"You want to do the honors, Andy?" Lachlan glanced over at his fellow bartender, but the young man lowered his eyes and busied himself with putting away a tray of clean glasses. "I figured as much." The pilot sighed, tossing his bar towel aside as he stepped out from behind the counter.

He crossed the room quickly and rested a hand on Colin's shoulder. "Mate, c'mon... it's time to head to bed... sleep off the booze." O'Brien remained limp as Lachlan pulled him up and back off the table. "Bloody hell... C'mon mate." He shook Colin gently and a groan escaped from his throat. "There ya go. C'mon. I'm not carrying your drunk ass upstairs."

"Go 'way." O'Brien slurred, his eyes glued shut as he pushed Lachlan back weakly. "Leave me 'lone."

"C'mon mate. It's just a few short steps up to your bedroom. You'll feel a whole lot better in the morning." Lachlan gripped Colin's upper arm, pulling him towards the edge of the seat.

"No! FUCK OFF!" With a growl, Colin sent Lachlan sprawling backwards. "I'm stayin' right 'ere."

The pilot landed hard on the floor. He stood up slowly, glaring at his brother. "Suit yourself, ya bloody bastard." He brushed himself off and turned away. "Wallow in your misery, just don't come crying to any of us when you feel like shit in the morning."

Colin mumbled a string of obscenities at him as he hunkered down in the booth, curling himself into a ball on the small bench. Lachlan gestured in surrender and returned to the bar to grab his jacket.

"C'mon Andy... let's get outta here and leave him be." The young bartender followed after the pilot and Colin was left alone in the darkness of the Tavern.

---

The weight of Syrena's body pressed against him as Hando leaned back on the couch, pulling her gently with him. Her taste overwhelmed him, and he ran his hands up and down her back gently, feeling the ridges of the sling beneath the thin cotton of her t-shirt. He thrust his tongue deeper into her mouth, and she thrust back with equal urgency, bringing her leg up across his body. Her hand came up to his face, her fingers blazing brands against his skin, and she traced the ridge of his eyebrow. He groaned softly, shifting his hips slightly and wishing that he hadn't put his jeans back on, and he raised his hands to tangle them in her dark hair. So soft, he thought as he ran his fingers through the length of her hair and let it tickle his jaw. A deep moan escaped him, and he pushed his hips against hers, feeling the weight of her against his tightening groin.

Syrena moaned, loath to lose contact with him but feeling the muscles in her back complaining, her shoulder throbbing painfully. Her right shoulder dipped almost to Hando's shoulder as her strained muscles gave way. Reluctantly, she pulled out of the kiss and looked into his eyes. His features were soft, and his eyes were glowing with unspent passion. His face was flushed, and he gazed up at her beneath half opened eyelids.

"You okay, Sy?"

"Yeah, hon. Just... well, my shoulder...."

"Sorry, love," his tone was tender, and he struggled for a second to sit up, pushing her with him until she was kneeling across his hips. He leaned forward to nip her lower lip gently with his teeth, sucking on it, resting his hands firmly on her hips. "'S'at better?" he spoke without releasing her lower lip, the warmth of his breath brushing across her lips.

She moaned her acquiescence and leaned forward to capture his mouth with hers once again, kissing him with a fervor before untapped. Her good arm snaked around his back, pressing his chest to hers, and her fingers splayed across his muscular back. The thin cotton of his t-shirt protected his skin as she raked her short fingernails from his shoulder blades to his lower back. He groaned into her mouth and tightened his hands on her hips, pulling her against him so she could feel his tumescence through the denim and flannel between them.

Breaking the kiss, his voice husky with desire, he whispered into her ear, "I need you, Sy." He ran his hands up from her hips, his roughened fingers grazing the smooth skin of her back, and she moaned softly taking his earlobe in her teeth. She heard him suck in his breath seconds before his tongue touched the warm flesh on her neck. The couch suddenly seemed overly narrow, and she felt his muscles tense beneath her as he shifted his body, turning them together. His movements were slow and gentle as he lowered her, supporting her with his strong arms, to the thick carpeting. "I want you," he murmured, his body hovering over hers as he laved her neck with tongue and lips.

Flames leapt from the long untended embers deep within her, and she tilted her hips, feeling his heat. She ran her hand up his back, grabbed his t-shirt and pulled it off over his head. The tattoo on his chest heaved and twitched at her touch, and she traced it lightly with her fingernails, brushing over his nipples and bringing them to attention. He took her mouth roughly, a growl building deep in his chest, and pressed his hips against hers. His hand came up, under the cotton of her shirt, and massaged her breast, pinching her nipple. She hissed then moaned his name. She let her hand move down his chest, her fingers circling his navel momentarily before tracing the line down to the waist of his jeans. She brushed her fingers over the fettered bulge behind the denim, smiling at the moan it elicited, and slid her hand up his length to hook her fingers in the waistband of his jeans.

He lifted her shirt and ran his tongue up her stomach to the splint wrapped around her torso. Running his fingers down her forearm, he traced her fingers with his, gently, then leaned down again to press his lips against her knuckles. The soft touch of his lips sent shivers up her spine, and she gasped when they moved first to one breast then the other. He scraped his teeth lightly over her nipples, already hard with anticipation, and took them one by one into the heat of his mouth, suckling. His unshaven chin brushed across her skin making it tingle. Her body cried out to him in mute desire, and she pulled his hips toward her. He ran one hand down her flank, grazing over the flannel of her boxers to her thigh, his calloused fingers rough on the skin on her inner thigh as his hand crept up toward the hem of her shorts. He lifted his lips from her breast to look into her eyes; the expression on his face was one of bridled desire and uncertainty, and she knew he was concerned for her though he wanted this as much as she did.

She let a smile cross her lips and tightened her grip on his waistband to pull him to her. As his lips met hers hungrily, she moved her fingers and deftly released the button of his jeans. His tongue froze in her mouth when, with gentle pressure, she pushed the zipper down and caressed him through the thin layer of cotton. He moaned loudly, thrusting his tongue against hers and slipping his fingers under the flannel to brush across the nerve endings there. Her gasp was swallowed by his mouth when he pressed his fingers deep into her. She broke the kiss, throwing her head back against the floor and moving against his fingers. "Hando," she hissed.

"Tell me," he growled against her neck.

She pushed his jeans down slightly, squeezing his firm buttocks and pulling him closer. She could feel him hard against her thigh, and she moaned his name again.

"Tell me," he repeated, his voice deep with passion.

"Want you, Hando," she breathed, pushing against his fingers and leaning up to capture his mouth in hers. His fingers were abruptly withdrawn, and she felt him shift without releasing her tongue from his firm suction. Two thuds signified the loss of his boots, and with her help his jeans soon joined them. He pulled away from her and leaned back on his haunches, his face flushed and his eyes dark with desire, and slide her shorts down the length of her legs. She gazed up at him, tracing the lines of his muscles with her eyes, down to the strained cotton of his briefs. Reaching with her good hand, she entwined her fingers in his and drew him down to her. The heated flesh of his chest brushed across her engorged nipples, and she inhaled sharply, disentangling her fingers from his to push his briefs down to this thighs. His tumescent member stood at the ready, and she took him in her hand, guiding him toward her heat.

With a moan he thrust into her, filling her completely, and she cried out in a mixture of pleasure and pain. She reached up and pulled his mouth to hers, taking his tongue, keeping time with his rhythmic thrusts until her brain gave up on the two at once. She felt her muscles begin to quiver, and she tilted her head back. His lips fell on her exposed neck, and his moans grew louder. Their bodies melded together, and the world ceased to exist as they climaxed together, muscles pulsing and quivering uncontrollably. Hando leaned his weight against her heaving chest, and she felt him begin to soften inside her. She ran her fingers over his shorn skull, breathing deeply of his musky scent. Her heart slowed, and she caught her breath, relishing in the weight of him holding her down. In the haze of post-coital bliss, she found herself whispering in his ear, "Te amo como ciertas cosas oscuras, secretamente--" Before she had finished the line his mouth caught hers in a tender kiss.

"Do you really?" he asked, his lips touching hers.

"Yes."

"Me, too," he agreed, kissing her softly. "Between the shadows--" he punctuated each word with his lips against hers. "--and the soul," he finished, kissing her deeply, his tongue dancing with hers until they were both winded again.

His alert eyes searched a row about midway the building, and he saw exactly what he was seeking. Moving forward, his fingertips sought a bloom, then another, then he scrutinized one, a second, and at last a third. At last he saw it, causing his smile to increase. He took a whiff. Odd a rose would be scented like berries, but that was the way nature behaved sometimes, he mused.

Locating a pair of clips in a small toolbox, then removing a sheet of green tissue paper from a nearby roll, he went about his task. He attempted to trim the thorns as best he could, not wishing to injure himself or the recipient, and could not help but consider: why do roses have thorns? Did Nature -- for some reason - feel they needed...protection? And if so, from what? More of those philosophical questions for which there were on answers, or if there were, he did not have the time to ponder them.

The task was completed within minutes until over a dozen, long-stemmed creamy roses lay in a small bunch. He even found several white blossoms with edges appearing to be dipped in gold. That would make a nice contrast he was certain the receiver would appreciate. Wrapping the paper about the bundle, he peeped out the windows, thankful the rain as only a trickle now. Opening his umbrella, he hurried from the greenhouse's warmth and back into the cooler outdoors, walking briskly towards the hotel. He could not wait to see her again.

