HIS BETTER HALF: An Elena Duran Story 4/8 by Vi Moreau vmoreau@adelphia.net for thanks and disclaimers, see part 0 As soon as the others went outside, Alex jumped for the door and locked it. She stood holding on to the handle for support, her forehead resting against the doorframe, and made one soft sound, halfway between a sob and a growl. How did that bastard dare come here, to her house, to kidnap her? Or John? Or her friends? Who the hell did these Immortals think they were, anyway? How could they bring their nasty, deadly Game into her life, attack innocents ... and for all his suavity, that Englishman was one chilling, dangerous son of a bitch. But Alex MacLeod had had a pretty good idea of what she was getting into when she married Connor. Plus, no matter what else, Elena Duran was also an Immortal and could never be considered an innocent. <And lastly, Elena, better you than me.> <Oh, Elena, how could you do this?> Alex wondered, suddenly overwhelmed by guilt. But she forced herself to take a few deep, soul-restoring breaths. Panic or anger or guilt were not going to help now. They certainly would not help Elena. And Alex had only gone along with Elena's plan; that's all she'd done. <Dammit, Elena!> She listened closely but didn't hear their car leave--surely they'd brought some sort of vehicle with them. Then she thought, fuck them! She unlocked the door, went outside to search for Connor and Duncan. And John, God, what were they going to tell John? Or try to hide from him? <Wait, Alex!> She didn't know what direction the MacLeods would be coming from, and they had to be back soon anyway. She looked at her watch. They'd been gone about an hour and a half. How long or far could they run? When she'd joined them yesterday morning, she'd run her two miles then turned back while the men continued on their mini-marathon, as usual. Even so, they had to be back soon! The wind cut through her, and she went into the house, calmer now, and put on her coat, slipping the jewelry box from the kitchen counter into her coat pocket and turning off the half-burnt onions and potatoes. The smell made her a little sick--she'd completely lost her appetite. Then Alex went back outside, deliberately standing in a stiff morning breeze that was only just beginning to warm up, thinking, if anything happened to Elena Duran, she would never forgive herself. They finally showed up, running silently in the cold, dry grass of the lane, coming from the east over the same hill the sun had risen over not too long before. She noticed them when John, somewhat breathlessly, startled her by calling out, "Hi, Alex!" When she turned that way he waved to her. "Connor!" she called out, and the wind ripped the word out of her mouth and carried it to him quickly, because she saw him speed up towards her immediately. ``````` Connor came over the last hill at a slower pace now, using the last couple of miles as a cool down. To his credit, John had stayed right behind him the whole way, and Duncan ... he turned to look back at his kinsman. Duncan was no Speedy Gonzalez, but Connor knew from experience that his cousin, if only out of sheer stubbornness, would run up and down any hill Connor could find forev-- "Hi, Alex!" John called out. <Alex?> What was Alex doing, standing on the path in front of the house, hugging herself in her coat, her light hair blowing in the hard breeze, no hat, no gloves, he saw, as John called out to her and she turned to them. Connor saw her expression, and as that registered he heard her cry out, "Connor!" Connor put on a burst of speed to get to her, and she ran to meet him. "Connor!" she repeated, her words carried in the wind and past him. She wrapped her fingers in his sweatshirt front. "They've taken Elena." Three little words, and all the warming up he'd done, all the good feeling of the runner's high seemed to evaporate as he felt his blood literally cool down in his body. Behind him, Duncan obviously heard the words, too, and stumbled slightly. "Alex, are you all right? Was it--?" Duncan asked, still breathing hard. She could see the two men's breaths, like white plumes in front of their mouths. "Yes, Duncan I'm fine; and yes, it was an Immortal. He said--" But her husband put his arm around her shoulders and panted into her ear, "Let's get inside." John had gone on ahead, and when they walked into the hall he said, "Wow! Look!" reaching for Elena's blade. And Duncan, right behind the boy, cried out, "Don't touch that, John!" Connor looked past Duncan and saw Elena's sword. Stuck in between the wooden floor planks, quivering ever so slightly, a mute testament to ... <Christ!> But at least, thank God, Alex was safe. She seemed calm enough, but Connor knew her well, could practically smell her agitation. He hugged her to him for a long moment. "It was an Immortal named Simon Andrew," she said, her voice muffled against his shirt, and Connor pulled her away from him and held her at arm's length, drinking in her presence. Meanwhile, Duncan had pulled Elena's broadsword out of the floor with a sound halfway between a grunt and a growl. Gripping it tightly, he examined it for a moment, as though he wanted to be sure of what he was looking at; or perhaps, as though he didn't want to be sure. The eyes he finally turned to Connor were so dark and full of rage and pain that Connor felt his heart squeeze in his chest. "Do you know him?" Duncan asked. "Yes," Connor answered. "He's an Englishman. Not a very good fencer." "So how did he take her, then?" Duncan asked, bitterly. "Did they fight, Alex?" Before she could answer, he said, impatient, "Wait--you said they?" Even in his grief, Duncan doesn't miss much, does he? Connor thought, with a touch of pride. "Yeah, he wasn't alone. He likes to be sure," Connor answered, then turned back to Alex. Now was not the time for emotion--now was the time for thinking, for cold rationality. If necessary, for action. And since Elena Duran was--had been, he thought, miserably--Duncan's lover, it was up to him, to Connor, to be calm and strong. "Tell me what happened," he said to Alex, in a