoning us 'adults' to do so."

 "You worked wonders with Jim," Connor noted quietly.

 Guin sighed. "I knew those two almost as well as I know anyone -- nearly as well as I know Claire, or you. They've been inseparable since I met them. I was Sabrina's maid of honor at their wedding, and I was supposed to be the Godmother to their children. They're the brother and sister that my own family never supplied me. So if I can remind Jim that he needs to smile now and then, and that his happiness doesn't mean he's forgotten her, then I'm doing what I came here for."

 Connor smiled, his gaze taking her in fully. "Have I told you lately how remarkable you are?" he said, wrapping his arms around her from behind and pulling her close.

 The sounds of gunfire cut Guin's response short. The pair turned their attention toward the "cowboys" on the street, who were shooting, dropping, rolling, playing dead. "Real gunfights were a lot less fun -- and a lot messier," Connor said with a snort. "Bullet holes, blood..." Amused, Guin raised an eyebrow at him. "Not that I'd know from personal experience," he said with a sly smile, shaking his head. "Not at all."

 The group met back at the designated restaurant, where Connor learned much about Guin's pre-Scotland life. The group had met in college: Wyn and Sabrina had worked with Guin in a video rental store. Both women had been engaged when she met them, and Guin had participated in the weddings of both couples. Mary -- who had verbally attacked Guin at Sabrina's funeral -- had frequented the store, and was also a customer of the typing service Guin and Sabrina had started. The group of six -- including both couples and the two single women -- had been drawn together by a mutual love of role-playing games, good books and deep thinking. Eventually Mary's true self-serving nature began to reveal itself, but they kept tolerating her, hoping she'd change through their association.

 "We should have known," Wyn said, barely-veiled anger in her voice. "Her trying to tap into Guinnie's good fortune was the last straw for most of us."

 "Except Brina," Jim said quietly. "She forgave very easily...too easily, sometimes."

 "She may have been forgiving, but she didn't trust easily," Guin broke in. "Half the things she told me, she'd add that she was surprised she'd told me."

 "She knew she could trust you, Guinnie," Jim responded. "You two were pretty connected...you liked the same books, the same music. She knew you thought like she did, I think that's why she opened up to you." Jim broke into a smile. "And if she'd ever been Mary's roommate like you were, I'm sure she would have felt the way you do about Mary."

 Connor, who had listened quietly up to this point, spoke up. "You roomed with Mary?" he asked incredulously.

 Guin nodded. "A while before the money incident, but yeah. In the dorm. That's when I found out about her borrowing habits."

 "And her sex habits," Wyn threw in.

 "Yeah." Guin laughed cynically. "She and her boyfriends did it on just about every horizontal surface in our room. I guess I'm glad I never found out whether they borrowed my bed too."

 "Don't say that, Guinnie!" Wyn shuddered. "I don't even want to think about that. Bad enough some of the evidence you did find."

 "Mmm hmm. That's an era I'd rather not re-live." Guin twitched her lips. "New subject, anyone?"

 "Your name," Connor spoke up again. "Why was Guinevere so popular with you?"

 Guin bit her lip in thought. "I really don't know," she confessed truthfully. "I was never into Arthurian legend -- in fact, I greatly disliked that Guinevere -- but I've always liked the name. So almost all my role-playing characters got that name. Then these clowns started calling me Guinevere, then Guinnie, as a tease -- but it stuck. So I honored my family of friends when I chose my new name."

 "And Barnes?" Connor asked curiously.

 "Think bookstore." Wyn grinned.

 "You know I'm a bookmonger," Guin said as she blushed.

 Connor nodded with a smile. "It fits you."

 "She's been Guinnie to most of us for so long," Wyn added, "that sometimes we forget she even has another name."

 "It's a weird name for this day and age," Guin admitted. "But now it feels very 'me.'"

 "And well it should," David finally spoke up. "I think the glory of the name reflects your beautiful nature. You haven't changed in the ways that count, Guinnie. And for that, we're all grateful."

 "Amen," Jim added. "You're still the wonderful person we've all grown to love."

 Guin blushed deeply. "Stop that."

 Wyn shook her head. "Nope, can't stop now." She raised her glass. "A toast to Guinevere Barnes, may her own happiness be as great as the joy she's brought to us."

 "Hear, hear." The group raised their cups as Guin turned a deeper shade of red.

The clouds had begun to move in during their last hour or so at Old Tucson, and the wind was blowing hard by the time they arrived back at the hotel. Guin and Connor opted for making a cozy evening in front of the television. Guin flipped on the television to the news as Connor went into the bedroom to exchange his boots for sneakers. Suddenly Guin's frantic voice called out: "Connor, come here, quick!"

 Connor dashed into the foreroom, where the TV was showing scenes of San Xavier. "Early this morning, monks from the San Xavier Mission discovered the body and severed head of one of their brothers in front of the souvenir shops across from the mission," the reporter informed them. "No motive has been discovered for this senseless slaying. Although many of the windows in the shops were broken, nothing appears to have been stolen. If you were in this area last night or have any information on this case, please contact the Tucson Police Department..."

 Connor slowly sunk onto the sofa next to Guin. "Jax," he said quietly. "Oh Jax." Guin reached over for his hand, and he grasped her fingers tightly. Connor closed his eyes and took several deep breaths. Guin shifted to sit up on her legs, then drew his head to her shoulder, cradling him against her as the news droned on to more mundane subjects. Gently smoothing back his hair, Guin kissed Connor's brow as he wrapped his arms around her. "Why would anyone take Jax's head?" he asked sadly.

 "Some greedy bastard out for power," Guin replied.

 Connor shook his head. "Why bother with him, and having to lure him off Holy Ground? Some other Immortal might have been easier to take."

 "Who knows. Maybe it wasn't so hard. Maybe Jax thought it was a friendly Immortal."

 "Maybe Jax thought it was me." Connor huffed out a breath through his nostrils. "If I had anything to do with his death..."

 "Don't, Connor, don't," Guin hushed him. "You can't blame yourself, just because you happened to be in town."

 "If I ever find the person responsible for this, he won't keep his head for long." The fury shone in Connor's eyes as he finally raised his head.

 Guin shook her finger at him. "Don't you dare get too infuriated and lose your focus. I prefer you with your head intact."

 Connor stood up and began to pace, his face drawn and his eyes intense. After a few minutes, he grabbed his coat and the car keys.

 "Where are you going?" Guin stood up and put her hands on her hips.

 "Out." Connor stepped to the door.

 Guin sighed in exasperation. "Connor?"

 "What?" He stopped, but avoided looking at her as he put his hand on the doorknob.

 "Just be careful, okay?" The worry echoed in Guin's voice.

 Connor looked over his shoulder, giving Guin a once-over glance before nodding. "I will."

 Guin paced the room for a half-hour after Connor left, finally settling herself down in front of the television. She ordered a light meal and a bottle of wine from room service, but left most of the food untouched. Connor couldn't possibly find this Immortal among the hundreds of thousands of people in the Tucson area... could he? Guin thought to herself as she sipped her chardonnay. At least he has his coat, which means he has his sword, but still...he's upset, so he's vulnerable. Guin lost herself in the mindless entertainment of television, the wine that was slowly but steadily disappearing from the bottle helping her along toward a sort of oblivion. The wind continued to howl outside, but the rain that had been threatening to pour down only drizzled on and off. At 10 p.m. she turned the news back on, hoping for some further information on the San Xavier murder, even as it pained her to listen to the story repeat itself. The only new item revealed was simply a confirmation that "Brother Matthew" had been the victim. Guin flipped off the television set and wearily went to bed.