It took some maneuvering since he was carrying the package, but with his usual stealth mobility, Sid 6.7 was on the balcony in no time. Seems as if it had not been that long ago when he had hidden himself out there, intending to spy on the evidence technician. Instead, Sid was given the chance of a lifetime when he was able to eavesdrop on Tina and Michelle. He still could not believe his good fortune and all the information that fell into his hands. A good deal of that, he promised himself, he would likely use at a later time, but for now, he would simply retain it all. There was only one thing on his mind at this moment: the wooing of the lovely Tina before John Biebe realized what was happening.

/Wooing// he considered, /is a much nicer word than...seduction, although there is definitely something about.... // and he permitted the word 'seduction' to roll off his tongue until he was nearly making love to the word itself. He moaned then caught himself, hoping he was not too loud, but on seeing he was not detected, he assumed correctly that he had been quiet enough. Positioning himself to get a better view, he was disappointed to see that Michelle was still present as both young women relaxed in the sitting room once more. He had hoped after all this time that the conversation would have concluded, but no such luck. Both appeared a bit more upbeat, and that fact caused Sid to sigh disgustedly, afraid that they might talk for the remainder of the night.

That would prove regrettable. Although his final intention was to have both of them as his lovers with the other's knowledge, now was not the time he had determined. He wanted to pursue them individually, and right now, Etienne was his major consideration. Time was critical. He had no doubt that by morning, Sheriff Tubby would be on his way to her room to attempt some pathetic apology, and knowing how sensitive and romantic she was, she would almost certainly accept and return to his chubby arms. Sid nearly snorted his revulsion. /You deserve so much more// he repeated to himself for the hundredth time.

Just when he was beginning to believe he would either be spending the night on the balcony or changing his plans, one eyebrow raised, and he grinned charmingly, delighted at what was now unfolding before him. Michelle stood up, stretching a little after sitting cross-legged on the sofa. Tina was across from her, relaxing in one of the overstuffed white chairs, the afghan tightly wrapped about her frame, but now she stood as well. The two talked a few minutes more, embraced, then said a few more words. Arms about one another's waists, they slowly moved towards the door.

Continuing to speak and after the door was opened, Sid sighed happily as Michelle and Tina hugged a final time, saying some unknown words of farewell. The former left, and Tina was now alone, turning to hesitantly walk back into the room. He could see her trembling, rubbing obviously tired eyes before she massaged her arms in an attempt to warm herself.

"Alone at last, *ma cherie, *" he whispered, "but not for long."

He had earlier determined the best manner to handle this situation, for after all, she was not stupid. The gift of roses would be one attempt to gain her trust. Just as for her, he had attempted to adjust his look, if only for the one time. Glancing down at himself, he grimaced a little at his choice of wardrobe, but felt it key to what he wished to convey.

Once he had spent time imagining a future night with Tina and Michelle, he set his mind to business. Quickly redressing, he hurried to the Nest laundry/cleaners, knowing no one would be there at this time of night. Sorting through the numerous rows of plastic covered, clean clothing, he finally found what he required, then immediately returned unseen to his room.

On showering, instead of applying gel and mousse, then spraying freeze as usual, he realized he had been correct in the actual length of his hair. Brushed out, it flowed thick and reddish-blonde, almost to his strapping shoulders. Even his new attire, while disgustingly ugly to his sensibilities, managed to flatter his perfection. He hoped Biebe would not mind him 'borrowing' some clothes, and wondered if his brother would even miss them. After all, how many jeans and flannel shirts did John own?

So Sid now stood on Tina's balcony, his hair styled like the Alaskan's, his wardrobe consisting of a pair of jeans and a blue flannel shirt that accentuated his stunning eyes. The shirt was somewhat broader in the chest and back, but with some careful tucking, he looked quite tailored, even in this casual outfit. He and his brother had similar builds below the waist for the jeans hugged his well-built ass, but he was certain he looked better in them than chubby John. He hoped that once she was over the emotional shock, Tina would think the same. Perhaps a few subtle reminders of his birth scene would make her desire to know what lay underneath the restrictive denim.

/One thing is certain// his mind snorted. /I look better than Tubby//

Tina disappeared from view and he moved, stretching his neck to see where she had gone. As late as it was getting, she was likely preparing for bed, so he would need to move quickly. But she returned, pacing a little nearly in front of him, weeping again as she mumbled to herself, occasionally wiping at more silent tears. He noted that she held another photograph to her chest, and he assumed it was either of the sheriff alone or of both of them in happier times.

/My poor Etienne. Shedding tears for John Biebe// Glimpsing the precious bundle he held, he smiled. /I shall treat you more lovingly than I do these dead plants. I will treat you in a manner you have until now only dreamt of in your darkest fantasies// A finger moved along the white wood framing one pane in the French door as he sighed, his manhood beginning to stiffen.

She was seated at her desk now, near the window, and Sid observed as she fumbled about with some items -- he was uncertain what exactly -- then began to write. Now and then she paused in her task, gazing off into the distance, absent-mindedly wrapping her mouth about the Mont Blanc pen, then obviously still disturbed, diligently returned to her task. Sid continued to watch, mesmerized by the sensuality revealed in even her most minute movement. She appeared to be the type to keep a journal, and he wondered if she was making an entry, recording more about her unhappiness with the sheriff.

Soon, Sid considered, she would no longer be concerned with unhappiness or John Biebe once he had entered her life. /I shall desire you to wrap those lips about my mouth...exactly as you do now with that pen. I shall crave that mouth encircled about my regions until I fill you with my essence, as you bring me...//

His thoughts stopped as she got up from the chair before her desk, and moved into the bedroom. Not wishing to miss anything, Sid maneuvered around the balcony until he was at the double doors that looked into this part of the suite. Only a few hours ago he had watched as she and Michelle reclined on the bed together, sharing that intimate conversation he had overheard, his mind concocting all types of fantasies regarding the three of them. Now, he decided was the time to make his move. She was distraught enough that this would be the perfect moment for him to make his way inside the hotel so as to make a proper entrance. No slithering in the balcony doors. He would knock at the main door like a gentleman, then take it from there. Taking another look as Tina strolled towards the walk-in closets beside her dressing room, Sid began to move....

He closed his eyes and visions of Michelle's face danced before him, her pretty smile and the way her eyes were filled with love only for him. And then her eyes suddenly filled with tears and all he could see was the anger, accusation and hurt that he had seen in her back in the fireside room that afternoon. Has hurting her even occurred to you? John's words cut through the numbness and Colin's left cheek burned at the memory of her left hand slapping him hard. He buried his head in his hands and cried himself into a fitful sleep.

She looked as beautiful as ever when she walked into the Tavern in her light blue sun dress and sandals. She never dressed up like this, he'd always seen her in pants and comfortable shirts, but this evening, Colin thought she looked absolutely radiant. He couldn't keep his eyes off her.

He waited patiently in his booth, tucked away and alone in the far corner. He and Bud White had spoken the day before and everything had been planned out perfectly. The officer would talk privately with the young woman and, when the time was right he would escort her to O'Brien's booth. They would sit together briefly, making small talk. Then White would excuse himself and the rest, as they say, would be history. He remembered the sleepless night he'd had, rehearsing over and over what he had wanted to say to her when they had a moment alone. Now, he shifted nervously, his cheeks flushing as he looked on with anticipation. He watched Bud approach Michelle as she crossed the floor, she accepted a soft kiss of greeting before taking his hand and walking with him to the bar.

Fingering his half empty beer bottle, Colin waited expectantly. Bud White ordered drinks at the bar and slid onto one of the stools, pulling Michelle up beside him. He whispered something in her ear that made her giggle, her face and neck turning a soft pink. Smiling shyly, she reached out a hand to straighten his tie absently, letting her other hand run over his shoulder to the back of his neck.

Colin's eyes remained glued on each of their movements. White pulled Michelle closer, sliding his right leg between her knees and drawing her leg up his calf until it rested over his own knee and against the steel frame of the seat. She blushed even further at this awkward position, attempting to close her space between her legs. Leaning in, White claimed her mouth in a tongue groping kiss as he ran his right hand over the smooth skin of her thigh.

His heart caught in his throat and Colin glanced around the room. Everyone else seemed oblivious to the scene playing out before them. His eyes pulled back towards the couple and he saw Michelle sigh into Bud's shoulder as White's hand disappeared beneath her sun dress and his lips sucked on the flesh behind her ear. Michelle's eyes snapped open when Bud White's fingers found the apex between her thighs. She shivered and moaned softly, leaning into White's strong frame and Colin's eyes were glued to the minute movements of White's hand beneath her dress and the blissful expression on her face. A couple minutes later, through glazed eyes, Michelle met Colin's gaze. Head resting on Bud's shoulder, her eyes holding Colin's, she came quietly against the officer's hand. After it was over, she smiled contentedly and Colin saw her face blush a deep red before she buried her face in White's neck.

Not long after, White whispered something in Michelle's ear and she nodded, smiling. Removing his hand from between her thighs and lowering her left leg back to the floor, Bud linked his arm around her waist and led her towards the exit. Michelle's head rested gently against his chest. At the door the couple stopped and White turned back, his gaze moving to Colin's booth. A sly smile crossed the officer's face and he shrugged at his brother before planting a hand firmly on Michelle's ass and leading her out into the night.