cold, rational voice. Alex knew that voice of Connor's, the cold one, the one that banished all emotion. The one tone of his that scared her, that made her remember that her husband was an Immortal, and that what he did in his spare time, almost like another man's hobby, was to *kill* other Immortals. Worse, that's what all Immortals did. That's what Simon Andrew did. And he had Elena. Alex swallowed and glanced at John, but Connor caught her look and said nothing to stop her. So she continued. "There was no fight. Simon Andrew came looking for you," she began. "He had two gunmen with him, a tall one, Jake, and ... Thomas. They handcuffed her hands behind her back and took her away." "Dammit!" Duncan swore under his breath. "Dad?" <No,> Connor answered John's unspoken question in his own mind, starting to feel regret already for the death of this Immortal woman he really didn't care for, but still didn't want to see beheaded. Simon had brought gunmen, and made Elena leave her weapon behind .... John was going to ask the question, and Connor didn't want to hear it, and he didn't want to give the answer. Because he knew what the answer was. "Just a moment, John," he said, glancing at his son briefly, seeing the remembered fear very clearly in the boy's expression. Connor kept his face perfectly calm and looked back at Alex, deliberately avoiding Duncan. Because he knew what Duncan's expression would be. He'd seen it on Duncan's face before, as he held Little Deer's body, and after Tessa Noel had died. Connor didn't want to see it now, God help him. He wanted to take the easy way out for a moment, to be a coward, to spare himself, just for an instant, from having to look at his kinsman's, his brother's, anguished face. Because Duncan knew the answer to John's question, too. "No!" Alex said, denying what Connor knew. "She's not dead." Connor rubbed his hands down Alex's arms, from her shoulders to her elbows, once, then squeezed lightly. He shook his head softly. Christ, he didn't want to have to say this out loud. Alex just wasn't giving him a choice. "Alex--" he began. "No, Connor, Simon Andrew won't kill her," she put in, pulling at his shirt. "He came for you." And got a free head while he was at it, Connor thought. "I understand that." "He won't kill her because he can ... he thinks he can use her against you. See," she continued, running her words together now, "he thinks she's your wife. He thinks Elena is me," she clarified. Not good, Connor thought. But ... it didn't make sense. Duncan stepped closer to them, Elena's sword still in his hand. "Why?" Duncan asked Alex. "Why would he think that?" Alex winced at Duncan's voice; there was nothing cold and rational about it. It was thick with emotion, rasping, hurt. She turned to explain as calmly and clearly as she could. "Because she told him she was me. Simon came for Connor, and when he couldn't find you," she turned back to her husband, "he tried to get John. They'd apparently been watching the house," she remembered. "Connor," Duncan said earnestly. "You've got to get Alex and John out of here." In the meantime, Duncan would go after Simon Andrew. It was exactly what he would do himself, Connor thought. "Yeah," he replied. "But I still don't understand--" "Look, Connor," Alex interrupted. "Since John was gone too, he said he'd take your wife instead. That's when Elena told him she was me. She told him she was Alex MacLeod. She took my place, Connor. She went in my place." Alex couldn't get around that fact. "And ..." she broke off, then continued, "I didn't say anything. I didn't ... I let her go in my place." She couldn't get around that fact, either, and at this moment she, too, was afraid, and ashamed to look at Duncan, to face the accusation that would be in his eyes. For a moment Connor felt a fierce elation, sheer and total joy that it was not his own wife in Simon's hands, and a surge of gratitude for Elena Duran, and for what she'd done. But he understood Alex's rage and fear and shame. Been there. So, to cover his own rage and fear and shame, and to protect her, he rushed to reassure her. "What happened was not your fault, Alex. You just went along with what Elena said, right?" "She went in my place," Alex repeated. It had been the logical, smart thing to do; it had saved both women's lives, at least temporarily; and she knew that. But the little voice inside her, that pesky little conscience, still whispered, oh so softly, "Coward." "Alex," Duncan said, putting a hand on her shoulder, his free hand, the one that wasn't still gripping Elena's sword, "Don't blame yourself for this." "Duncan's right," Connor agreed, grateful that Duncan was thinking of Alex at this moment. "Elena Duran would not sacrifice herself for you. She said that to save herself. If Simon had known you were Alex MacLeod, he would have taken you; what do you think he would have done with Elena?" Even as he said it, knowing it was true, he could still sense the unfairness in his words; but he didn't want Alex to feel responsible, or guilty. Now Duncan's tone changed. He whirled on Connor. "Dammit, Connor! Elena saved Alex's life, and you know it, and you won't even give her credit for *that* will you?" he snarled in Connor's ear. Well, he didn't have to worry about Duncan blaming Alex; Duncan was too busy bitching at him. And Alex was doing a very good job of blaming herself. "I know," Connor answered, placatingly, reluctantly letting Alex go -- considering how close he'd just come to losing her--then turning his full attention to Duncan now, for once not trying to defend himself. "I know she saved Alex's life, Duncan. I am giving her credit; I am grateful." His wife was alive and well. Plus, now there was a chance that Elena might be alive, too. Alex said, "We should both be grateful. Connor, I don't care what Elena's rationale was, or her reasons. The fact remains that I'm here, safe, talking to you, while she's in the hands of a man ..." <Say it, you coward!> "... of a man who will kill her if he gets the chance. Won't he?" "Yes; but we won't give him the chance," Connor answered.