 It was several hours later when Guin felt Connor roll into bed. She opened her eyes, only to find herself staring at Connor's back. Guin wrapped an arm around his waist and nuzzled his neck. "How ya doin', sweetheart?" she whispered, kissing his jawline.

 Connor played with her fingers before lifting her hand to his lips and kissing her palm. "I'm sorry."

 "Nothing to be sorry for." Guin curled around him. "You're just doing what you need to, in order to grieve. Nothing wrong with that." She pressed her lips to his shoulder. "Did you go hunting?" she asked seriously.

 Connor shook his head. "Just drove. Sat out in the desert for a while, watched the rain."

 "Sometimes you just need to be alone with your thoughts. Especially in times like these. I've been there myself, recently." Guin rubbed his back gently. "But sometimes you need to be with others, too."

 Connor glanced at her over his shoulder, then turned toward her, looking deep into her eyes but remaining silent. He drew her into his embrace, breathing softly into her hair. Guin tilted her head up and pressed her lips to his, kissing him gently at first, then more deeply as Connor responded to her prompting. "Would you like to make love?" she asked quietly, pulling him closer to her. Connor responded with a deep, passionate kiss. "I take it that's a yes," she giggled.

The sun shone brightly in the cloudless sapphire sky, providing a day that was unusually warm for early November, even for Tucson -- and a complete turnaround of the weather of the night before. It was a perfect setting for the Celtic Festival and Highland Games -- food booths, athletic events, tent after tent of Scottish, Irish and Welsh-related items. Guin looked down the first row of tents. "They've got all things Celtic, but it's mostly Scottish," she told Connor with a broad grin. He just smiled faintly and nodded. Guin had let him sleep in after his late night out, rolling him out of bed with just enough time to shower and dress before they had to leave in order to arrive in time for the noontime opening ceremonies. Guin watched Connor waver in the breeze, staying cool in his light shirt and khaki pants. "Not quite awake yet, are you?" she teased.

 Connor's smile grew wider, and he shook his head. "I'll get there, eventually." He let Guin draw him down the row, patiently standing by as she looked at the wares for sale: kilts, clan pins, tartan ties and sashes, clan history books. More generic items included bumper stickers, rings and necklaces, t-shirts and sweaters. Who is insane enough to wear wool in Tucson? he wondered mildly, his mind drifting as he looked over the items that did not hold his interest. Out of the milling voices, one caught his attention.

 "Heather!" a man's voice called across the campus, sounding quite familiar. "Hea-ther! Come see what I've found!"

"Hea-ther!" Connor called out across the hills surrounding his Highland home as he dismounted from his horse. "Hea-ther!"

 "Connor, I'm here!" Connor affectionately watched the aging woman climb the hill, a lamb cradled in her arms...

"Hey." Guin tugged his arm. Connor looked down at her, startled. "Wake up, sleepyhead."

 "I'm awake," he said grumpily.

 "Sor-ry," she said, sarcasm dripping from her phrasing. Connor flashed Guin a dirty look, but said nothing. "I told you if you didn't want to come, you didn't have to..."

 "I didn't say I didn't want to come." Connor put his arm around her, affectionately leaning his temple against hers. "Maybe I'm not as awake as I thought. C'mon, there's more to look at over there."

 Guin shook her head. "The opening ceremonies are about to finish. See, the pipers and drummers are lining up. Nothing like that sound in the world. The speeches I could care less about, but I'm not missing the music." The pair walked back to the grandstand and stage, where the last speaker was concluding his droning. Taking their cue, the musicians shifted their instruments into place. Marching in on the far side of the stage, they made the circuit around the front and then toward the place where Connor and Guin were standing. The pounding but melodic march of "Scotland the Brave," growing louder as the band approached, sent Guin's blood rushing through her veins. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, as if she could inhale the sound further into her body. Connor's eyes were open, but like his mind, they were hundreds of miles -- and years -- away.

The wind whipped in the clan banners, stirring the grasses and dust on the open battlefield. "Death to the MacLeods!" The call rang out across the plain, followed by shouts from both sides as the Frasers and MacLeods rushed to meet in battle. Pipes chanted and droned as the shouts and screams of men and the clash of weapons added to the surreal cacaphony. The dull clang of metal on metal echoed around him, but no Fraser approached Connor MacLeod, no matter how he challenged them. "Nobody will fight me," he said, disappointed. "They all run away."

 "Great, laddie, stay by me!" Dugal shouted to him as he fended off another attacker.

 Connor looked up to face a dark warrior on horseback. "Mother of God," Connor whispered in shock.

 "Fight me!" the malice-filled voice of the stranger challenged him...

Guin snapped the air twice in rapid succession next to Connor's ear, and he jerked away from the sound. "Earth to Connor," she said, an irritated look on her face. "Don't disappear on me like that," she scolded harshly, wagging her finger at him.

 Connor grabbed her wrist out of the air. "Don't do that to me," he hissed, his eyes alight. "Bagpipes are bad reminders for me," he added intently as he roughly released her.

 Guin's expression turned to shock at his violent reaction. "I'm sorry." She touched his arm, but Connor just sighed and shook his head. "Really, Connor, I'm sorry. I didn't know it'd get to you this much."

 "I should have warned you." Connor shuffled his feet and took her hand gently. "Let's go find something to look at, okay?"

 The pair walked in the direction of the athletic field where the actual games were being held. An older man was walking along carrying a claymore balanced against his shoulder, the tip in his hand. "That's a fine weapon," Connor remarked to him as they neared.

 The man stopped and smiled, carefully lowering the sword into his arms. "Thank you. The company I purchased it from makes several impressive replicas."

 "I can see that," Connor replied, clasping his hands behind his back as he leaned in to examined the blade and hilt. "Nice workmanship." Even if it is duller than a butter knife, he thought, withholding a smile.

 "I would think actually doing battle with something like this would be awkward," the man said as Connor straightened up. "I suppose it's better than rocks and sticks, but it's still unwieldy and potentially dangerous to the person using it, if they didn't know what they were doing. It's amazing to think that people actually fought with this kind of weapon. Then again, I suppose you do what you have to when you're defending yourself."

 "Yes, you do what you have to," Connor repeated, his eyes glittering with amusement. "May I?" he added congenially, gesturing toward the sword.

 "Certainly." The man offered Connor the hilt, which Connor expertly gripped with both hands. His biceps flexed as he lifted the sword from the other man's hands and took a stance as if he were preparing to use it. The man was taken aback. "Are you a swordsman?" he asked, raising an eyebrow curiously.

 "I've had some experience," Connor blithely replied as he raised and lowered the tip of the claymore. "Nice balance," he remarked matter-of-factly, laying the weapon carefully back in the hands of its owner. "It's made for mock battle, rather than decoration, then?"

 The man nodded. "You know quite a bit about swords."

 Connor shrugged. "I have my hobbies." He looked over at Guin, who was biting her lip, holding back both commentary and laughter. "C'mon, let's find that vendor you were looking for." Connor turned back to the man. "Thank you."

