(c) 1998, Rat

Spoiler Warning: This story takes place almost a year prior to Crossfire, and contains major spoilers for that story. If you're worried about that, you should probably go read Crossfire before you read this one. Don't say you weren't warned.

She moved slowly down the dim passageway, her soft-booted feet making no sound. Up ahead, she could hear occasional splashes of water.

He was still there.

She wasn't sure whether she was pleased about that fact, or disappointed.

Stopping for a moment, she leaned against the rough stone wall of the passage, feeling the cool of it against her back. Clad only in a light silk blouse, jeans, and boots, she was not uncomfortable; the temperature down here was well regulated, a mild 70 degrees. Still, though, the walls held tightly to their ageless chill.

She closed her eyes and tried to make sense of her thoughts. Did she want to go? Should she? Sighing, she shook her head. No easy answers here. You'll just have to play it by ear.

Yeah, right.

The splashing persisted. He was taking a long time in there, but she couldn't blame him. The underground lake was quite beautiful, especially when illuminated by flickering torchlight. Very peaceful. It made her think of some other time.

She wondered if that was why he liked it so much.

He had brought her here yesterday, finding the place unerringly despite the length of time that had passed since he had last visited it. One of his favorite places, he'd said. She could see why. For one seeking peace and solitude, this was a fine haven. She had been surprised at how much she had felt at home here--she was, after all, a city girl.

You're stalling, she told herself sternly. She knew she was right. Pushing herself off the wall with more force than was technically necessary, she hurried down the rest of the passageway before she lost what little remained of her nerve.

The narrow tunnel opened out into a scene of stunning beauty. She stopped at the end of the opening, looking out over the lake. The cavern walls rose up dramatically around it, forming a domelike ceiling high overhead. Ringing the perimeter of the lake were a series of torches set into the wall; the flames danced and cast their patterns out over the rippling surface of the water. She stood there for a moment, just taking in the wonder of it all.

"You're hiding."

The voice spoke inside her head: soft, gentle, amused. She smiled in spite of herself. "So are you," she said. "I know you're in there. I heard you splashing around."

The ripples on the surface of the water increased and turned to waves as a form rose up from beneath the depths. A huge, graceful, sinuous form, covered over in golden scales that sparkled with iridescence as the water flowed from them. "There," the voice said in her head. "Better?"

"Better," she said. She leaned against the edge of the tunnel, watching him. His eyes, large and purple and faintly luminescent, were fixed on her, but she felt no fear. Even the rows of sharp-pointed teeth didn't disturb her. "Nice bath?"

The great head dipped just a bit. "Very nice. The water here is just right. Would you care to join me?"

She shook her head. "No, thanks. That's okay. You're doing fine."

A ripple of amusement touched her mind. "I suppose I should be getting out. I could stay in here all night--it's so rare that I can find such a fine place for a bath."

She smiled. "Don't hurry on my account." Continuing to watch him, her eyes followed his every movement. The way his muscles moved under his golden skin was mesmerizing. It seemed that she could never get her fill of observing him.

"Fortunately," he said, "dragons can't get waterlogged. But still, all good things must end." Rising up a bit more, he headed toward the beach near which she stood. As he approached, he spread out his great wings, flapping them vigorously a few times to shake off the water droplets. She chuckled to herself, a sudden image flashing through her mind of a dog she'd once had when she was a small girl: although the dog hadn't had wings, he had shaken himself in much the same way after a bath. Still smiling, she directed her gaze for a moment toward the lake, and then back over to the cavern's other occupant.

Her eyes widened.

As he moved forward, he was changing. The great body shifted and decreased in size, the wings and the golden tail and the huge fanged head disappearing and reforming. She drew in an involuntary sharp breath.

He wasn't making this easy.

The golden-scaled dragon was gone. In his place, slowly and leisurely emerging from the water, was an exquisitely beautiful, very young man. Black-haired and violet-eyed, the man possessed a fragile, eerie perfection that extended from his slender, flawless body to the wise innocence in his gaze. Utterly without self-consciousness, he stepped naked from the water and stood on the beach. Tiny droplets shimmered on his fair skin.