She crossed to the balcony window seat and looked down the hill towards the Tavern. All of its lights were out and in the darkness of the stormy night, the building looked like a black void in the distance. Michelle closed her eyes and pressed her forehead to the glass, sighing as it cooled her skin.

What was he doing now? She wondered. Was he finally asleep? Dreaming of me? Of them together? Was he still angry? How much had she wounded him? How much had he wounded himself?

Sighing, she stepped back and stared at her reflection in the glass as these questions consumed her. She wanted to run down to his room and hold him, tell him that everything was going to be alright. But her heart pounded, aching within her chest. She felt the push to see him, but there was also a horrible fear. What would she find if she saw him again tonight? Would there still be the same anger and resentment between the two of them?

Michelle wiped a hand over her cheek and realized that she was crying once again. She chided herself inwardly, reminding herself that things could wait until the morning. Despite those thoughts, she couldn't pull herself away from the window. She curled herself up on the cushioned seat and leaned herself back against the glass, staring through her reflection to the Tavern below.

She stared at her reflection in the full length mirror, feeling horribly self-conscious. 'Dress up in something pretty tonight, doll.' Bud had told her when he'd made arrangements for the evening. It had taken her a couple of hours in the gift shop to decide on the light blue sundress she now wore. It hugged her full breasts and hung loosely over her hips, its soft material ending just below her knees.

"I can't do this..." She shook her head and reached for the phone to call him and cancel when the telephone gave an obnoxious ring, startling her. She picked it up quickly and sighed as Bud greeted her on the other end.

"You almost ready, doll?"

"Yes.... No.... Bud, I can't do this and certainly not in this dress!" She stared back at herself in the mirror.

"Michelle, I'm sure you look absolutely gorgeous." His voice was full of a confidence she didn't feel. His voice dropped a notch as he continued, "Do you remember what we talked about this morning over breakfast?"

She was quiet for a moment. "Yes.".

"We're just going to sit down, the three of us, and talk. We'll let it go from there. Okay?" White's voice faltered slightly. "You and I both know we weren't meant to be together forever, doll."

"But I feel safe with you,..." Michelle chewed on her lower lip.

"Chelle, you can't stop fate..."

"Bud, I'm afraid. Okay!?" She blurted the words out too quickly and forced herself to take a deep breath and start again, but her voice continued to quiver. "What if what I felt when I saw Heaven's Burning was just nothing... foolishness... simple infatuation...? I can't... I can't keep opening my heart only to have it broken."

"Darlin' you know it wasn't foolishness or simple infatuation. I may have brought you here, but Colin O'Brien and you were meant to be together." A shiver ran through her body and her heartbeat quickened at the mention of his name. "And no matter how nervous you feel, doll, you know I'm right."

She didn't say anything. She didn't know what to say.

"Colin's a good man, Chelle.... as good as they come. He'll treat you right...." Bud paused briefly. "Now, I'll meet you here in the Tavern, say ten minutes?"

"Alright..." She nodded into the phone. "If this doesn't work Officer White, I swear you're never going to be able to get rid of me."

White chuckled on the other end of the line. "I hear you doll, loud and clear. But I don't think you need to worry."

"We'll see..." Michelle ended the conversation with a heavy sigh, hanging up the phone. She turned and walked out the door, fearful that she was going to lose any nerve she still had.

She paused outside the Tavern doors, knowing what awaited her inside. She smoothed out her dress and inhaled deeply. "Here goes the rest of your life, Chelle." She pushed the door open and stepped inside.

A slight haze of smoke filled the air, along with the chatter of voices and the Eurythmics 'Love Is A Stranger' playing from the jukebox. She scanned the room quickly, looking for Bud White and not wanting to catch anyone else's attention quite yet, especially that of Colin O'Brien. She clenched her hands against her stomach and gave a smile as she saw Bud White coming towards her.

Kissing her cheek, he squeezed her hand gently and drew her towards the bar. Ordering their drinks, Bud pulled her towards him, rubbing her arms gently. "A good stiff drink will calm those nerves in no time..." He leaned into her ear. "A vodka cranberry to match the redness of your beautiful cheeks."

"You just want to get me drunk, Officer White. Shame on you."

Bud's cheeks flushed slightly, and both of them giggled quietly before they fell into an awkward silence.

"You'll always be special to me, Bud... no matter what happens tonight." She said finally, fingering his tie absently. White pulled her into a close embrace.

"I know, Michelle. Me too. You know I'll always be here for you." He kissed her mouth softly and tightened his grip around her waist as if he were trying to savor this last moment together.

Michelle's heart quickened as the kiss deepened between them and White's body pressed against hers....

A sudden flash of light and Michelle's head jerked up from the window pane. The soft pale light of morning was barely visible behind the dark storm clouds that still filled the sky. A think sheet of rain was drenching everything within its reach. A loud rumble of thunder shook the building and she felt it in her bones.

Groaning, she pushed herself away from the window and stretched her sore and now cramped limbs. She silently cursed herself for falling asleep in the window seat as she moved towards the bathroom and turned on the hot water in the shower. Undressing, she climbed under the wet heat and let it soothe her aching body and clear her thoughts. Morning had finally arrived and she told herself it was time to find Colin and work things out, if it was even possible.

Swallowing carefully, he opened his eyes and let them adjust to the dim morning light that now filtered into the Tavern. A couple of hours had passed since Lachlan and Andy had left him at the table to 'wallow in his misery', but O'Brien was certain that it had only been a few minutes. He found himself glancing warily towards the door, half expecting to see Bud White smirking at him, Chelle nestled and sated in his arms.

"Son of a bitch..." Colin rubbed his eyes and shook the image from his mind. The room spun around him and he felt his stomach complain bitterly. He took a deep breath and swallowed again. He turned towards the mirrored wall behind the bar. A pasty white and bruised face with bloodshot eyes and dark circles stared back at him. "You've fucked yourself up royally. Shit, you've managed to fuck everything up now. Goodonya, asshole." You're not like this for real, Colin and you know it. Biebe's words haunted him for the second time in only a few hours. "Wha' the fuck do you know, John!" he shouted, "You're as screwed up as me!" His voice echoed through the empty bar, mocking him.

He leaned over the table, holding his head in his hands as he let his thoughts wander over the dream. What *had* happened that night? He slogged his way slowly through the files of his memory, trying to pull out some thought, some image of what that night had actually been like. But all he could see was White's hand beneath Chelle's dress and the smirk of satisfaction on the officer's face. Was *that* what had really happened that night four months ago? No... He groaned and licked his dry lips. But there was something there between them... there had to be... or he wouldn't have... Bud wouldn't have.... His mind whirled too fast for him and he took a deep breath, forcing himself to think clearly. It all seemed to make sense to him. Michelle had only been at the Nest a couple of weeks before that night at the Tavern. And since then, she and White had kept up their friendship, going out on casual dinners, dancing or even a movie night once or twice. What if it was more than friendship? Obviously they'd been keeping something hidden....

A sudden attack of pain forced Colin to curl up in the booth and he swore loudly. Reaching for the unfinished bottle of bourbon beside him, anything to take away the pain, his hand caught the neck of the bottle. It slipped easily through his shaking fingers and fell to the floor, shattering into tiny shards of glass.

"Fuck!" The precious liquid seeped into the floorboards and Colin felt his head begin to pound even harder. "Have to get..." He began to hiss as another spasm wracked his body. He forced himself to stand up slowly, feeling his stomach turn and the room spin around him. He took one labored step at a time, willing his jelly filled legs to move towards the bar.

"The booze 'r' wearin' off, mate... best get yourself another. And then I think we need to go reacquaint ourselves with Mr. Wendell White. We have some unfinished business." His obnoxious laugh filled the room and he stepped across the broken bottle, its' glass crunching under his boots. Nearing the bar, his legs began to falter and he stumbled towards the stools. He fell forward, tripping over his own feet and banging his injured hand against the brass rail attached to the bar. He yelled and clutched it to his chest as it throbbed angrily.

Doing his best to ignore the pain, he made his way behind the bar and propped against the back wall for support. He gazed at the large selection of alcohol before him. "What shall we try this mornin' Chelle? We've had our fill of bourbon, I think... let's try something different." He reached for a bottle of scotch and a bottle of vodka, holding them in his hands and weighing them carefully as he made his decision.

"Colin?" A soft female voice spoke behind him. It registered slowly in Colin's brain and he slowly raised his head at the interruption.

"Colin?" A male voice called out to him this time and he turned, his eyes lifting to see young Johnny and Annabella standing on the other side of the bar. "You look like shit, mate!" The young man blurted out the words and received a swift jab in the ribs from Annabella's elbow.

She attempted a different approach. "Colin, hon... Why don't you come into the kitchen. Johnny and I are getting an early start on breakfast. We could fix you up something, how's that sound?"

O'Brien's stared back at them blankly. His mouth was horribly dry as he moved his lips and spoke finally, "I'm not hungry..."

"I bet your not hungry, mate... you're looking as pale as a ghost." Annabella nudged him again, giving him a glare that could have killed and the young man shifted awkwardly on his feet and then reached out his hand. "C'mon mate, a cuppa will do wonders..." His hand touched Colin's shoulder, urging him towards the kitchen.