 "You're welcome," the man said in bewilderment as Connor and Guin walked away. Connor broke into a wide smile as they moved into the aisle of vendor tents.

 "You are so cruel," Guin finally said, her smile as broad as Connor's. "I think you scared that man half to death."

 "Nah, I was just talking to him about his weapon."

 Guin shook her head. "And you could have told him a million other things about that sword, and he knew it, too. He knew you were downplaying your knowledge."

 Connor shrugged. "Sometimes it's better to hide your gifts. Even Ramirez said so."

 Sudden head movements from Connor, Guin had learned through experience, were generally a bad thing. His eyes roving across the crowd confirmed her suspicions: there was another Immortal around here somewhere. And this wasn't Holy Ground. This time, however, there was no eye contact with another. Connor shifted uneasily as the sensation faded, the source moving out of range. He shook his head.

 Guin looked up at him, raising her eyebrows at his look of consternation. "Well?"

 Connor shook his head. "They moved away, I can't feel them anymore," he said quietly, his eyes still combing the people milling around the vendor tents. "They wouldn't do anything here anyway," he said evenly. "Too many people. The most I'd get is a challenge." He shrugged nonchalantly. "No big deal."

 Guin gave a brief laugh as she threw him a dubious look. "I know you better than that."

 "What do you mean?"

 Guin crossed her arms. "You're still worried. You're just trying to reassure me." She smiled. "And it ain't working."

 "I'd just like to know who it is. Friend or foe." Shrugging again, Connor added, "It doesn't matter now. Let's just enjoy ourselves, we can worry about him or her later." They walked toward an exhibition of old military weapons, some of which were being prepared to fire.

 "This should be interesting," Guin remarked casually as they lined up with other observers along the field's sidelines.

 Connor nodded warily. "Interesting is the right word," he said sarcastically. Connor motioned toward one of the weapons. "Gatling gun," he said simply. "An early machine gun. A repeating cannon, really."

 "Begin!" one of the men on the field shouted out. The cacophony started with the Gatling gun noisily spattering off its rounds, punctuated by the occasional cannon roar.

 Connor tucked his hands deep into his pockets to keep from covering his ears and blocking out the noise. Still, he winced at every blast and shot that was fired on the field. Connor's eyes went glassy as his memory shuffled in rapid succession through all the military-type fighting he'd seen: the wars for Scottish independence under Bonnie Prince Charlie, ending brutally at Culloden Moor; the American War of Independence; the French Revolution; the Napoleonic Wars; the American Civil War; the first and second World Wars; Korea; Viet Nam; a million smaller skirmishes in between. As each flashed through his mind, Connor could hear the cannons and guns, smell the gunpowder as well as the rendered flesh, see the bodies strewn across battlefields, hear the painful cries of wounded and dying men. Battle wasn't entertainment, regardless of how hard these re-creationists tried.

 Connor snapped back to reality as the sounds ceased, and he realized Guin was looking up at him, worry written across her face. "Are you okay?" she asked, embracing him gently. Connor nodded, but said nothing. In silence they moved away from the field.

 Guin hadn't realized how tired she was until they began wandering around the vendor tents again. She glanced at her watch. "Have you had enough?" she asked Connor mildly.

 "Bored already?" he replied, raising an eyebrow.

 Guin shrugged. "Guess I get enough of this stuff at home. I got to hear my bagpipes, did my window shopping, I'm done."

 The two were walking toward the exit when Connor stopped short. Guin could tell by the way he was squeezing her hand that he was getting the buzz again. Connor's face darkened as a man's voice called out, "Connor MacLeod, where are you hiding yourself?"

 Guin face echoed her unspoken fears. Connor glanced about the crowd, then returned his unsatisfied gaze on her. "The feeling's fading again," he said quietly. "Maybe it's a coincidence, but I think that was meant to get my attention."

 "Would he confront you on the street?" Guin chewed her thumbnail nervously.

 Connor shook his head. "Probably not." But that doesn't mean I'm letting my guard down, he thought warily. "Let's get out of here before he finds me, though."

 Quickening their pace, the pair hastily walked to the car and got in. Connor locked the doors and reached into the back seat to feel for the katana tucked under his coat. Connor pulled out of the make-shift parking space along the street and headed toward now-familiar Ina Road. "Where to?" he asked.

 Guin shrugged. "Anywhere. Away from there. Away from this man stalking you." She thought a moment. "Do you think it's the same Immortal who took Jax's head?"

 "Could be." Connor took a left, heading west. "How do you feel about another desert drive?"

 "Sounds good to me," she answered, rubbing her eyes. "If he is the one who killed Jax, then..."

 "Then I'm responsible for Jax's death," Connor finished her sentence.

 "That wasn't what I was going to say," Guin said gently.

 "The idea's been rattling around in my head since we found out about his death," Connor replied quietly. "But now, I'm sure it's true."

 Guin promptly changed the subject. "You disappeared inside yourself an awful lot back there," she remarked. "Where did you go?"

 "Lots of different places." He shrugged. "Mostly drifting back to my younger days."

 "How much younger?" she taunted.

 "Much." Connor fell silent.

 "And you don't want to talk about it." Guin sighed heavily. "Why not?"

 "Sometimes the past should be left in the past. Especially when it interferes with the present."

 "You were thinking about Heather, weren't you?" She tossed out the accusation mildly.

 "Yes, I was thinking about Heather," he answered roughly. "Why do you have such a problem with that?"

 "I don't have a problem with you thinking about her," Guin replied, "I just...I have a problem with her, I guess you could say. She's been dead for four hundred years, and I'm still competing with her ghost."

 "You're not competing." Connor fought to keep his tone even. "There's nothing to compete with. You're here, she's in the past." He ground his teeth a bit and sighed, then continued. "I'm never going to forget her. Or Brenda. Or Ramirez, for that matter. Or anyone else who changed my life." He reached over and brushed her cheek with his fingers. "I'm certainly never going to forget you, either."

 Guin smiled sadly. "I'm an idiot, aren't I? Jealous of a dead woman." Guin pursed her lips. "It's just that she obviously has a real hold on your heart."

 "First of all, you're not an idiot. Don't talk about yourself like that. Second, yes, she did -- she does -- have a hold on my heart. So do you, just as strongly, but different. I love you each in your own way." Connor shrugged. "There's nothing else I can say to make you understand. You'll just have to work on making yourself understand." Guin nodded silently, losing herself in the scenery of fading civilization. Connor let the silence stretch for several minutes, then spoke up. "Let's do something tonight, just the two of us. No ghosts." He grinned.

 "Like what?"

 "Anything you want."

 "Anything?" She looked at him suspiciously. Connor just nodded, waiting for an answer. "Dinner and dancing? I know a very hip nightclub here, it may be worth a try, even on a Saturday night."

 "You're on." Connor settled into his driving as they turned south and meandered through the desert roads.

 The silence between them lingered through a quiet dinner at a small, out-of-the-way Italian restaurant. Connor was simply trying to fend off his thoughts, but Guin had remained sedately introspective through the afternoon and evening. Connor was about to worry about her when she suggested they go dancing.

