by Carol Roi
Rating: R for violence and sexual situations
Immortal Champion
By CarolROI
Part 1
Inspector Megan Connor swallowed the last of her wine, and glanced at her watch again. It was nearly midnight, and her informant hadn't shown. With a sigh, she extracted a couple bills from her wallet, and tossed them on the table. What a waste of time this had been. An hour-long drive to Seacouver because her snitch was afraid to meet in Cascade and another three spent waiting for him to show up. At least the jazz had been good, as well as the ribs. She seemed to remember Sandy mentioning he'd been here a couple times. She applauded politely as the guitar player left the stage, followed by the vocalist. The singer had talent, as well as looks. Tall, dark and gorgeous, just the way Megan liked them. What they were doing in a dump like this, she couldn't begin to guess. With a shake of her head, she rose from her table in the far corner of the club, and headed for the exit.
Outside in the darkened parking lot, she searched for her keys. She could hear them jingling in her purse, but couldn't quite put her fingers on them. She shook her bag again, and peered inside, her attention distracted enough that she didn't hear the footsteps behind her, or the metal pipe whistling through the air until it was too late. Pain exploded inside her head, and the world went dark.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Dee leaned over the bar and gave the bartender a kiss. "Thanks for letting me sit in with you guys tonight. I really needed the lift." The tall woman slid her trench coat on, and flipped her chocolate locks over the collar.
"You're welcome to join us any time, you know that, Dee," Joe Dawson told her. "I expect to see a lot more of you, now that you're living back at MacLeod's." His heart ached for the Immortal, knowing she was still hurting over the move two months later, even though she had explained to him that it had been the right thing to do. He vowed the next time he spoke to Blair Sandburg, he was going to give him a piece of his mind. Better yet, he would invite him up some night when Diandra was singing the blues, let Sandburg hear for himself what her love for him was putting her through. "It just isn't right, Dee. You were so happy, and that boy breaks your heart."
"Joe, I told you before, it was my decision to leave. It just wasn't going to work out between us; he has other obligations, and so do I." Not that she'd done much with her heightened senses since she'd left Cascade, nor had she gone looking for a companion. Even her former companion, Lydia, hadn't been much help, offering her no more advice other than "When the time is right, you will find each other." At least she could visit Lydia in the spirit world, though she had been trying to cut back on the time she spent there. She'd felt herself starting to walk that thin line between wanting to return to reality, and wanting to stay in the spirit world forever. She wondered what would happen if she did decide not to come back; would her body stay in that suspended state forever? Probably would, until some Immortal came along and took her head. Which, she noted, was beginning to sound awfully attractive.
"Dee, DEE!" Joe's raised voice brought her out of her morbid thoughts. "Dee, go home, talk to Mac. See if he can help you. He told me he was going to Paris next week. Maybe you should think about going with him. A change of scenery might do you good."
She looked into the worried eyes of the Watcher, realizing just how low she'd sunk. "Goddess," she said under her breath. She hadn't realized Blair's absence from her life was affecting her so much. If she didn't watch out, she would end up in the same state she'd been in after Lydia had died: insane. "I'm fine, Joe, I'm fine," she lied. "I'm just tired. I'm going to go home and go to bed." She squeezed his hand, then left the bar.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
SLAP! The combination of the noise and the renewed pounding in her head brought Megan back to semi-consciousness. "Ah... the lady cop, she is awake," said a heavily accented male voice. "You better be awake, chica, because you're going to take a message back to your friends."
She tried to struggle, but found herself held firmly, her wrists pinned behind her back, and one foul-smelling hand clamped firmly over her mouth. She forced her eyelids further open, and was rewarded with the sight of a 6-inch knife blade being waved in front of her face. Fear supplied her with a surge of adrenaline, and she kicked out, catching the man in front of her in the shin. He grunted, then growled, "So you want to play rough? We can play rough." He punched her hard in the stomach, and she doubled over, trying not to vomit.
A hand in her hair yanked her back up, and the knife appeared again. "Here's the message you tell your friends in Cascade," the man said, and the knife slashed across her chest, the point cutting through the thin fabric of her blouse, and deep into her skin. She screamed, her cry muffled behind the hand over her mouth. A second stroke of the knife was perpendicular to the first, running from the hollow of her throat down between her breasts. She could feel her blood running in hot rivulets over her skin. "Got the message, cop?"
Megan sagged in her captor's arms, her chest on fire, her head throbbing. It was all she could do to stay halfway upright. She felt her attacker's hands on her thighs, pushing up her skirt. She closed her eyes, trying to will herself into unconsciousness, knowing exactly what they were going to do to her. The man holding her said, "We delivered the message; now do we get to have some fun?"