"Don't fuckin' touch me!!" The bottle of vodka hit the edge of the bar and a spray of liquid splashed across the counter and on to the wall. Annabella and Johnny jumped back as Colin held the broken bottle out in front of him. "Just stay the hell away from me!" He clutched the still whole bottle of scotch to his chest and stepped forward.

Annabella pulled Johnny back away from the bar. "Colin... we just want to help..."

"I don't need your help..." he shouted as he slid passed them and staggered his way backwards towards the door. "I just wanna be left alone!"

They watched him, stunned at the Colin that stood before them, weapon in hand. "Just mind your own fuckin' business!" he growled, and tossing the broken bottle aside,disappeared out the door.

It was early morning again now, and White had been in and out of bed all night, tossing and turning as his thoughts tortured him over what to do and how to go about it. He stretched himself across his mattress and moved his stare to another spot on the ceiling.

It had all been so stupid. A fucking bar brawl between two drunk hotheads that had resulted in Michelle getting literally caught in the middle, and now everything had been shot to hell. White hadn't heard anything n the last twenty four hours. Even when Johnny had brought up his dinner the night before, the young man had only told him that things weren't going well. White's mind had run with the possibilities of what that could mean. However, regardless of that, Bud thought it had been best to lay low and had stayed out of sight and hopefully out of mind.

This morning, however, he had something he needed to do, and that was to apologize, to Michelle first and then, when he was certain the waters had cooled, he'd find Colin and set things straight there too.

Rubbing his eyes, he rolled off the bed and crossed to the chair where he had left his jacket yesterday. His gaze fell to the photograph that poked out of the jacket pocket. He pulled it out, letting his fingers graze the crinkled photo paper. Colin and Michelle stared back at him, shy smiles on their faces and White felt his stomach turn as he was reminded once again at what his actions might have ruined forever.

"Chelle!!" She looked up at the sound of her name and saw Bud White running towards her from the back of the Tavern. His tweed jacket was his only protection against the elements and in his short sprint from the back stairs to her, he was already drenched.

"Morning, Bud," she said politely as she kept walking toward the main entrance. He fell into step beside her.

"Can we... uh, can we talk for a bit?" White reached out and touched her elbow gently, but she stepped away from him. "Aw, Chelle... C'mon doll, please." He persisted. "Just stop for a second and let me say what I have to say. You don't have to say anything, just listen...."

Michelle stopped suddenly and Bud turned to look at her. With a heavy sigh, she took his arm and pulled him under a nearby overhang. "You're going to catch your death of cold in this rain, Bud."

He chuckled softly as she thrust him against the wall, forcing him out from under the rain. "You can't catch a cold from..." He stopped talking as he recognized the unimpressed expression on her face.

"I'm on my way to see Colin now, Bud.... and if I don't keep moving, I'm not going to be able to go through with this."

"Go through with what?" He cocked his head to the side and looked at her, noticing for the first time, the concentrated furrow of her brow. "It hasn't worked itself out yet?" Michelle gave him an incredulous stare. "I... I've been up in my room since yesterday," he explained. "I thought everything would have calmed down after all that happened." He paused and lowered his gaze. "Shit... obviously it hasn't." Droplets of rain fell from his hair to the wooden porch at their feet as they stood next to each other in silence.

"What happened?" he asked finally, watching as Michelle's lower lip began to quiver and tears threatened to spill down her rain dampened cheeks. He pulled her towards a nearby bench and sat down beside her, folding her into his chest. "Shit, Chelle... I had no idea... I'm sorry, doll."

She blinked back tears, pulling herself out of his embrace, "I have to go, Bud."

"Whatever happened, doll, it's all my fault. If I hadn't been so stupid... so fucking drunk..." Bud's voice cracked slightly.

"Colin's a grown man, Bud. He's at fault in this too. Bloody hell, we've all done things in the last twenty four hours that we shouldn't have."

White frowned, not failing to notice how in the few short months that Colin and she had been together, she had picked up a few of his more colorful expressions. He couldn't help but wonder what had transpired in the last day that had caused things to spiral further. "Chelle...."

"I have to go." Michelle stood, stepping back out into the pouring rain.

White was right behind her. "Wait, please. At least let me give you this back." He reached into his pocket and pulled out the crinkled photograph. Michelle stared at it, swallowing hard. He placed it gently in the palm of her hand and closed her fingers around it. "I'm sorry, Chelle. For everything." He reached up and brushed a loose hair from her face, watching her stare at the photograph in her hand. "Is there anything I can do, doll?"

She shook her head slowly. "Just stay away from Colin for a while, eh? And if might be best if we stayed away from each other too." She looked up at him, a sad smile on her ace. Their eyes met and Michelle crumbled, falling into White's arms. The tears flowed freely, and Bud held her tightly against him as the rain poured on them.

"It's going to be okay, Chelle. Things will work out..." He tried desperately to soothe her, whispering the soft words repeatedly in her ear as he rocked her gently.

Eventually they pulled away from each other and Michelle tucked the now damp photograph inside jacket, placing it next to her heart.

"I have to go..." She straightened her jacket with trembling fingers.

"I'll be back in my room, if you need me, okay doll?" Michelle nodded at him. "If he doesn't come around for you, let me know. I'll talk some sense into him. And I promise, I won't use my fists." He received a small smile from her and he grinned back. Leaning forward, he kissed her mouth, letting his lips linger as the heat and comfort passed between them.

"Wish me luck," she said as they pulled away from each other. Bud nodded, touching her face with his large fingers and caressing her cheek before he wordlessly went on his way, leaving her standing in the rain.

A movement caught her attention, her heart leapt within her chest as she saw Colin stomping his way through the damp brush, heading towards the beach.

"Colin..." she whispered, her hand moving instinctively toward the photograph resting over her heart. She started after him, moving as fast as her sore legs could carry her.

"Colin!" She called out to him, louder this time as she slid down the dirt bank and made her way, limping across the sand. At the sound of her voice, his pace quickened. "Colin, wait... please!" She called out to him again and he stopped, standing still, his gaze staying on the horizon ahead of him.

Michelle slowed her approach, immediately noticing the half drunken bottle of scotched hanging from his left hand.

"Colin?" She spoke softly, reaching out to touch his arm. "Let's talk about this..."

"Don't you touch me, you fuckin' bitch!!" He gestured wildly, knocking her off balance, but it was his words that shocked her most and she fell backwards on the sand, staring up at him completely stunned.

He glared down at her. "What do you want to talk about, Chelle?" he growled. "You want to confess to me? Tell me that I've been right all along?" He took another long drink before he continued spitting words at her. "I have to ask you this... Did you and White ever stop fuckin' each other after we got together? I bet the copper got some sick satisfaction out of thinking that I was so bloody gullible." He watched, sipping at his bottle, as Michelle lowered her eyes and moved slowly, trying to stand in the wet sand. She struggled for several long seconds, tears running down her face before she was able to stand on her own. "And now I know everything, Chelle, and I'm not going to take it any more," he hissed at her, leaning close enough for her to smell the alcohol on his breath.

"Colin... there's nothing... It's not true and you know it!" She started sobbing uncontrollably.

"Don't fuckin' start with me, Chelle... and don't think those tears are going to change a bloody thing! I saw you and Bud just now." He watched her eyes widen. "Yeah, that's right... I saw everything and that's all I needed to make my decision." There was a long pause as Colin took another drink of scotch, draining the bottle down to less than a quarter. "And what decision is that, you must be asking yourself. Well, I'm going to screw you, Chelle... before you screw me. You can go and fuck Bud White all you want, sheila. And besides, you know what?" He leaned forward, making certain that she could hear through the wind and the rain. "You were never that good of a lay anyway."

She stared at him, her mouth falling open. "Colin..." she whimpered softly. His hand reached out suddenly, gripping the front of her rain jacket and tearing it open as he pulled her towards him and pressed his lips to hers in a bruising kiss.

With another shove, he pushed her away. "Get outta here. If this is the last time I see you, the better for it. And that kiss... that was something to remember me by...."

She was soaked through now, her hood thrown back, her hair hanging wet and loose over her face. "Colin...Don't do this... you're drunk. Please... I love you."

"Don't you dare say that word to me!!" His arm reached out and the back of his hand came within centimeters of her face as his eyes burned into hers. Michelle jerked her head sideways instinctively and she pulled back, stumbling over her own feet. He was instantly sober as her look of shock registered in his alcohol-drugged brain. He stared from his raised hand to her tear stained face. Without a word, or another glance in his direction, Michelle turned on her heel and ran over the nearest sand dune, disappearing from sight.

The bottle of scotch dropped unnoticed to Colin's feet, as he fell to his knees, burying his face in his hands. The contents of his stomach hurled themselves up onto the beach and he lay in the sand, the waves lapping at his feet and the rain pouring over him.

Her lips burned from his forceful kiss and she felt the heat of his hand against her cheek as if he had actually slapped her. And then suddenly, the realization of what had just happened down on the beach began to become very clear to her and the scene replayed itself in her mind again and again. The anger in his blue-green eyes, the cruel words and the swing of his hand as it made ready to connect with her face.

He'd been about to hit her....