 Connor hadn't understood Guin's choice of a noisy nightclub over a more serene environment -- until he watched her dance. Even on the crowded floor with the bass-laden sound system driving everyone's motions, Guin was in a world by herself, separate even from Connor. Her soul was set free by a rhythm that didn't give her time to think. No more than a foot or two from the nearest club-goers, she was obviously miles away in her mind. Connor watched her fluid motion in her tiny little space, her eyes closed, oblivious to his quiet observation. Whenever the music changed, Guin would open her eyes -- mostly checking to see that her partner was still there with her. Connor would smile at her, and she'd give a tight smile back. After the first hour, Connor wasn't sure how much more he could stand of the throbbing, noisy music. God, I am getting old, he thought to himself with a grin. Shortly thereafter, however, Guin pulled him off the dance floor. Her eyes were hollow as she looked up at him.

 "What's wrong?" Connor asked her gently, bending toward her ear so she could hear him.

 Guin shrugged. "Can we go somewhere quieter?" She looked up at him pleadingly.

 "I thought you'd never ask." He took her hand and led her out the door.

 "There's a little café down on Campbell that we can try," Guin said once they were outside.

 Connor nodded in agreement. "You've been pretty quiet," he remarked, leaving it open for her to decide whether to respond. Guin nodded, remaining silent for a long moment as they got into the car.

 "I've been thinking," she said finally, looking down at her hands folded in her lap.

 "I noticed," he responded, starting up the engine and pulling out of the parking lot. Guin sighed, but didn't continue. Connor left her to her silence, which was broken only by her instructions to the café. Not until they were inside the quiet, nouveau- Southwestern style building and seated in a secluded corner did Guin speak up again.

 "I'm sorry I've been so morose this afternoon," she said quietly, fiddling with her belt pack.

 Connor leaned toward her and put his chin in his palm. "You don't need to apologize. But if you want to talk, well, I can be a good ear. Sometimes, anyway." He smiled encouragingly, his blue eyes lighting up as she raised her eyes to meet his gaze. Guin smiled back faintly.

 "I've been thinking about Sabrina," she said, darting her eyes away from Connor's. "I miss her. I know I haven't been showing much grief..."

 "We all grieve in our own ways," Connor reassured her, taking her hand in his. "Your silence speaks volumes." Guin smiled sadly and Connor patted her hand gently. After ordering them cappuccino from the waiter, Connor prompted her: "Tell me about Sabrina."

 "What do you want to know?" Guin looked at him quizzically.

 "Anything that's important to you." Connor brought her fingers to his lips. "Embracing the memories can help dispel the grief. Or so I've learned the hard way."

 Guin thought hard a moment before beginning. "I'm not sure where to start. She was such a contradiction at times." Guin smiled. "But I guess we all are. She was beautiful, thin. Had it all, physically." Guin frowned, thinking of the cancer that had robbed Sabrina of her outer beauty -- and her life. "She was so outgoing and popular -- I was never quite sure why she had singled out Wyn and me to hang around with. Only when we got to know her better did we find out just how much that extroverted personality was hiding." Guin shook her head. "She had a lot of the same insecurities we did, a lot of the same worries. She and I, especially, had a lot of the same tastes in music and literature -- I think it reflected the similarities in our deepest thoughts, greatest fantasies and worst fears. We all were into role-playing games like Dungeons & Dragons because it allowed us to be whatever we wanted for a while: strong, daring, brave, silly, whatever. But Sabrina and I...we supported each other in ways few could fathom -- long midnight phone calls filled with despair and fears. We talked each other out of our trees many a night. I guess you could have called us co-dependent." Guin sighed. "Claire and I are like that too, sort of, but we share a broader range of experiences and feelings, not just the ones that bring us down. Sabrina was the one I called when I despaired of ever finding anyone to share my life with. That's why she was so excited about you and me." Guin looked up into Connor's intently listening face and grinned. "This reminds me of our first date at the Soaring Eagle. You hung on every word I said. I thought your attentions were just a fluke, or a ploy to get me to like you, although I was hoping you were sincere."

 "Everything you say interests me," Connor replied with a smile.

 Guin shrugged. "With all your experiences, I'd have thought you would have heard it all."

 "If I've learned anything, it's that you've never heard it all." His smile widened. "Besides, I like the way you say things, even if I have heard them before."

 "That's it, dear, keep sucking up. You'll win me over eventually." She grinned as she patted his cheek. The waiter set their cappuccino down and left them to their quiet corner. "But seriously...on to other subjects...what are you going to do about this guy following you?"

 Connor shrugged. "I'll have to confront him, eventually." Connor drank his coffee thoughtfully. "Better sooner than later."

 Guin nodded, squeezing his hand. "Do what you have to do. I'm behind you. Just be careful."

 "I always am. But you'll worry about me anyway, won't you?" Connor tauntingly raised an eyebrow at her, and she gave him a sheepish grin back. "Let's find a better subject, shall we?"

 Connor and Guin talked late into the evening, and didn't arrive back at the hotel until half past eleven. Connor picked up their singular message from the desk, only glancing at it before they arrived back at the room.

 "Who's the note from?" Guin finally asked as she shut the door behind her.

 "Says he's a friend of Duncan's. He wants to meet me tonight." Connor surveyed the directions scribbled on the note. "One of the Pima Canyon trail heads...nice and secluded."

 "But Duncan doesn't even know we're here." Guin frowned. "You're not actually going to go out to meet this guy now, are you? What if he's an Immortal?"

 Connor shrugged. "I can protect myself."

 "But what if it's the guy who got Jax?" she asked fretfully.

 "Then I'll take care of him." Connor looked into Guin's worried face. "It's not that big of a deal, Guin."

 Guin frowned. "It is to me." She sighed. "You don't have to meet him, you know. You're going out on his terms. God knows what's waiting for you out there."

 Connor tucked the katana into the folds of his trenchcoat. "I have to find out who this is, at least. I'll be fine." He stroked her cheek. "But if not..."

 "I know," she interrupted with a frown. "I know where all the paperwork is tucked away in your suitcase. Don't remind me. Just come back safe, okay?"

Connor could feel the hair stand up on the back of his neck as he drove up the dark path that was Christie Drive, weaving up toward the Pima Canyon trailhead that lay at the far end. As Connor parked near the road's end behind a dark-colored Accord -- the only other car present -- the sharp wave of an Immortal buzz hit him. The parking area at the trailhead was closed for the evening, blocked off by a metal gate, and perched on this gate was a lone figure in a long coat. "Connor MacLeod," the stranger called out, more statement than challenge, as he nonchalantly leapt to the ground.

 "Maybe I am and maybe I'm not," Connor said warily, quickly drawing his katana from his trench coat.

 "Have it your way. Whatever you want to go by is fine with me." The figure shrugged, balancing the blade of his Ivanhoe against his shoulder like an umbrella handle, the steel form glinting in the sparse light. The stranger ambled toward Connor, finally stepping into a slant of dim moonlight to reveal his short, dark hair and cat-like gold-flecked eyes. "But you are related to Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod, are you not?" He quirked an eyebrow upward.

 Connor narrowed his eyes. "And you are...?"

 Still several feet away, the figure extended his hand. "Adam Pierson. Pleased to make your acquaintance." Connor stared suspiciously at the stranger, unmoving. "Duncan hasn't mentioned me then? What a shame."

 "He's mentioned you," Connor said shortly. "So what do you want with me?"

