By Absinthe Disclaimers: See Chapter 1 Chapter 5: Wherever I go Her life was in flux, her memories broken and banged, but still there, disconnected and mingled with pieces of other lives. If she had not believed in the possibility of reincarnation before this, she clung to it now in the desperate hope that it might mean she was not completely insane. In any case, the ad tugged at her heart strings. She remembered that name. Ishtar Galleries. Maia checked herself one last time in the mirror before pulling on her black overcoat. She'd chosen the outfit specifically because it reminded her of the dress she'd worn to see the Pappas/Covington finds. How ironic that the old weapons had stayed in the "family". In her high heeled boots and nearly knee length skirt, bundled under her coat, Maia stepped out into the cold. She hailed a cab and rode in silence, swaying with the turns. It pulled up a half a block away, hindered by the traffic of cars dropping off passengers. Maia recognized a few faces from the papers. She sighed and paid the driver, deciding to walk the rest of the way. There was a good number of people flowing through the inviting gallery doors, and Maia felt a certain proprietary satisfaction in the debut's success. She hummed a little as she checked her coat and filed inside. Maia wandered the floor, peering disinterestedly at the paintings and sculptures hung on otherwise stark white walls. It was almost an hour before she got her first glimpse of Sarah. The blonde was very clearly in her element, and the light and life in her face drew Maia like a moth to a flame. She made her way through the people milling about, until she could hear the soothing tones of her old flame's voice. Everything fell into place when their eyes met. Maia's sense of self abruptly returned, and a jolt of anger swept through her body. She was angry with herself and with Section, and with her own silly mind for mixing so much up for so long. Sarah was staring back at her, arrested in mid-sentence. The little blonde felt a shiver at the intensity in the stranger's blue eyes. That particular shade of cerulean was so familiar. . . It wasn't until later, when things calmed down a little, and Maia was able to get closer, to speak to the object of her attention, that Sarah started to think that this might be more than a coincidence. "Sarah," the stranger said, and the one word spoke volumes. "Excuse me?" Sarah replied, startled and unsure of herself. What was this? "Can we talk?" "Excuse me, but who are you?" Sarah asked, nervous then. Maia felt the bottom drop out of her stomach. For some reason, she had hoped that maybe, beyond all reason, Sarah would have recognized her. She turned and started towards the door without another word. This had been a bad idea. The blessed cold of night air surrounded her. When she reached the little park at the end of the bloch, she realized that she'd forgotten her coat. She glanced behind her to assess the risk of going back for it and wound up face to face with Sarah Covington in all her golden glory. "We've been here before. You and I," the warrior said. Her companion merely listened, her eyes bright with unshed tears. This reunion had been a long time in coming, and now that they were together again, she, the one that laid claim to eloquence, was dumbstruck. "Do you remember? Do you remember me? When we ran from our pasts? And now they've caught up with us, even here in this time and these bodies," the dark woman lowered her gaze and her head. With the shadow across her strange face, Sarah could almost believe that this was her Maia, but this didn't sound like the Maia that she knew, Maia was down to earth and succinct. This woman was making no sense. "Of course you don't remember. Sometimes I think I'm crazy, Sarah. Sometimes I think . . . that none of my memories are mine. It was you who brought me back. When I saw you again, after all their conditioning, after all the years when I thought I was somebody else, just the sight of you was enough to do it. I remember everything," Maia dared to look back up at the tears that were now spilling down Sarah's face, "and more. I can't stay here anymore. They'll start to wonder. I want you to do something for me. Meet me next Friday night at 8, right here." "Uh-" Sarah started, but before she could get any words out, Maia was gone. Maia huddled in the darkness, her fingers knotted into her hair, peering through the slats of a footbridge's handrail. She rocked back and forth, a little hysterical. She had never imagined winding up here. Time and again in her life, she remembered pulling herself up by the bootstraps. There were so many layers to peel back, like the flesh of a pomegranate, that were indistinct from each other. At least now though, she remembered who she was again. The light and the dark in a precious balance. But even the dark water below the bridge brought a dozen thoughts to mind. Argo shied away from the bridge, and she was forced to lead the mare across, only to discover that the mare had been frightened by a cyclops laying in ambush on the other side. A staff floated in the water, and a short haired Gabrielle renounced her warrior ways. A man in a trench coat stood beside her on a dock, watching her thoughtfully in much the same way that she had been watching a school of fish only minutes before. She swam frantically through dark water, searching for someone important, and for any pieces of the ship that might have surfaced. She felt her lungs fill with water as she gave up the struggle to keep it out. She remembered kayaking, pushing Neil past his limits, and laughing when he complained. Everything, every little thing, flooded her mind with flashes of the past. Maia closed her eyes and pushed it all down. She focused on the one that seemed to be the most real. She could remember the harsh feel of the metal kayak paddle, and the heat of the sun on the black, water-tight fabric of the skirt. She recognized the cruelty of the words spilling out of her mouth, and they reminded her of her sessions with Nikita, but she thrust those thoughts away. That was irrelevant. At that moment, the Cassandra identity shattered. Her cruelty had no purpose. Cassandra was not a part of her. She could think of no other instances of senseless cruelty. Always the killing or the torture had served an end. Her baiting of Neil and more recently Nikita had made no sense. Neither had a lot of the things Cassandra did. It