"Kestrel?"

She tore her eyes away from him, startled. Had he spoken to her? "I'm sorry. What?" He wasn't making this easy at all.

"Where were you?" he asked, smiling that beatific smile of his. His voice was low, soft, infinitely comforting. As was almost always the case, there was a faint undercurrent of amusement in it, as if he found all the world to be a source of entertainment.

She shrugged, smiling back at him. "Just off in my own world," she said. Quickly searching for a change of subject, she went on, "I like this place a lot. I'm glad we came here." She used her continued exploration of the cavern's magnificence as an excuse not to look at him, indicating the area with a wave of her hand.

"I thought you would like it," he said. If he noticed that she was looking anywhere but at him, he didn't comment on it. "I used to find peace here, long ago."

"Do you still?" Unable to avoid him any longer, she turned back, hoping that the sensations that were going through her body didn't show up on her face. Although he looked no more than twenty years old, the word boy could in no way be used to describe him. Not once you looked at his eyes, anyway. Their violet depths, full of wisdom and shrewd intelligence, spoke of ancient knowledge and power. The fact that they were looking out at her from the body of a man so young and so beautiful simply made the whole package that much more intriguing.

"Very much so," he said. He fixed his gaze on her. "Is there something you require?"

She shook her head, trying to keep her thoughts straight and her face unreadable. The sight of him standing there like that was very distracting. "No," she said after a pause. "I just--wanted to see you." Yeah, sure. So why aren't you looking at him, then?

He nodded, but didn't reply. Still apparently unaware of the effect he was having on her, he crossed the beach to where a group of large rocks stood and retrieved a towel that had been draped over one of them. Drying himself off as he spoke, he said with a wry smile, "It's much easier to do this in this form."

She drew a deep breath through her teeth, moving forward until she reached the water's edge. "Gabriel, I--" Her voice trailed off. Angrily, she picked up a stone from the beach and skipped it violently across the surface of the lake. Her augmented strength carried it nearly to the other side.

"Yes?" His tone was gentle, inviting.

She turned back around, reluctantly. To her relief, he had tossed the towel aside and was now tying up the sash of a black silk robe. Shaking her head, she sighed. "Nothing." Sure. Nothing. Nothing at all. That's why you're standing here acting like an idiot. You always do that, right?

"Nothing?" he asked softly. He took a couple of steps closer.

She stepped back. "Have you eaten yet?" she said, again casting for a safe topic.

"No. Not yet."

She nodded. "Oh."

He looked at her oddly. "Are you all right, Kestrel?"

"Fine," she said, a bit too quickly. "Why do you ask?"

"You're acting--a bit strangely." Settling himself down against one of the rocks, he regarded her with some concern.

She drew another deep breath. "No. I'm--I'm fine." It's a good thing he won't read my mind, or he'd see how much of a lie that is. He can probably tell anyway.

"All right, then," he said, smiling just a bit. "Shall we go and see what Kri has for dinner?"

She nodded slowly. It had taken her awhile to get used to the spirits that always seemed to be hanging around him, ready to do his bidding. Kri, apparently, was a favorite, and known for its culinary expertise. She didn't know where it got the delicacies it brought to their table, and wasn't inclined to ask. With a faint smile, she said, "I guess we can't just call out for pizza, huh?"

His smile grew a bit wider. "Sadly, no. We're a bit far from civilization for that." He looked genuinely disappointed about it; she had introduced him to the concept of pizza only about a month ago, and he had embraced it with great enthusiasm. She still sometimes found it hard to believe that someone like him had so much yet to learn about the world. He had told her things that few other humans would ever have the chance to know, but concepts like pizza and simsense and Urban Brawl fascinated him. He was so anxious to drink in everything the twenty-first century had to offer; in a way, it was like watching a little kid discover his world.

But this was no little kid. She had to remind herself of that occasionally, although it wasn't difficult, looking at him. "Then what's on the menu tonight?" she asked, trying to keep her voice light.

"Let's find out," he said cheerfully, pushing himself up off the rock and coming toward her. "I'm sure Kri will surprise us as always." As he approached, his clothes changed again, morphing into a pale gray suit that fit him like it had been hand-tailored.