 "Well, if you think I'm here to challenge you, you're mad." Adam shifted, settling the point of the Ivanhoe on the ground.

 "Then what are you here for?" Connor asked, cautiously lowering his katana.

 "Jax was a friend of mine as well," Adam responded quietly. "I was talking to him Thursday -- not long after you, in fact -- and he mentioned your name."

 "Did you kill him?" Connor growled.

 Adam narrowed his eyes and spat out, "I don't take any morbid pleasure from taking heads. Besides, if I were going to take a head, it wouldn't be Jax's any more than it would be Duncan's, or yours for that matter. You're the good guys, remember?"

 "You still haven't answered me, then," Connor hissed. "What do you want with me?"

 "I know who killed Jax. And I thought you might like to know too."

 "Why don't you just take on the killer yourself?" Connor retorted, still wary of his new companion.

 "Because I don't like to fight. And I don't have the passion to hunt him. But you might." Adam shifted his feet nonchalantly.

 "And why would I?"

 "Because you know him. Albeit he's changed since you were kinsmen some four hundred and some-odd years ago." Adam tilted his head as he looked Connor over. "Word is, Dugal MacLeod knocked you around quite a bit when you were being driven from Glenfinnan. Perhaps you'd like a little revenge?" The hot look in Connor's eyes told Adam he'd made the right connection.

 Connor narrowed his eyes, scrutinizing the stranger. "So you're passing this information on to me, hoping I'll take care of it."

 "That's the general idea, yeah," Adam replied calmly.

 Connor laughed. "Your own precious head is too good to risk to avenge Jax's life."

 "Not necessarily," Adam replied with a sly smile, "but why do it myself when I can get a do-gooding MacLeod to do it for me?"

 "You've been hanging around Duncan too long," Connor said through gritted teeth. "I don't run around righting wrongs for people."

 "Maybe not," Adam shrugged, "but you'll do this, won't you? Because it's personal." He looked Connor straight in the eyes. "I met Jax about ten years ago, when he was studying to become a monk. He confessed his shady past to me, and I could relate -- I've got a few skeletons of my own that I'm not too proud of." Adam's face clouded over. "You and I both know that Jax wasn't always the nicest person in the world, all right? But that doesn't give some overwrought cousin of yours the right to whack his head off indiscriminately."

 "I'd like to hear Dugal's reasoning first, before I just go whacking his head off, too," Connor responded evenly.

 "You don't know what he's become, MacLeod," Adam answered, shaking his head. "He's not the man you knew five hundred years ago."

 "And I suppose you're going to tell me what he's become." Connor's eyes burned with resentment at this man who knew far too much about him for his comfort.

 "As a matter of fact, I will -- just because he wasn't as lucky as you. He didn't have a Juan Ramirez to guide him. His first teacher was a nutcase named Ivan Tanner, who thought himself to be some sort of spiritual seer. He taught all of his students that they were the children of Cain, cursed for eternity by God to walk this earth whacking each other's heads off. Now just think what hundreds of years of believing that would do to you."

 Connor shook his head, disbelieving. "I still want to talk to him."

 Adam shrugged. "Have it your way -- but keep in mind all the things Ramirez taught you. You're going to need them if and when you face Dugal." He walked toward his car.

 "Adam." The man turned expectantly toward Connor, who hesitated before speaking the question that was on his mind. "You knew Ramirez?"

 "Yeah," Adam responded, seating himself in the Accord. "Nice guy. A bit of a peacock, though." Adam waved a farewell as he closed the car door, made a 3-point turn and drove off.

 Connor chuckled as he climbed into the Mustang, before his thoughts turned back to Dugal. "Now that I know you're here," he said aloud, "how am I going to find you?" Connor turned the key in the ignition and started back down the dark road.

Guin nervously transversed the sidewalk perched above the stair-stepped parking lots of the hotel. She worried intermittently that Connor might not park there if he had been fighting, as he'd look like hell. But where else would he go? she thought. There's really nowhere he could go to clean up without attracting unwanted attention. Guin frowned, the lines creasing her face heavily as she continued to pace up and down the walkway. The bellboys across the drive had finally given up on staring at her strangely and talking behind her back, and she was thankful. If they think I'm a nutcase, so be it she mused. I'm starting to think I'm a nutcase too. Few cars were pulling in at this time of night, but still she kept her eye on the narrow, dim road leading up to the hotel, even as she watched for unusual storm activity in the starlit sky to the west. Guin had chosen to keep her vigil outside so she had a clear view of a potential Quickening over Pima Canyon, a view their room did not afford. So far, she had seen neither the tell-tale electrical activity nor the blue Mustang they had rented. No news is good news, I suppose, she thought bitterly. But I'd still like a sign.

 As if in answer, the Mustang appeared under the lights of the parking lot. "Thank God," she whispered, quickly descending the stairs to the parking level where Connor was pulling into an empty space. She reached the driver's side door as he opened it. Connor smiled faintly at her worried face as he climbed out of the seat, and held an elbow out to her as he shut the door again. "Shall we go in?" he asked.

 Guin took Connor's arm, holding on to him tightly as she leaned her head against his shoulder. "Well, who was it? Are they Immortal? What did they say?"

 Connor shrugged. "A friend of Duncan's. An Immortal. Just giving me some information, like he said he would."

 Guin examined his face. "It's more than that, isn't it?" Connor shrugged again. "And you aren't going to tell me, are you?" She sighed in exasperation.

 "It's just something I have to think about for a little while," Connor responded with a frown. "I need to decide what I'm going to do." He opened one of the hotel doors and ushered her inside toward the staircase. They fell silent until they entered their room, where Guin picked up the note again to look at it.

 "He told you something about Jax, didn't he?" she asked. "Who the killer was."

 Connor nodded as he shrugged out of his coat. "But it's more complicated than that. I don't know where the person who took Jax's head is, and..." He paused, then blew out his breath in a huff. "And I don't know if I want to find him."

 "Why not?" Guin asked. Connor remained quiet, drifting into the bedroom of the suite and starting to get ready for bed. "Connor, talk to me," she demanded in frustration.

 "I need to think about it, without your input," he replied flatly.

 Guin raised an eyebrow at him, then shrugged. "Whatever." Silence overcame them again as they settled into bed. Guin promptly fell into a dreamless asleep, but Connor remained awake for a while, tossing in the bed as thoughts turned themselves over in his mind. Eventually he fell into an exhausted sleep. Even then the memories haunted him, images of Dugal floating in his mind's eye -- as children, as fellow warriors, and finally the anger in Dugal's face as Dugal set his fists into Connor while the village demanded burning of the man "in league with Lucifer." The last image that floated in, however, was not from their past. Dugal stared down at him, eyes ablaze, a heavy broadsword raised above his head. "No guts, no glory," Dugal said with bloodthirsty delight. "There can be only one." The vision exploded as the sword came down.

 Guin was startled awake as Connor began to gasp violently, one arm raised protectively over his head and neck, the other stretched out as if to fend off an invisible attacker. His eyes were open but glazed over, sightless -- at least to this world. "Connor!" she called sharply. "Connor! Snap out of it!" Connor's breathing began to even out, but when Guin cautiously touched his shoulder, he grabbed her wrist tightly while squeezing his eyes shut. Biting back against the pain in her wrist, Guin said gently, "Connor, it's me. Let me go." Connor's eyes flew open again, this time focusing on her as his grip loosened. Guin grimaced slightly as she rubbed her wrist, which still showed the pale marks of his handhold.