Michelle forced herself to run faster, as if by distancing herself from the beach and Colin she would be able to outrun the truth that was beginning to haunt her.

By the time she reached the coarse grass and dirt path that led up from the beach to the Hotel, her pants were damp and covered with mud and sand. She was oblivious to the wind and rain that threatened to chill her to the bone. And she didn't care that with each jolting movement as she ran, she was jarring her already bruised body.

Michelle was only aware of one thing, the crippling ache that was rapidly consuming her. With every step, with each heartbeat, as she ran faster and faster, her blood coursed through her veins, burning painfully as if thousands of tiny knives pierced her to the very core.

She slipped and slid her way across the wet pavement of the main road now, more than once falling and scrapping her knees or landing on her back. Each time she would push herself to her feet, ignoing the stream of tears running down her cheeks or the sobs that threatened to burst her lungs.

Finally, Michelle reached to door of the Hotel and charged heedlessly into the lobby and passed the empty front desk. She took the main stairs as quickly as she could and only when she reached the second story landing did she stop for breath.

Swaying, she stood gripping the banister, her rain drenched and soiled clothes dripping onto the floor. She choked back tears and wiped at her face. Closing her eyes, she hoped to see something besides Colin's angry face or the back of his hand, but those images stayed with her, tormenting her.

Praying that her legs would be able to carry her to her room, Michelle staggered down the hall, leaning against the wall for support as she went. The thought of collapsing on her bed and burying herself in the oblivion of sleep seemed the only welcoming thought at the moment.

On the way to her own room, she reached Tina's door, room 205, and rested outside. As she rubbed the blinding tears from her eyes, she wondered how her friend had slept the night before. Hopefully she'd managed to rest better than she herself had, but maybe she was awake now too. The desire to be alone in her room was suddenly gone and Michelle was overwhelmed with the urge to talk with someone, and Tina was the only one who would understand what she was going through. Without a second thought, Michelle reached out and knocked on Tina's door.

---

John couldn't help the bounce in his walk as he made his way along the familiar path that led from the Tavern to the Hotel. Dancing around several puddles, he hurried along, glad he could venture out in-between showers. In his nearly year at the Crowes' Nest, he had never seen it rain so intensely. But the weather was the last thing in his thoughts, for he would have come out no matter the conditions. He had a special lady to see, and carefully protected under his jacket was a long-stemmed creamy white rosebud, just beginning to open.

He realized it was a small gesture, but he needed to start somewhere in his reconciliation. Sleeping only a few hours and downing coffee to sober himself, John's mind was overloaded as he attempted to work out an apology to Tina. A dozen scenarios had been acted out; he anticipated as many responses as possible, and after all those hours of sleeplessness, he was ready to see her. He only hoped that after almost a day apart, she would be prepared to hear him out. After showering and refreshing himself, he found Maximus on his way to the stables, but John waylaid him for a moment. He knew that the general was growing the most beautiful crop of roses, and he hoped...well, if there was one that appeared ideal....

Now he opened the front door of the hotel, smiling to himself, unable to contain his enthusiasm. He hoped Tina was awake. For someone who wasn't a morning person, nine a.m. was still fairly early, and he was curious if she'd already be awake, or still resting. Considering the hell she had suffered yesterday, it could be either, depending on whether she slept at all. The only other thing he thought about was holding her, making beautiful love to her, and letting her know he would not lose her for anything in the world. If she forgave him for being such an idiot.

Both Cort and Peaches were behind the desk when John entered, the sound of his footsteps on the hardwood floor causing them to turn in surprise as they had been in deep discussion. The hotel owner even emitted a small gasp on seeing Biebe.

"John!" she softly exclaimed, holding a hand over her chest. "Lord...you scared me."

"Sorry," he grinned. He couldn't recall seeing either of them that jumpy in all the time he'd known them. "Morning Peaches, Cort. Sorry I...uh...sorry about that. How's it going?"

Cort swallowed hard and nodded, while Peaches attempted a smile, which unfortunately came off rather tired. "We're all right, John. How are you?" she asked, a tinge of worry in her eyes.

"Well, I've had better days, but...." He chuckled some, then glanced around, sighing as he gathered his thoughts. He was feeling as awkward as some school boy about to ask a girl to the prom. "Uh...either of you seen Tina this morning?"

Peaches and Cort exchanged glances, something John could not help but notice, then the preacher nervously smiled. "Tina?"

"Yeah...Tina. I know she's not a day person for the most part, but I thought she might have come down for breakfast, or maybe ordered room service. Have you two seen her?"

Cort shook his head, while Peaches lowered her eyes. "John...We...No, no we haven't seen her."

The silence was so awkward, the sheriff was uncertain what to think. He had never seen them behave so strangely before, but he was more worried with the prospect of Tina leaving word that she didn't want to see him. Still, he would take a chance. "O...kay. Okay then. Well, if it's no trouble, I mean, if she didn't say otherwise, I'd like to go up and see...."

Peaches quickly spoke up. "John...that might...That might not be a good idea."

His face fell a little. He should have known it would not be that easy, thinking he could simply waltz up to her room as though nothing had happened. "Oh, I see. That's all right then. Guess she really doesn't want to.... Well Peaches, would you do me a favor, and just call...ask her if...."

"John...we can't do that," the hotel owner whispered, averting her eyes.

Biebe's features began to grow concerned. "Why? Why can't you call her? Peaches? Cort?" His voice was starting to reveal frustration. "Aw come on guys, tell me *something*. What's up?"

Cort stepped from behind the desk, slowly approaching Biebe as he did. "John...I don't know how to tell you this except to say it straight out. We can't call Tina because...because Tina's not here. She's gone."

"Gone?" was all John could manage, feeling as though his soul had momentarily departed his body to watch the scene at a distance. "You...You mean..." He gulped, looking away for a second before he refocused on the couple. "You mean...she went out for a while and she'll be back, right? Went into town, or...or...or...walking, or...."

"No John," Cort said, stepping nearer his 'brother', unsure himself how he could finish breaking this news to him. He had heard about the incident yesterday between the two, but he felt - like all the others did - that if anyone would again come together, it would be the sheriff and his beloved evidence technician. However now.... "John..."

"Just spit it out, Cort!" Biebe said in a tight voice. "She went walking, or drove into town, or she's out with one of the girls, or...."

"John she's gone!" Cort responded, taking him by one arm. "Tina's gone! She left last night while all of us were out." He watched as the Alaskan attempted to step forward, only to stumble slightly. "John?" he asked, reaching out to help him, but Biebe shook his head, moving towards the front desk.

"I'm okay, Cort. I...." He looked at Peaches, noticing for the first time that there were tears forming in her eyes. "Peaches? No one was here?"

She shook her head, fumbling some item in her hand that John could not make out. "I was with Cort several hours quite late last night. She must have slipped out then. The last anyone saw her car was around...I think ten, maybe eleven o'clock. Michelle...." The words caught in Peaches' throat as it tightened.

For a second, John appeared hopeful. "Michelle? What about Michelle, Peaches?" The last he had seen of her had been at the Tavern, during the aftermath of her learning about Colin's foolishness. Poor thing. It was no wonder she and Tina had turned to one another considering the problems they were having with their respective companions.

"It's just that...Well, the two of them talked yesterday evening for quite some time according to Chelle, but Tina didn't say anything about doing...*this*. In fact, she said they had tea with a few of the other girls, you know...uh...Kath, Laura, Trisha...I don't know," she added with a shrug. "Then she and Tina talked longer after they left."

"But Tina didn't say a thing to her?"

"No, nothing John...I'm sorry." She angrily wiped at her eyes, not wanting to collapse in front of the Alaskan, but knowing she was close to it. "Chelle went by Tina's apartment fairly early this morning, I guess to...uh...talk or -- or...check on her. Chelle said she started knocking and the moment she touched the door, it opened."John's eyes widened at that.

Cort now took up the narration. "Chelle knew that wasn't right, and after checking to see if Tina was inside, you know, maybe hurt or something, then she came and got me and Peaches. She was nearly hysterical; wasn't sure what had happened. So we went back upstairs with her and searched the apartment and...." He paused, shaking his head.

Peaches lifted her hands now, so John could then see that she held two envelopes: a long, white legal sized one, and a larger manila one. "I found these in the In-Box when we came back downstairs, along with her keys. She addressed this one," she held forward the manila package, "to me...She wrote and said she didn't want Michelle or me to know what she planned because she knew we'd tell you, and you'd try to stop her."

John mumbled, "Of course I would have tried to stop her." He couldn't take his eyes off the envelopes, aching as he realized Tina had touched both of them.

"And if we kept it from you, you'd be angry at us. She didn't want that to happen."

"No," was all he could whisper. "No...she wouldn't want that. She wouldn't..." He didn't try to finish as - once more - he saw the distant glance she gave before entering the hotel yesterday after their argument. She had held the door a moment, looked in his direction, then disappeared inside. Never in his dreams did he believe that would be his last glimpse of her, and that her last words to him would be 'I have to be alone!' "That's all she said?" he finally asked.

"She had this one," she showed him the white envelope, "inside the other. She asked me..." For a moment, Peaches choked as Cort returned to her side, seeing the state she was about to work herself into. The former gunfighter placed an arm about her shoulders. "She asked me to give this to you." She held the white one towards Biebe, noticing his hesitation. Peaches had no idea that all John could think was if he took it, this nightmare would turn real. Nodding, he finally accepted it, slowly turning away. "John...John, if Cort and I had known...."