"Not tonight," came an ice-cold voice from behind the thug with the knife. He made the mistake of turning toward the new comer. A booted foot smashed into his face, and he dropped to his knees, clutching his nose. "Let her go," the voice said to the man still holding Megan. She felt his grip loosen, and she slid to the ground, her knees striking the concrete hard. She pitched forward as darkness descended on her, a scream the last sound she heard.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Dee watched the two hoodlums drag themselves out of the alley. She probably should have held them for the police, but their victim needed her attention. She crouched beside the barely conscious woman, examining her injuries. She had a heavily bleeding cut up near her hairline, but head wounds always looked worse than they were. Dee turned her head slowly, making out the fresh bruises on her cheek, and the split lip. She checked her eyes as the woman groaned; her pupils were slightly dilated meaning a possible concussion. Rolling her onto her back, she found the worst injuries, the two knife wounds. She knew those would need stitches, and possibly the head wound would as well.
The woman moaned again, and tried to move. "Hey, take it easy, you're safe now," Dee reassured her, taking another look at her face now that her eyes were open. "Inspector Connor?" She'd only met the woman once, when she had been arrested for Evan Kendall's murder, but she remembered the Australian exchange officer well. What was her first name? "Megan, it's Diandra Pallas. You're safe now, but I have to get you to a hospital. Think you can make it to my truck?"
"Yeah," Megan replied. Dee helped her to her feet, and when the younger woman swayed unsteadily, she simply picked her up and carried her, Megan being only a few inches shorter than Dee, but almost thirty pounds lighter. Her head sagged against Dee's shoulder, and she was afraid she'd passed out again.
"Megan, come on, talk to me. I know it's hard, but you can't rest right now; you have a concussion."
She gave a little exclamation of pain as Dee slid her into the passenger seat of the Cherokee and buckled her in. "I'm awake, I'm awake," she said.
Shutting the door, Dee ran around to the other side and climbed in, starting the engine and pulling swiftly out of the parking lot. "Hospital's only a few minutes away, Megan, just h
old on."
"No," she whispered. "No hospital."
Goddess, this was all she needed. Who did Connor think she was, Jim Ellison? "Megan, you need stitches, you have a head injury. You need to go to a hospital."
"No," she repeated, her voice stronger. "No hospital, no police."
"Damn it, Megan, you're a cop, you know better than this. We have to report this."
"No, I can't, you can't let anyone know about this," she pleaded.
"You're in some kind of trouble aren't you?" Megan stared out the side window, not answering her question. "Aw, bloody hell, Megan. You and Lobo are a hell of a lot alike." She turned the Jeep toward the loft. "If you die... ."she threatened her.
A wry little smile crossed Megan's lips. "You won't let me," she said, and Dee knew she had her there.
Parking behind the dojo, Dee carried Megan inside, riding the freight elevator up to her floor. She hoped to god Mac didn't hear her and come down. That would be all she needed, trying to explain why she'd brought a seriously injured woman home rather than to a hospital. Fortunately, she heard no sound from upstairs, and concluded Duncan was either asleep, or not at home. Setting Megan down on the sofa, she gathered what few first aid supplies she had on hand, and returned.
"Let's get this shirt off you first; those gashes are the worst." Dee slid the shredded blouse off her and tossed it to the floor. Her bra quickly followed, and Dee leaned Megan back against the pillows, her sensitive fingers tracing the injured area, determining the amount of damage. It was worse than she'd thought. The horizontal slash had cut deep into her pectoral muscle, and Dee knew from experience it would never heal properly, even with a doctor's care. Megan would no longer be able to be a police officer, and every time she looked in the mirror, she would have two vivid scars to remind her of what had been. Dee made a quick decision. "Megan, these are worse than I thought. If you don't let me treat them, you could be crippled." That was a little over-dramatic, but it had the desired effect. Megan nodded her okay.
Grabbing a dishtowel, Dee tied a knot in the end of it, and handed it to Megan. "For you to bite down on," Dee told her, "because it's going to hurt worse than getting cut in the first place." The other woman put the towel between her teeth, and gazed expectantly at her. "Take hold of my hand and don't let go," Dee said, giving Megan her left hand. Her right she held over the wounds, and taking a slow, deep breath, she concentrated, pushing her Quickening through her hand and into Megan, speeding up the other woman's healing abilities. She felt Megan stiffen at the pain, and her grip on Dee's hand tightened as she screamed into the towel. "Almost done, just let me finish... " Dee told her. "There, it's over."
Megan collapsed back against the couch, spitting out the towel. "What the hell did you just do?" she asked, her voice shaking. "I figured you were... I don't know what I expected, but it wasn't that!"
Dee gave her a reassuring smile. "Just boosted your body's own regenerative power. All that's left is a little redness and that will fade. You won't be able to tell you were ever injured." She moved her hand up to the cut on Megan's head. "While I'm at it... " She applied her talent to that wound also, Megan gritting her teeth and whining in her throat. "-Now- I'm done," she said. "How do you feel?"
"Like a truck hit me," Megan replied. She suddenly realized she was half-naked in front of a woman she barely knew. Picking up on her uneasiness, Dee pulled the afghan off the back of the couch and draped it over her.
"Any place else hurt?" Dee asked.
"Every place hurts," Megan said.