 "Guin," Connor breathed her name, the guilt passing over his face as he realized what he'd done. He drew her arm toward him gently, carefully examining her wrist but finding no lasting damage. "I'm so sorry," he said quietly, kissing her fingers.

 "Bad dream?" she asked, stroking his hair back with her other hand. "You've broken out in a cold sweat. Reminds me of our night in Glenfinnan."

 Connor pressed her hand to his cheek, closing his eyes as he leaned against her fingers. "It's related," he said finally. "There, I dreamed of Angus leaning over Dugal's dying body. Tonight..." Connor paused, then opened his eyes as he forced himself to speak again. "Tonight I dreamed Dugal took my head."

 Guin raised her eyebrows. "Another Immortal MacLeod? Now that's a wild thought."

 "Not so wild," he said with a frown. "We couldn't find his grave, remember?"

 "That doesn't mean..."

 "And Duncan's friend told me that's who killed Jax." Connor closed his eyes tightly, as if trying to ward off a headache.

 "And you believe him." Guin looked at Connor doubtfully.

 "I don't have a reason to doubt him," Connor replied. "He said he was a friend of Jax's too. And I know he's risked himself for Duncan."

 "So, what if he is telling the truth?" she asked. "Are you going to go after Dugal then?"

 Connor sighed. "I don't know." He looked up at her. "I'd have to find him. I could hunt him down, confront him...but then what? Talk to him? Fight him? Both?"

 "Don't you want to avenge Jax's death?"

 "Dugal's my cousin, for God's sake," Connor replied with a frustrated sigh. "I spent my youth adoring him, I don't know if I could fight him. And vengeance isn't always justice. There must have been a reason for Dugal to do what he did."

 "Well, it better have been one hell of a reason for him to kill someone like Jax," Guin said with a frown.

 Connor nodded. "You're right about that." He pulled Guin tightly to him, tucking his head against her chest. Guin began to hum lightly, rocking them both lightly back and forth as the tune vibrated in her chest and throat. Connor lost himself in her sound, debating whether to say what was on his mind. At last he spoke. "You'll never know how much I appreciate you being here right now."

 Guin smiled faintly. "I knew there was a reason for my existence." She kissed his forehead lightly. "Go to sleep, sweetheart."

Guin woke up to pitch darkness and the sound of rain. "Damn," she muttered.

 "I thought you liked rain." Connor's voice sounded distant.

 Guin furrowed her brow as she felt him sink onto the end of the bed. "I do, but it'll make walking around Sabino Canyon a nightmare."

 "It'll be gone by the time the sun comes up, and the ground will dry out by the time we get there," Connor said matter-of-factly.

 "And just how do you know that?" Guin sat up, her eyes seeking out his dark shadow.

 "The clouds are moving out. You can see some of the stars already behind them."

 "And how long have you been sitting on the sofa watching the clouds move out?" Guin asked knowingly.

 Connor's staccato laugh rang lightly through the room. "Too long," he answered. Guin walked on her knees down to the end of the bed and began to rub Connor's shoulders. "I'm sapping all your strength," Connor told her.

 "I've got plenty," she replied quietly. "Besides, if I wasn't here, whose strength would you sap?"

 Connor shrugged. "I came out here to support you, and instead I'm taking away from you. I'm sorry you had to get involved in this mess."

 Guin knitted her brow. "If it weren't for me, you wouldn't even be in this mess, because you wouldn't be here. And if you hadn't come, I'd be in a fine mess because I'd be facing all this alone, and I'd probably be lying in bed alone and sobbing. Instead I've got you to focus on and distract me."

 "Some distraction," he mumbled.

 "Shh," she hushed him, working her fingers into his shoulders and neck. "Come back to bed. We'll sleep in til noon, and see if your prediction about the weather is right." She kissed his cheek and drew him back toward the pillows. "Sleep," she said gently, letting him wrap himself around her. "You need it for your own strength."

When Guin awoke again, she found Connor already up and dressed for a chilly day -- boots, jeans and a black turtleneck sweater. "It's blustery out there," he remarked when he saw her eyes open, "but the clouds are gone. It shouldn't rain, if you're still up for hiking Sabino Canyon today."

 Guin nodded. "How long have you been awake?"

 "Not long." Upon seeing Guin's doubtful face, Connor added with a laugh, "I swear, not that long. I did get some sleep."

 Guin smiled. "Good, because if I even had the beginning of a thought that you didn't get enough sleep, I'd make you get back in this bed."

 "Maybe that's not such a bad idea," he answered with an impish grin, kneeling on the edge of the bed to kiss her.

 "No, no, no," she giggled, pushing him away. "I want to hike Sabino. We'll have plenty of time for that later on." Guin hopped in the shower and got ready in a flash, pulling on her University of Arizona sweatshirt along with her jeans and sneakers. She glanced in the mirror. "I still look like a student," she remarked with a frown.

 "Fretting about not looking your age?" Connor asked with a sly smile.

 "Laugh it up, Half-Millennium Boy," she retorted. "I really don't like looking younger than I am. I feel like I don't get the respect I deserve. And the only men who ever gave me a second glance always ended up being much younger than me."

 "Well now you have a much older man," he answered, wrapping his arms around her from behind. "And one who has a lot of respect for you, regardless of your age."

 "Now I remember why I love you so much," she said, kissing his cheek. The pair grabbed their jackets and walked to the car hand-in-hand. Guin's senses were heightened for any sign of mental distress in her companion, but Connor appeared to have come to terms with the news about the connection between his cousin and Jax's death.

 Taking the wheel, Connor drove the scant half-dozen miles to the Sabino Canyon parking lot, picking up a fast-food brunch on the way. The pair decided to walk the trail to Seven Falls, a hike that would take up a good part of the afternoon, if they did it right -- taking it slowly and enjoying the scenery along the way. "With the recent rains," Guin remarked as they started down the trail, "there should be some water in Sabino Creek and on the falls. They'll be much more impressive than when they're dry."

 "The creeks and rivers around here never used to run dry," Connor said, surprised. "That's why people settled in this area in the first place."

 "It's all the dam building that went on in the middle of this century," Guin replied. "The dams went up, the water flows slowed, and the rivers went dry. It's not just the Rillito River or Sabino Creek, it's all of them. It takes a really good rain to get the Rillito and Santa Cruz to flow, and the same goes for Sabino Creek and Seven Falls."

 Connor shook his head. "What a shame."

 The pair made their way through the rocky terrain that was dotted with much of the same flora as their desert drive had been, particularly the low-lying scrub brush, palo verde trees and cholla. Still, there were sufficient numbers of prickly pear, barrel and saguaro cacti along the route as well. The Catalina Mountains loomed nearby, their snow-capped peaks reaching into the sky. The chill in the air did not dampen Guin and Connor's enthusiasm for the hike, especially since it meant that there were few others on the trail with them. "At least it's cold enough we shouldn't see any scorpions or rattlesnakes," Guin remarked. Connor shuddered at her words, and Guin laughed. "Okay, so which one have you encountered?"

 "Both, a long time ago. The snake didn't get me. But I surprised the scorpion." Connor shook his head. "They may not be deadly for most adults, but their sting is not exactly pleasant."