"I know, Peaches. Don't blame yourself. Don't blame...." He couldn't finish as he walked in the direction of the stairs, looking at the second floor. "Do you mind...Could I go up to her room for a little? If you don't...."

"Of course I don't mind, John, you should know that. Here," and after a bit of feeling in her pockets, she located the key to room 205 and handed it to him. "Stay as long as you need."

"We were up there right before you came, just to check things out."

Biebe nodded. "Did she...Did she take...everything?"

Peaches and Cort looked at one another again, realizing why he had asked that. They all remembered when Laura had left the Crowes' Nest, and how her room had been stripped by her of everything which had given it her own personality. Cort sighed. "Not...not everything, John...but she took...a few...things I guess. She told me that if necessary, Michelle and Laura could pack the rest and.... Well, I called Michelle and had her go in there with us, and she said she noticed...."

"Noticed what?" John anxiously asked.

"I don't know...uh...photos," Cort said, scratching his head.

"Michelle said there were photos missing," Peaches added. "She was more familiar with Tina's room than either of us, so she noticed that immediately. I don't know what they were photos of but...."

Swallowing hard, John briefly shut his eyes. "I think I do," he whispered. "I think I do...Thanks you two. Thanks," he said almost absently, moving to the foot of the staircase. He stared upwards, remembering that it was only the day before when the two of them had playfully rushed down them on their way to breakfast. Her mood had been so much improved -- at least he had thought so. All he had wanted to do was make her forget: his insistence that she sympathize with Hando; the nightmare. He was still kicking himself for thinking she had put it all behind her. Once more, he recalled the fear and sadness in her eyes as she backed away from him in the parking lot, then that final glance. That final glance.... He would remember that for the remainder of his life. His head throbbed again, the words 'stupid, stupid, stupid...' reverberating inside his brain as they had the day before. And to think he had promised she would never be hurt when she was with him.

"I'll...I'll...be a while, I think. I'll...." Unable to say more, he simply nodded, his shoulders slumped as he ascended the staircase, each movement resembling those of an elderly man.

Her lips trembling, Peaches closed her own eyes and allowed Cort to take her into his arms....

"Shh, no, hon," her voice cracked, and she cleared her throat. "I do think I need to get up though." She winced and brought her good hand to rest on her shoulder brace, the heat from her palm penetrating the material into the twisted fibres of her shoulder. Hando stood fluidly, and the sudden lack of contact caused gooseflesh to rise across her stomach and chest. Gripping her shoulder firmly, she tried to sit up, but the pull of her muscles on her shoulder was too much. As she sank back to the floor a pair of strong arms encircled her and pulled her gently to her feet.

"What else can I do to help, love?" he whispered, his eyes filled with concern.

She leaned against his hard body, loving the feel of his arms around her and wishing that her shoulder would throb less. He ran his calloused hands along her spine and nuzzled her neck, his lips tracing burning brands along the tendons there. She shivered at his touch and pulled back, looking into his eyes and grinning. "You could help me out of this bloody brace so I can take a shower."

He chided himself again for being so stupid and ignoring that sensation he had felt late the night before, while secluded in his room, attempting to decide what he would tell her. How could he have possibly missed it, and yet, he had. In-between a fourth and fifth cup of coffee, and nearly an hour of pacing, he had decided on a cold shower to further assist in the languorous sobering process. He was drying himself and slipping into some fresh clothes when he paused in the routine. John even recalled lowering his head as if to listen to.... Listen to...what? The only sound right then were the vocal strains of Pavarotti performing "Recondita Armonia" on 'The Three Tenors' compact disc which had been a gift from Tina, a way of helping to introduce him further into the world of opera. He had shaken his head, thinking nothing more of it, although a bitter chill caused him to shiver almost uncontrollably, nearly blinding both his thoughts and his sight. John remembered standing there in the middle of his dressing room floor, attempting to breathe normally again as one sensation stabbed at the back of his head, causing a painful pulsation. He could not help recalling the time his father had described being shot.... He had called it a dull throbbing, and John wondered if this was similar. It had not lasted though, and on subsiding, the sheriff had fixed another cup of coffee and returned to what he was originally doing.

Now he wondered if that had been some type of warning, one he had ignored, much as Maximus had spoken of the feeling he had experienced the morning Laura left the Nest? He had attempted to maintain some sort of optimism in this entire situation, and that had caused him to reject the alarm. The whole time he had made his way to her suite, he had retraced the moments in his own room last night, and more and more, little things began to bother him. Not only the chill; not just the near migraine. There had been one moment he thought he had dreamed, but now, looking back, he was uncertain if he had actually been asleep or in that state between sleep and consciousness. He had heard Tina whisper, "Good-bye John." Good-bye. Not the type of farewell she gave him when she was going away for a week or two and would return. No, there had been finality to her words now that he considered it.

"Tina?" he called out, voice cracking as he did, knowing full well there would be no response. Shaking his head, feeling rather silly, he turned the lock, not wishing to be bothered, then looked around, a cursory glance not noticing a difference. He slowly moved further into the familiar apartment, wishing he could overcome that sense of dread, and he rubbed his arms, wondering why he felt so cold again.

He immediately made a path to her desk, the place where he had watched her so many hours, diligently typing on her keyboard, or writing by hand one of her countless stories on some notepad. Most times, he would pull one of the oversized chairs nearby, and while he relaxed with a newspaper or book, some music they both enjoyed playing on the sound system, they would settle in for an occasional quiet evening. Time with their friends at the Tavern was nice, but there were days when they just wanted to be alone. He enjoyed watching her, the little habits she had such as chewing on her ink pen, absently fingering a strand of hair, or staring off into space, until she realized she was being observed. Laughing, she would find something to hurl his way, and eventually, the two of them ended up curled up in front of the fireplace or in the four-poster, but it normally resulted in a session of passionate lovemaking.

On first glimpse nothing seemed out of place, but John's alert eyes immediately caught the differences. Not only her laptop, but personal items such as her small address book, the pen set, letter opener, and the leather bound appointment book were also gone. Several compact discs she kept stored in a small container had disappeared as well, discs she hated to be without: her soundtracks for 'Titanic', 'Gladiator', ' The English Patient', 'The Ghost and Mrs. Muir'; the Metropolitan Opera performing 'The Compact Ring', her own personal copy of 'The Three Tenors'. An edition of love poems he had purchased her at a second hand bookstore in town was no longer in its' familiar spot; the 'Wuthering Heights' hardbound version Trisha had given her had been removed. Most noticeable of all, however, was a sterling silver frame containing a photograph of him and Tina, taken by Steve only a few weeks before. It was a particular favorite of Biebe's - the couple out in the English gardens right before dusk, their happiness apparent as she lay back against the Alaskan. When the New Yorker presented the proofs to them, Tina had chosen that one because the splendid colors reminded her of the sunset in the background of the 'Flying Scene' from 'Titanic'. The sheriff recalled smiling, nodding in agreement, and thinking that to him, her joy at that second in time mirrored that of Rose - two women who for once in their lives had discovered a certain freedom. Although they chose a half-dozen shots, that particular print became known as "the one". And now it, too, was gone.

Shaking his head, still disbelieving, John continued towards the bedroom, swallowing hard on realizing what he might find. The hollowness laid on his stomach like rocks, head pounding, his body almost unwilling to move beyond those creamy double doors. After minutes of vacillation, he pushed them open, his fears becoming even more concrete. Familiar photographs on the walls, on the nightstands, and the mantlepiece had been removed; cosmetics and fragrances neatly kept on the vanity were missing. The teddy bear he had given her before their first dinner together - its' place usually at the head of her bed amongst the numerous pillows - was no where to be seen.

Desperate now, he ran into the dressing room, his heart sinking as he surveyed what remained. All of her luggage was gone, and while quite a few clothes still hung in their neat rows, a good deal was missing as well. He went further, easing open the bathroom door now, almost peeping inside as if he hoped this was all a bad joke and she was hiding, just waiting to see what his reaction would be. But the only thing he saw was that a couple of bath towels had been used, likely from the day before, and all of her toiletry items had been stripped, too. Everywhere he went, he was aware this had all been done in a hurry and out of desperation, as if to escape. A few pieces of clothing and lingerie were strewn on the floor or over a chair, obviously dropped as she rushed about.

Carefully closing the door, he looked back over his shoulder, and returned to the bedroom, uncertain what to think. It was not possible that Tina had gone. It just did not make any sense. She would never leave the Nest, especially when he considered all the many times she had expressed what all it meant to her, and how she felt safe there. Safe. What was it she had said to him during that argument in the parking lot? She came there to feel better than she did in the Real World, but now Hando was beginning to make that impossible for her.

/I promised to protect her// he thought, collapsing in one of the fireplace chairs. /I swore to her that I'd never hurt her.// Looking down at his trembling hands, he suddenly saw that he was still clutching the envelope Peaches had given him. For the first time he saw the single word 'John' printed across it in her distinctive writing, lettering so precise, she said she was often teased that it was actually better than some typewritten material. He swallowed, running several fingers across the surface, before turning it over so as to gently tear open the flap. Removing the two sheets of matching ivory colored paper trimmed in gold, he smiled slightly as he gazed at the Etienne Renee Stewart engraved as part of the letterhead. Below that was the date, and then in black ink the letter began "John...." The sheriff gave a hollow chuckle. Well, at least she had not started it with "Dear John".