was a lie. It had to be. That wasn't her. The rest were harder. They were all the same. They had nothing to do with Section, as far as she could tell. Xena and Melinda and Maia and all the others, the countless others, they had to be products of her mind. She woke up in her own bed, her sheets muddied from the boots she was still wearing, with a pounding migraine. Groaning, Maia sat up. Standing in the kitchen, downing tylenol, she glanced at her reflection in the front of her toaster oven and frowned. It was Cassandra's reflection. Not hers. Cassandra was a part of her forever, and that was when she realized that it didn't matter. They were all her and she was all of them. The thief, the mother, the warlord, the southern belle, the murderer and the hero; they were all a part of her. She had wasted enough time already, it was time to get to work. The real work; the thing that she was there to do. Operations had to be figured out, and if he was what she very firmly believed him to be, he had to be removed. Cassandra had already helped her into a position from which to scrutinize the man's every move. All she had to do was wait and watch and stay alive. Maia tugged her jacket closer around her and fervently wished that she still had her heavier overcoat. She couldn't remember ever having been this cold before. The park bench was hard and icy on her back and thighs and the moonlight's crisp cruelty seemed only to exacerbate the situation. It was 8:30, and she was pretty sure that Sarah wasn't going to show. At 8:45 she stood up and started to walk away. So that was it then. Footfalls in the frosty grass behind her told her differently, and Maia turned her head without turning her body to catch a glimpse of a familiar face. Her long blonde hair streamed out from beneath a black beret, and her jacket collar was turned up against the cold. "Maia?" Her soft voice whispered. Sarah's hopes were too fragile and would be shattered by volume. Maia slowly turned to face her. "I-" the blonde started to apologize but stopped when Maia raised a pleading hand. "Would you like to get some coffee?" the dark woman asked as though they were two old friends who had run across each other by accident. "Sure," Sarah uncertainly replied. They walked silently, a foot of cold air separating their bodies. "Sarah," Maia began haltingly, "I'm sorry. You must think I've lost it if after the way I was talking last night." "Maia? That can't be you. Who the hell are you?" "It isn't me, really. No. I'm sorry. That was silly. Yes, I am Maia. I'm sorry I had to let you think I was dead. They've changed my face and given me a new name," the words sounded too simplistic for the situation she was trying to explain. Sarah drew her companion to a stop and tentatively touched the foreign face. "I can't believe that's you in there." she laughed suddenly, but laughter soon gave way to hysterical tears and Maia found herself holding Sarah's shuddering form and breathing in the familiar perfume of her hair. "Things have changed so much," Sarah's muffled voice announced. "Not nearly as much as you'd think," Maia replied, squeezing her old lover gently. "I want you to see my new gallery here," Sarah wiped her face and sniffled, recovering a touch of professionalism. What she really wanted was for Maia to see that the painting was with her. The painting was always with her. She also wanted a chance to compare; to make sure that she was not crazy. But she couldn't be, she'd felt the little jump of connection on sight; this surely was her. "Ok," Maia replied after a long pause. Sarah offered up a fragile smile and lead the way through the darkened city streets. "This is it," she said after a few blocks when they stopped in front of a non-descript doorway. She fumbled with the lock, and at last they were admitted into warm building. The smell of new latex paint mingled with the older odors of the building itself. Maia sneezed and then glanced around, dazzled by the lights that Sarah had turned on. There was an awkward moment that hung heavily between them like a tightrope walker on a loose wire. "It's nice," Maia said, noting with approval the tasteful decor and the original if not wholly cutting edge art that sprinkled the walls. Sarah nodded acknowledgment of the complement. "We open officially tomorrow," she said, nervously flicking imaginary dust off of the leaves of a philodendron. The pair meandered up the stairs into the makeshift loft that Sarah had been occupying for about a month. Staring rather menacingly down from the wall was a familiar face. Maia had known somehow to expect its presence, but the first glimpse of her old face sent a jolt through her body nearly as severe as the flood of warmth that had accompanied her first look at Sarah. This was risky business. Under the unflinching gaze of her former self, Maia broke down. She slid down to her knees and wrapped her arms around Sarah's waist, burying her face in the front of the art dealer's jeans and crying helplessly. "I'm sorry," Sarah whispered, wanting nothing more than to hold her, but she was so unsure of everything. Wasn't that always the way? All she knew was that she was back with the person she most belonged with. The question was, what next? Sarah stroked Maia's night black hair tenderly, tugging occasionally at her arms, trying to slip down onto the floor with her, but the warrior seemed almost afraid to relinquish her hold. At last, Sarah managed to coax Maia into sitting down on the bed and allowing herself to be held until she regained control. "It's OK now, shhh," Sarah repeated, blinking back more of her own tears. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry about this whole thing," Maia hiccupped, "But it's ok now. They can't touch you now. Because they know I'd blow my cover and they're not done with me yet." "What?" Sarah looked puzzled, "I don't understand. I'd just assumed . . .You said that--" "I said what they wanted me to say," Maia interrupted gently, "Dammit I missed you." Sarah smiled, cuddling into the spot she liked most, right into Maia's arms so they could peer into one another's eyes with their foreheads touching. It was like surfacing from a long dive in 98 degree water and suddenly feeling again. Sarah didn't know if she would ever get used to this new face, but the feeling of safety and scent of bergamot and leather were the same. "I'm home," Sarah whispered. Back to Under the Pink Back to the Fic Index. |