 "I know, I've been stung myself." She smirked. "And I'd rather not have a repeat. I'd rather not encounter a rattlesnake in my lifetime, either. Not without a solid piece of glass between me and it, like at the Desert Museum."

 By mid-afternoon they had reached the falls. They spent a good half-hour there, just listening to the water splashing and the wind howl through the trees. Connor paced a bit, looking around now and then as if he expected to be pounced on. "What's wrong, honey?" Guin asked. Connor shook his head and sat down next to her. "Feeling something?" she prodded.

 "No." Connor glanced around again. "Just getting the feeling we're being watched."

 "We should probably be getting back anyway," Guin replied, trying not to show her nervousness. Connor's intuition was usually on-target, and she wasn't into tempting fate this time.

 "Yeah, we should." Connor looked over at Guin, reading her expressive face. "You should go out with your friends tonight. It'll take your mind off of things."

 "And that will leave you to do...what?"

 Connor laughed. "You know me too well." He shrugged. "Focus. Maybe draw our spy out in the open."

 "You better be careful," she warned as they started back down the trail.

 "Always am," he replied with a wink.

Guin followed Connor's suggestion to go out with her friends, excusing his absence by telling them that he wasn't feeling well. Wyn, David and Jim noted her reticence, however, and cut short their night together so that she could be with him. After a tearful goodbye, Guin returned to the hotel, only to find Connor heavily involved in kata in the foreroom of the suite. He stopped at her entrance.

 "What's wrong?" she asked intuitively. Connor handed her a note, and she read out loud: "'Connor, it's been a long time, and I'd like to catch up. Funny that we both ended up surviving so long. This isn't a challenge, just an invitation to talk. 9:30, tonight. Dugal.'" Guin looked over the directions to a Sabino Canyon meeting place, then looked up from the paper. "He says it's not a challenge."

 "Maybe it is, and maybe it isn't. I have to be ready for either one." He shook his head. "If it's not a challenge, then why somewhere secluded?" Shrugging, he added, "I don't know what he has to say for himself, or what I'll say to him. I guess I'll find out."

 Guin nodded. "You'll deal with it as it comes." Smiling faintly, she added, "Can I have a hug before you get too focused to even remember I'm here?"

 Connor embraced her as he laughed. "I never forget you're here," he said, kissing her lightly.

 Guin went into the bedroom to read, but her mind was totally focused on the sounds of Connor in kata. She continually glanced at the clock, counting down the minutes. Shortly after nine Connor came in to say goodbye. "Don't wait up," he said with a wry smile, knowing she'd never take his advice.

 "Nah, I wouldn't even think of waiting up," Guin replied, cynicism masking her worry.

 "You know where..."

 "Yes, I know where the paperwork is," she cut him off. "And I don't intend to have to use it, so you'd better come back, y'hear?"

 Connor smiled, saluting her mockingly. Turning serious, he kissed her cheek. "Chin up." With these words, he strode out of the room, his long coat concealing his weapon of choice.

Connor parked the Mustang on a distant side road and quietly hiked the mile or so to the access road that ran next to the Sabino Canyon parking lot and up into the park itself. He jogged up the road, his boots lightly crunching the dirt track. The sliver of moon provided just enough light to see by, the shadows of saguaros and tangled mesquite trees giving the landscape an eerie beauty. Connor diverted off the track to follow Sabino Creek to the bridge where Dugal had proposed they meet.

 "Greetings, Cousin," a voice called out. Connor looked up at the large figure approaching him. Aside from the clothing and shorter hair, Dugal's outward appearance had changed little. The large man laughed as he walked toward Connor. "I bet you never expected to see the likes of me again."

 "No, I did not," Connor replied flatly, keeping his hand tucked inside his trenchcoat.

 "Come, sit," Dugal offered, gesturing toward the stone wall of the bridge. "My sword is sheathed, leave yours that way as well. I only wish to talk."

 "Talk about what?" Connor asked suspiciously, moving toward the wall but remaining standing.

 "We did not exactly part on the best of terms, if you recall, Cousin." Dugal settled his foot on the short wall, and rested his elbow on his knee. "Now that I understand what you are, I want to make things right."

 "Word is, you killed a friend of mine down by San Xavier Mission," Connor said bluntly, carefully holding his temper in check.

 "Why, I had to!" Dugal protested. "He was coming after me, you see. He wasn't even really a monk. In fact, that's how I knew you were here, Connor. He talked about how he'd fooled you into thinking he was still your friend, and that he was planning on taking your head." Connor turned this new information over in his mind and shook his head. "You don't believe me, do you?" Dugal asked. "How long had it been since you'd seen him, Connor? How well have you known him in recent years?"

 Connor pondered Jax's behavior at their visit, and recalled Adam Pierson saying he'd known Jax when he was studying to be a monk. But Jax and Adam could have been lying, he thought in frustration. Or Dugal could be. After all, how well have I know Dugal in the past 450 years? Connor looked at his cousin. "Not well enough, I suppose," he responded nonchalantly. "So why do you want to talk to me?"

 "As I said, I want to make things right," Dugal said cheerfully. "Can I say I'm sorry for beating you up when they were driving you from Glenfinnan?" he asked, offering his hand.

 "Is that all you called me out here for?" Connor asked, raising an eyebrow at Dugal. "You can keep your apology, Cousin. It's long past. And you don't have to defend me, I can take care of myself. Good luck, God speed, and all that. Just stay out of my way, and I'll stay out of yours." Connor turned and began to walk away. Behind him, Dugal raised his sword and swung directly at his cousin's neck. Connor spun around and neatly blocked the blow with his katana. "Never completely turn your back on another Immortal -- Rule of the Game number 42," he said tersely as he shoved away the broadsword and moved into a fighting stance. "You do remember that there are rules to this game, don't you, Dugal?" he taunted. "Like, oh, I dunno...fighting fairly? Voicing your challenge before attempting to take someone's head?" Connor chuckled mirthlessly. "Then again, you never did play nice -- even as kids, you liked playing bully and taking unfair advantage of the rest of us. Why should I expect any more from you now?"

 "You did this to me, Connor," Dugal spat out. "You let the devil into the village, and you left him there even when you left. If it weren't for you, this fate would never have fallen on me."

 "Come on...you don't really believe that, do you?" Connor furrowed his brow. "We were born this way, it was our destiny from the beginning. You can't possibly think that I made you Immortal. That's insane."

 "Insane, eh? No, what's insane is spending hundreds of years fighting, cutting off heads to survive -- and you're going to pay for doing this to me!" Dugal lunged forward, a warrior's cry escaping from his throat as he swung his upraised sword. Connor stopped the downward blow above his head, but Dugal raised one foot and swiftly kicked his kinsman in the stomach. Reeling backward, Connor had just enough time to find his footing before having to block the next strike, their swords sliding against each other and giving off sparks. Braced against each other, hilt to hilt, each man pushed to force his opponent off-balance. Sacrificing his precarious balance for a split second, Connor brought his boot heel down hard on Dugal's foot, the distraction allowing Connor to shove the other man back. Connor did not immediately attack; instead, he backed off a bit to regain his focus and devise a strategy.

 "So why did you kill Jax?" he asked as he and Dugal circled each other.