"Well, let's take care of the cuts and scrapes then." Dee opened a bottle of alcohol and poured some on a cotton ball. Wincing in anticipation, Megan helped her find all the injuries from her attack. When they were finally done, they had a long list: one slight concussion, bruised face and mouth, bruised ribs, finger marks on her wrists from where she'd been held, and miscellaneous abrasions on her hands, legs and knees from falling and/or being dragged into the alleyway. She was also filthy, and her hair was a stringy blood-matted mess.
"Is there any way I can take a shower?" she asked.
"Are you sure? You'll be washing away evidence." Dee's eyes narrowed, and she pinned them on the Aussie. "And while we're on the subject, just why didn't you want the police involved in this?"
"It's personal," she said and refused to say more.
Sighing, Dee led her into the bedroom and showed her the bathroom. She got out some sweats for her to wear when she was through; they would be baggy on her, but comfortable. Once she was satisfied Megan had everything she needed, Dee walked back to the living room and picked up the phone, glancing at the clock as she did so. It was hard to believe it was only a quarter after one. Dialing a number she hadn't called in over three months, she listened to the ringing on the other end of the line. On the third ring, a sleepy voice mumbled, "Hello?"
Those two syllables rocked her to her core, and she realized this was going to be much more difficult than she thought. "Lobo?" she breathed into the phone, not able to trust herself with anything more.
That got his attention, and she could hear Blair sitting up in bed and switching on the light. "Dee, what is it, what's wrong?"
I can do this, she told herself. "I'm fine, Lobo. I'm sorry to be calling so late, but I've got a problem only you and Jim can help me with. A couple guys beat Megan Connor up outside of Joe's tonight." At his startled gasp, she reassured him, "She's okay now, just bumps and bruises, but she refused to go to the hospital, refused to let me call the police, and refused to tell me why. She's in some kind of trouble, Lobo, and since she's your friend, and trouble's your specialty, I called you." There, that hadn't been so difficult after all.
She heard Ellison's voice in the background, asking who was on the phone. Blair explained the situation to him, and then the sentinel's voice came on the line. "We're leaving right now, Diandra. Be there in about an hour. Don't let her leave."
"Okay," she started to reply, then the part of her that was tuned in to Megan in the other room kicked in. "Sorry, got to go, I think what happened to her just hit her. See you when you get here. I'm at the loft over the dojo." Hanging up the phone, she raced into the bathroom.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Megan turned on the water, then finished removing her ruined clothes. About all that was salvageable were her shoes. I really liked that skirt, she thought distractedly. Stepping into the shower, she let the water run over her, increasing the temperature until it was so hot she could barely stand it. She scrubbed until her skin turned pink from the abrasive action. In the back of her head, she realized what she was doing, that she was trying to symbolically wash away what had happened to her but she couldn't stop. She washed her hair three times, and still thought she saw blood running down the drain when she rinsed. No amount of soap was going to make her forget her feeling of complete helplessness, and the pain her attackers had gleefully inflicted. She saw the knife wielder's eyes, looking at her defeated, bleeding body with perverted desire. Squeezing her eyes shut made his face go away, but she still felt his hands on her, snaking up her thighs, pawing her under her skirt. With a low, keening cry, she began to shake, freezing cold despite the scalding water, sobs erupting from her aching throat.
The shower door opened, and a blast of cool air hit her super-heated skin just before the water was turned off and a towel was thrown around her. She felt herself being lifted bodily out of the shower, and set on the floor, an arm going around her waist to support her, while another hand dried her off. She leaned on Dee, letting her tears flow, feeling a sense of security in the other woman's grasp.
Once she was dry, Dee wrapped the towel around her, tucking the end in so it would stay up, and seating her on the closed toilet lid. Kneeling beside her, Dee pulled Megan into her embrace, holding her until she ran out of tears, murmuring things in a language the Aussie didn't understand. When she finally forced herself to leave the haven of Dee's arms, Dee wiped he
r face tenderly, then stood, picking up a hairbrush from the counter.
As she began to gently untangle Megan's dark curls, she said, "Feeling any better?"
Swallowing with difficulty, Megan managed a shaky, "Yeah. Guess I kind of lost it there."
"What happened to you tonight is nothing to be ashamed of. I know you want to blame yourself, that you're telling yourself it shouldn't have happened to you because you're a cop; you should know how to defend yourself." She tilted Megan's chin up so she was looking her in the eyes. "This was not your fault. All the training, all the ability in the world wasn't going to stop those men from doing what they set out to do. If you had been able to fight back, perhaps you would have escaped, or perhaps they just would have killed you. You are never going to know that, though, and if you waste your time and emotion on second- guessing, on what ifs, you are going to drive yourself insane." Her fingers brushed away a stray tear. "I know that sounds harsh, Megan, but I have been there, and your life is too precious to throw away chasing after something that can't be changed. I'm not saying you can't cry and scream and hurt because of what happened. I'm saying don't get bogged down in the might have beens."