"John...this may be one of the most difficult things I've ever done, and I know it seems cowardly for me to write you a letter instead of telling you in person. But I guess for me this was best, only because I didn't want you to try to talk me out of my decision. I just feel as though I have reached a crucial point, and now is the time to act on it before I change my mind.

"You don't know how much it is killing me to write this, but I've decided I have to leave the Crowe's Nest. I am not sure at this point whether it's only temporary, or if I'm leaving for good. All I know is that I need to get away in order to reorganize myself, to give myself a chance to think more clearly. The only way I can do that is to leave, so that I'm not influenced by everything I adore about this world.

"This world. John, I realize that you know how much it means to me, even more than the one I come from. I know it was God's will that I discover this place. I know He realized how lonely my life has always been; that even with family, I have always felt a certain emptiness. But you realize this already for I have told you before. John, you and the Crowe's Nest have made me feel safe. That I could be the Etienne Stewart I always desired to be - independent, outspoken - even sensual, finding things within me I never thought possible. You, John Biebe, awakened my womanhood. I realize Maximus was my first, and you understood without question, but you - you are what has kept me here; you filled my empty soul in ways I thought unattainable. Truth be told, you became that part of me I was afraid I would never find; that I would go through life alone, frightened, trapped in an existence in which I often feel more a servant than loved as a daughter, a sister, a niece....I'm sorry, I'm rambling, but we've discussed this so much, I knew you would understand what I meant."

The Alaskan knew, remembering all the many things Tina had told him as she opened up more and more about her life in her world. It had taken a while for her to confess many things, and on speaking to Laura, he learned it had been the same with them. Although she and Laura had been friends for many years, it had taken Tina almost five before she felt comfortable enough to tell her own personal history. While John and Laura did not "share notes", the sheriff knew they had heard pretty much the same thing. Openly, she might behave as though all was fine, but deep down was an emptiness she had not been able to satisfy until the past spring: until England, and then the Nest. Blinking, he sighed and returned to the note, wondering if he could finish it.

"That is what makes all this more difficult. Leaving you is like leaving part of my soul behind. But I'm so unsure about things right now. I have never felt frightened in the Crowe's Nest; this was my refuge, my hiding place. Now, however, it is as if the real world is encroaching on everything I love about this one, and unfortunately, it is because of what I feel towards Hando. It's not your fault, John. He is your brother, as much as Sid, or Maximus, or East, or Bud. You can't help but feel something towards him. I, however, can't help how I feel towards him as well. Perhaps you all can redeem him, but all I feel when I see him is the hatred and contempt for what he can't comprehend. He is a very intelligent boy - yes, there may be hope for him, and perhaps with the guidance of those like you and Max, it will happen. I hear you all saying that sometimes; that one doesn't need to stay the same way you were in the movie, unless one desires to be. But as a woman of color, I can't help how I feel. As a woman of such varied ancestries, I shouldn't be expected to. I *won't* apologize for how I feel, for I have nothing to apologize for. That is why I regret that because of Hando, I feel a wedge is being driven between me, the Crowe's Nest, and you. He has invaded my conscious and subconscious, and I can't possibly allow that. I admit it - I feel threatened.

"So I feel I must go away, to think things over, and with hope, decide what I need to do next. I hate repeating myself, but I don't know what will happen. All I ask is that you understand where I'm coming from in all of this, and that you give me time - time and the solitude I need. I promise, no matter what I decide, I will let you know. I realize that once - when Laura and Maximus were having their troubles - I told you that nothing would ever drive me away from you. But I never, never saw this coming."

John held the paper away from him for a second, trying to swallow but nearly unable to his throat was so constricted. Once more, he tried to concentrate on the letter, but it was becoming more difficult. "Forgive me, beloved, forgive me for not telling you this face to face. I would have lost my nerve if I had, and that's something I cannot afford to do right now. Forgive me, John, and please, please understand. No matter what happens, my heart will always belong to you."

And below this, on the final page, was a handwritten 'Tina' in script revealing her nervousness. The last paragraph he reread a second, then third time, noticing then that the sheet was stained in spots. Her tears.... She had shed unhappy tears because of him. Her family was often what hurt her - it should not have been him, not when....

"Not when what, John? Not when what?" he muttered, tears beginning to sting his eyes. He turned the pages over and over in his hands, as if by reading the words once more, it would suddenly will her back. "When you said you'd never hurt her? When you said you'd protect her? When you told her she could always be happy here? When you said she'd never know an unhappy day with you?"

*Good-bye, John.* Her voice, he recognized, sounded full of sadness but reconciled to what was happening.

Perhaps he was right when he told Michelle he might be coming down with something. He shivered, teeth nearly chattering, and after placing the letter in the chair, stepped over to the fireplace, adjusting the control so that a small blaze appeared in the hearth. It felt good, but he was still so cold and beginning to feel exhausted as the events of the last couple of days and his lack of sleep caught up with him. Smiling to himself, even as a tear trickled down his cheek, he suddenly realized that the stationery had carried her scent with it. "Dune," he whispered, his head beginning to pound as he closed his eyes, trying to shut out the pain. "Darlin'...Tina...don't go."

"You don't mind driving, do ya, hon?"

"No worries, love. Just tell me where we're goin'." Following Syrena's directions Hando soon found himself leaving paved roads behind. The truck bounced over washboard sections of the gravel road as they continued into the wilderness. After about half an hour the road turned back into tarmac though it was still considered a single lane road, and they climbed steadily up the slope. On the other side of the mountain the road stretched out in a long straight line, and Syrena directed him to a turnout at the west end of the stretch. "Where the fuck are we?"

"You'll see. Come on." She clambered out of the truck, closed the door behind her and gripped his hand firmly when he came around the front of the truck. The sound of rushing water filled the air and got louder as she led him down a narrow path through the trees. A hundred metres down the path a break in the trees ahead revealed the smooth water of a river. She stopped briefly at an old-fashioned pump, released her grip on him and worked the handle vigorously with her good hand. "Thirsty? This is the best water anywhere," she explained as cool clear water began to rush out of the faucet.

He raised his eyebrows, not really sure what he was doing here in the middle of the bush, but his desire to know more about her overcame his hesitancy. He lowered his lips to the stream of water. It was icy cold, as if it had just come from a glacier, and damned if it wasn't good water--he drank his fill. "Your turn," he said, taking the handle from her and pumping.

"Thanks." As she lowered her head to drink he pulled the handle as hard as he could, laughing as the stream of water rushed out powerfully and doused her face. She looked up at him with a glint in her eyes, and something told him that he'd get paid back for that move, but he didn't mind. He felt strangely comfortable with her here, nothing around them but the trees and the water.

"So what is this place?" he asked, letting the pump handle drop and gazing around.

"This is one of the places I come when I need to think. I used to come up here on weekends in the summer with my horse. We'd start out early in the morning, pack everything we'd need on the horse and come up here." He looked at her, wondering who else she was talking about, and she grinned. "We, Hando. Me and Red, my oafish horse. I haven't camped up here for years, though. The last time I came up here to think was to contemplate life..." she sighed softly and continued, "... and whether it was worth living. Luckily the falls isn't high enough to jump off of," she met his worried eyes and grinned crookedly. "Hey, doesn't everyone go through those times in life when you think it'd be better to be dead? Damn, and I thought I wasn't alone."

The tone of her voice was light; the glint in her eyes and the smile on her face were evidence that those times were far behind her, but his heart clenched in his chest at her words. The Melbourne boys had gone through times like that, and he figured that was normal considering their backgrounds, but Syrena? He took a tentative step toward her then hesitated, not really knowing what to say. "I... shit, Sy, I'm here." He crossed the small distance between them and took her in his arms holding her close. "You'll never be alone, love."

She returned his embrace with her good arm then pulled back to look into his eyes. "You know something, Hando? Solitude is a good thing. It's the loneliness that's hard to deal with sometimes." She paused, pressing her lips to his in a chaste kiss. "I came here that time because I love this place, the solitude of it. I sat on a rock at the midpoint of the falls and wrote some bad poetry. I've been closer to death, you know, and I know you have, too. It's always a shock to the system, but, hell, life sucks but the whole point is surviving it. I've survived, and I think I'm in a pretty damn good place right now in spite of it all. How 'bout you?"

Hando allowed himself to smile, catching her gaze and holding it as he leaned in to claim her lips passionately. They stood there beside the water pump, lost in the ardor of the moment until the sound of the rushing water penetrated them completely becoming the thrum of their hearts beating together. He pulled his lips from hers and tightened his embrace, letting out a sigh in her ear. "You're right, love. I'm in a pretty damn good place right now, too," he whispered, smiling contentedly. "Now, let's go see this rock you're all on about."

"Right, follow me." She pulled out of his embrace, took his hand in hers and led him down a steep narrow path beside the falls. Her steps were sure, and there was a jubilance in her stride that wasn't there the day before. He followed her carefully, ducking under the overhanging brush that separated the path from the river and stepping onto the large flat rock at the midpoint of the falls. "Here we are. What d'ya think?"