 Dugal shrugged. "Why not? I was following you, my friend. Seemed like the best way to get your attention."

 "You were at the Highland Games too," Connor added with sudden certainty.

 "That I was. Your lassie's very pretty...think she'd trade one Scotsman for another?" Dugal grinned, an evil glint in his eye.

 Connor laughed cynically. "Even if she would, you won't be one of her choices. I'll make certain of that."

 "Och," Dugal intoned in mock fright, "the honorable Connor MacLeod would kill his own kinsman, would he?"

 "I think you've warranted it, Dugal." Particularly if my only other option is to let you kill me, Connor added to himself.

 "Well you'll have to win first!" Dugal lunged again, and Connor countered his attack. The repeated clanging of steel on steel drowned out the other noises of the Arizona night: the calls of owls, the howling of coyotes in the distance. As the fighting drove the pair off the main trail and into areas of denser vegetation, Connor hoped he wouldn't be running into any of the area's more poisonous wildlife: tarantulas, scorpions, rattlesnakes, gila monsters. While some of these insects and reptiles didn't pose a serious threat to most healthy mortals, run-ins still tended to be quite painful -- a definite detriment to your focus when battling someone to the death. Connor vaguely remembered Guin mentioning that sometimes mountain lions wandered into the outlying suburbs as well, especially when food supplies were low in their less-occupied habitats. No mountain lions, he chanted to himself as their swords continued to clash in the moonlight, no deadly insects, no poisonous lizards, no hungry coyotes. Just a fair fight, me and him.

 The two combatants stumbled through the brush and dirt as they fought. Connor struggled to keep the advantage, driving Dugal backward through the cactus-littered landscape. As Dugal took yet another step back, his foot pressed on the root system of a jumping cholla, causing the short, jointed-branch cactus to shift and sink its needles into his calf and thigh. With the onslaught of pain, Dugal cried out, his grip loosening just enough for Connor to knock the broadsword from the larger man's hands.

 "Now, cousin," Dugal pleaded, "that was a bit unfair. You can't possibly kill me now, without a fair fight."

 "You took the step, cousin. You took the risk of fighting in this terrain." Connor planted a boot in Dugal's abdomen, knocking the other man to the ground, and began to raise his katana.

 "Connor, please, don't kill me." Dugal lowered his head as if in deference to his kinsman. "Have some mercy for your cousin." In the moonlight, however, Connor caught sight of Dugal's hand plucking from the ground fallen pieces of the spindly cactus to throw. Connor swiftly kicked Dugal off-balance, and the larger man fell into the prickly plant.

 "There can be only one," Connor intoned flatly, quickly bringing the katana above his head and slicing it downward with deadly force across the other man's neck.

 Winds began to whip through the ravines and desert stretches of Sabino Canyon as dark clouds gathered overhead. Thunder boomed overhead as lightning strikes lit bright backgrounds behind towering saguaros. Self-protectively, Connor knelt in the pseudo-clearing of a footpath so as not to be thrown into the scattered cacti by the force of the Quickening. He closed his eyes tightly against the stinging dust driven by the wind. Lightning surged through him and around him, ripping the cries from his throat and throwing them into the chilly November air. The blazes of energy singed the ragged brush and prickly pear cacti ringing the path, and only a few feet away, an imposing ancient saguaro split down its center and fell to the ground, charred. Connor panted heavily between his uncontrollable shouts, his arms raising themselves in the air toward the lightning strikes even as he attempted to fight the visions that came along with the power surge: the shared memories of himself and Dugal as children; Connor's banishing, with Dugal headbutting and punching him; Dugal's own painful death in a battle -- the same scene Connor had seen in his Glenfinnan dream weeks before; Dugal's first teacher, who had filled him full of fear of his own kind; the years upon years of fear and anger that followed, pushing Dugal to become the man he was when he died for the final time. Connor could almost feel sympathy for the other man, but he also knew full well that Dugal would have gladly killed him if Connor's resolve had softened and he had allowed the other man to stand up and continue to fight. As the storm subsided and the reek of burnt brush and cacti invaded his nostrils, Connor could hear a commotion in the distance. They're probably curious about the storm, he thought with chagrin. Connor crept along the more shadowy paths and slowly made his way back to his car. It's over, he thought sadly, pulling off his gloves and starting up the Mustang. One more chapter of my life fully closed.

Guin paced the length of the room, as she had repeatedly over the past hour. Something had to have happened. She knew for a fact that it didn't take that long to get out to Sabino Canyon from the resort. Whether Connor and his cousin were just talking or had decided to fight, she could only hazard a guess. Connor had seemed reluctant to fight his cousin, and this worried her; if Connor was having doubts, he would not be fighting at his best -- if it came down to a fight at all. Guin stopped in front of the television. Distraction, I need distraction, she thought, flipping it on. Guin glanced at her watch. A little after ten o'clock. News'll be on.

 "...and to cover this breaking story right from our rooftop is Susan Hurley. Susan?"

 "Thanks, Jane. As we've said, a sudden and quite unusual monsoon-like storm has brewed up over the past several minutes, and it seems to be focused on the Sabino Canyon area to the northeast of us here, as you can see behind me. Even the meteorologists seem stumped by this, Jane. No one knows where it came from or how long it's expected to last, but we've been told that there seems to be a lot of electrical activity associated with this storm..."

 Guin stared at the television set, jaw agape, even as the lights began to flicker. "Connor," she whispered fearfully, beginning to tremble despite her attempts at self-control. The lights dimmed for a few seconds, then came back on. "Lovely," she moaned. "The way the electrical systems are in this town, one good lightning strike could take out half the city." Even as she spoke, the room flooded with darkness. Guin turned to look out the window. It appeared that all the buildings within a couple of miles were without power, but further out the lights of the city continued to twinkle. Well, either Connor is very exhausted right now, or... Guin refused to complete her thought as she huddled on the sofa. She began counting sheep, cows, and any other animal she could think of -- anything to keep at bay the negative, worrysome thoughts that threatened to invade her mind.

 Guin had almost nodded off when she heard a scraping sound outside the window. She jumped as a figure suddenly appeared on the balcony, but raced to the sliding door as she recognized the shape. "Connor!" she breathed ecstatically as she guided him inside. "Did anyone see you?" Guin looked down at the emergency lights on the lawn run by the back-up generator.

 Connor shook his head. "I was careful." He gazed at her, his eyes empty of emotion. "It's done."

 Guin nodded. "So it is."

 "And that's three for us. Sabrina, Jax, Dugal. There won't be any more for a while." Connor closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "My cousin has always been hot-tempered, but this time he crossed the line," he said slowly. " First he killed Jax, then he tried to strike me down when my back was turned. I had no choice but to take his head."

 Guin reached up and stroked his cheek. "You did what you had to do, sweetheart," she said gently. "Sometimes life doesn't give us fair choices."

 Connor looked down at her and smiled faintly. "We both know that too well, don't we?" He sighed. "I have got to take a shower."

 "There probably isn't much hot water, with the power out."

 Connor shrugged. "As long as I get some of the desert off of me, I don't care."

 Guin watched him trudge to the bathroom and shook her head. That's my warrior, she thought with a sad smile. Fighting the good fight, no matter how much it pains him. Guin changed for bed and sat down to wait for her hero to re-emerge.