"Beautiful, Sy." She folded her legs and sat on the edge of the rock, inches away from the rushing water, and he sat beside her. He could feel the heat of her body pressed against his contrasting with the cool solidity of the rock beneath them and the icy water rushing at their feet. He draped his arm gingerly across her shoulders, not wanting to strain her joint any more, and sighed as she leaned almost imperceptibly into his embrace. The two of them sat there, not speaking, just gazing at the rushing water, watching birds dart from limb to limb in the trees on the other side of the falls, surrounded by life yet all alone. She's right, solitude is a good thing, and solitude with her is even better.

Gone....

Looking upwards, his eyes met an exhausted reflection staring back at him within a silver framed mirror above the fireplace. When he arrived at the hotel a scant hour before, there had been such hopefulness in his heart. No, this was not something he had foreseen happening, possibly because he was remembering.... Remembering....

For an afternoon they had hidden away in her apartment -- he and Tina; away from his brothers and her friends; away from the conflict between Sid and Maximus regarding Laura. Neither of them had known what occurred until much later, when they finally decided to emerge from their hiding place after hours together. Biebe looked closer into the mirror, focusing on the four poster behind him. He could still vividly recount each second of that day; how he had started their foreplay out in the hallway, until Tina nudged him to reality and directed him to her room. He fumbled with the door key, desperately trying to get her inside, and upon closeting themselves inside, anxiously stripped away her clothes as eagerly as he had his own. Even now, gazing at the bed, he could imagine each detail as if it was happening before him with the clarity of a movie: all of his pent up desperation at the thought of losing her, his emotions revealed with each thrust as he plunged into her accepting body. Tina had wanted him just as much, returning his passion just as equally, but she knew him too well, even after their short time together. He was concerned....

"Darlin'... I didn't tell Laura this... But yesterday and today, I wasn't just worried about her and Max... I was worried about us..." He swallowed hard. "Scared that something might come between us... That you'd stop coming here too for some reason..." he admitted.

"Oh, John!" She pulled him close, hugging him tightly. "No... Whatever happens between Laura and Max, it's got nothing to do with US..." She kissed him tenderly. "Don't you ever worry about that; finding the CrowesNest -- and you -- has been the most wonderful thing in my life. I can't imagine not coming here.... you mean so much to me, John," she said reassuringly.

He gazed lovingly into her eyes. "You mean the world to me too." He kissed her passionately, but when their lips parted, his eyes lowered, and he whispered hesitantly, "I - I know you mean that now, but -- "

"Shhhh," Tina said, putting a finger over his lips. "No 'buts', Sheriff. You're the most wonderful man I've ever met. I'm not likely to forget you anytime soon." John started to open his mouth to say something, but she leaned in and kissed him, silencing him. When they separated after a long minute, Tina whispered, "Let me show you just how much I love you..."

John bowed his head, unable to look at the bed any longer, even as the scene left a burning feeling in his throat and his stomach. Her letter had told him more than he needed to know. She felt threatened, and he had not fully realized how much, especially when he claimed he knew her so well. Well, he thought he did...until now. Tina would be here now, if he had not misunderstood, if he had not been so foolish. Now he could only imagine the pain she was undergoing right now, and what she must have suffered as she came to this drastic decision. The Nest meant everything to her. *He* meant everything to her. But not enough he thought with a heavy sigh, tightening his jacket a bit more about him.

Only then did he realize that still protected within the lining was the white rosebud he was bringing to her. Withdrawing it, he allowed his right thumb to carefully stroke several petals, noticing that the bud had still not opened fully. The edge of one had withered just slightly, which was strangely ironic to him, for he felt as though his entire existence had withered in barely an hour. Taking great care, John placed the rose in the chair he had occupied, knowing that was the one in which Tina usually sat when she was relaxing beside the bedroom fireplace. He also picked up the letter so as to refold it and place it back in the envelope, and with a certain reverence, laid it beside the rose. Funny: this was the chair he had carried her to the night they first made love. Smiling sadly, he recalled giving her a foot massage, which had developed into something much more as the moments passed. He would give anything to have that night again; to have all of their wonderful days again...except the last.... Had it been barely more than thirty-six hours? Of all that, the only moments he desired to memorialize were when they had made love and played on the beach. The remainder he wanted to forget as desperately as a bad dream.

/It's a bad dream all right, Biebe, but you're not going to wake up// he considered, suddenly noticing the white afghan draped over the back of the chair. Funny, he had not noticed it before, but his thoughts had likely been elsewhere. Picking it up, he held it near his face, taking a deep whiff as he did. She wore it often when she felt cool, and John could not helping noticing that she had worn it very recently. The scent of a favorite fragrance, Marilyn Miglin's 'Destiny' layered with the same designer's 'Magic' created something distinctive for Tina, and was more prominent than the fading 'Dune'. Yes, he recalled her using the two scents when she was getting cleaned up the morning before. Before her, he had paid almost no attention to perfumes, although he knew Donna had enjoyed them, but Tina seemed to take such particular care, especially in selecting her scent for the day or the occasion. Filling his lungs with the white flowers and spices, he allowed it to wash over him as he turned, inadvertently meeting his own face a second time.

Blinking, he shook his head, wondering why gazing at an image he saw every day was starting to annoy him. All right, he had been a fool in all of this, that was true, but no, it was more than that. There was something....

"What John?" he said aloud. "You're a pathetic piece of shit right now, that's for sure, but...." His voice trailed into nothingness as he stepped closer to the mirror, staring beyond his blue-green eyes, his fuller features, the length of his hair. Why did his own face suddenly cause his stomach to drop in that sensation one felt when on a roller coaster ride, causing him to gasp as he reached towards the glass.

"Maybe so. But the 'lying snake' is your brother -- *our* brother. Like it or not, we're all part of one another. In time, you'll learn to accept that, just like we've all learned to accept the fact that there's a little bit of Sid in *all* of us..." The corner of Maximus' lip curled up, and he snorted derisively. "The gals all see that a lot clearer than we do -- because of Russell... And that's why things like this happen, because sometimes the lines between our characters are a little blurry for them..." John's voice dropped to a low whisper. "Max, I know you won't like this -- *none* of us here really likes the idea... But when Laura looks at Sid, she sees a lot of *you* staring back at her."

As John paused, Maximus turned a harsh eye towards him. "Sid is *not* a part of me."

Maximus' words rang in John's ears. He had been attempting to talk some sense into the gladiator regarding Laura's situation, but at that point quite unsuccessfully. True, it had taken even John a while to accept the idea of all these men being more his brothers than Alexander and Peter Biebe, his flesh and blood brothers, but he had learned to understand. He could fully comprehend why someone as honorable as the general would not wish to be connected to a being as disgusting as Sid 6.7. Or....

The realization hit him so suddenly, one hand clawed at the mirror as if to desperately wipe away what was there, even as quiet tears sprung into his eyes. In the parking lot, Tina kept backing away from him, a slight fear apparent. He could not follow that at the time, not knowing why she would be afraid of him for there was no reason...until he recalled the conversation with Max. Brothers because of their Creator. Brothers who appeared different and yet were so alike. Tina must have realized it that moment as well. She had looked past John's face and seen a shaven head, sharper features, higher cheekbones, the tattoos. He could see it himself, even as he tried to scratch the image from view. Nothing he did erased it -- it was as if John Biebe no longer existed.

All he saw was Hando!

Backing away, John stumbled over a footstool, catching himself before sprawling to the carpet. He had to get away from that mirror. Before today, he reluctantly accepted the skinhead as another of his brothers but now, all he wanted to do was cut out that part and discard it. It was bad enough thinking of Sid. But the idea of Hando moving closer, as Tina had said, had been enough to drive her away, perhaps forever, and seeing the Aussie lurking behind Biebe's own gentle features.... The thought made him tremble as he coughed violently, fearful he would end up being sick. He knew in his heart he would never hurt her; he knew that she was precious to him; that he loved her more than anything. Tina no longer saw that as she stepped away from him. John was holding out his hands, pleading with her to forgive him...and all she saw was the source of her nightmare and her hurt.

/No wonder she left// Biebe thought, grabbing hold of a bed post, hoping the spasms racking his stomach would ease. If he could just simply cut it out....

Nothing was that easy. After a few moments, when he felt he could move once more, John began to ease around the bed, the afghan still caught in his tightening grasp. His foot made contact with something hard, and he looked down before he stepped on whatever it was and damaged it. Bending down, the sheriff felt for the silver edged object which lay partially underneath the bed, and picking it up, sighed deeply. In Tina's haste to pack, she had likely brought this through, but misplaced it, probably never even realizing it. It was the photograph she kept on her desk. He ran a hand over the glass, his tears increasing as he gazed at the happy couple. Even if she had heard him say "I love you, Tina" would she have stayed, after all of this? He no longer knew. It no longer mattered.

"Sweetheart," was all John could whisper as he stood up straight, going to one side of the bed. All he wanted to do was forget, and seconds later, he crawled on top of the ivory comforter, drawing his knees upwards. Instinctively, he placed both the photo and afghan against his chest, his body beginning to gently rock even as it shivered from the cold permeating his veins. Closing his eyes, barely hearing the crash of thunder outside the window, and the way the wind was beginning to increase, he began to softly mutter their song as the world outside the room slowly disappeared....