Dinner was in a small room off one of the main chambers of the cavern. High up in the mountain that housed the network of caves, it had a large opening in the wall that allowed them to look out over the night sky. When they had found the place, the opening had been choked with vegetation, but he had cleared it out with a simple spell and restored it to its former glory. The table and chairs were rough-hewn stone. She found the place to be quite medieval, which, she said, added to its allure. Only a few days ago, they had dined at one of the finest restaurants in Paris; a few days before that, she had introduced him to a hole-in-the-wall falafel joint in one of Pittsburgh's bad neighborhoods. He'd been equally at home in both, and had seemed to enjoy them both with equivalent favor. He claimed to be looking forward to experiencing her favorite greasy-burger dive, though she couldn't quite tell if he was kidding. He was without a doubt the oddest dragon she had ever met in her life.

He was, of course, also the only dragon she had ever met, but she somehow doubted that most of them got quite so excited over their first taste of chocolate ice cream. If they did, she didn't want to know about that, either. One dragon was quite enough in her life.

Kri had outdone itself this evening. As they sat down it came up out of the ground, a tall, blocky earth elemental that still managed to convey the impression of slimness. It carried a large dome-covered tray, which it carefully placed on the table followed by a smaller box. Opening the box, it expertly set the table with golden flatware, linen napkins, crystal wine goblets, and fine china. Then, pulling the cover off the tray to reveal what looked like some sort of exotic Asian seafood dish, it finished the serving and sank back into the ground. A moment later it emerged with a bottle of wine, which it opened and placed on the table. Saluting jauntily, it dropped once more back into the stone floor.

Kestrel smiled. "He is convenient to have around."

He shook out his napkin and arranged it carefully on his lap. "He's gotten quite good at cooking. I sent him out to gather some more recipes. I have no idea what this is, but it certainly smells good." Returning her smile, he poured the wine. "What shall we toast to?"

She picked up her glass. "To--possibilities," she said softly. Again, she tried to avoid his gaze, but again she found herself drawn into it. His eyes were unworldly in their color; she had seen many that had been more unusual, but all of them had been the result of cyberware.

He nodded once, raising his own glass. "To possibilities," he echoed. For a moment his eyes held hers, then he returned his attention to his wineglass. She could not tell what he was thinking.

As they ate Kri's delectable concoction, Kestrel surreptitiously cast glances at him from across the table. She tried not to think about the fact that he was only eating for pleasure--his real meals were much more gruesome. He had told her about the fact that he had to hunt occasionally; as much as he enjoyed human and metahuman cuisine, it was not enough to sustain his massive true form. He refused to let her come along when he did it, though: he said it was not something she should see. She knew he had already seen to purchasing herds of sheep and cattle to serve as his prey, but he hadn't told her any more than that. That was fine with her. Sometimes, late at night, she tried to reconcile her wise and handsome friend with the mental picture she got of a ravening beast, golden scales gleaming and wings beating, tearing some herd animal to pieces and gorging itself on the hapless creature's flesh and blood. Fortunately, he didn't have to do it often. And in a way, she rationalized, it was more honest than what humans and metahumans did when they ate meat. At least he saw his kill.

Trying to banish the image from her mind, she took another sip of wine and smiled. "My compliments to the chef."

He nodded. "Yes, this is one of his better efforts. I'll have to ask him to remember this one."

"Or at least ask him what he calls it, so we can find the recipe."

He raised an eyebrow mischievously at her. "Oh? Are you planning to cook?"

Chuckling, she said, "I hope not. I don't think even your cast-iron stomach could survive my efforts at cooking." It was true. Her domestic prowess was legendary in its nonexistence. Back home, she considered it a good day if she threw her clothes on the bed instead of on the floor, and heated something up in the microwave oven rather than going out for take-out.

"We all have our talents," he said mildly.

She nodded. "Yeah, we do," she said in an odd tone. She took another sip of wine and continued to observe him clandestinely. How different he looked now, sitting there across the table from her in his fine suit with his damp hair falling over his forehead in a most alluring fashion--how different from the blood-soaked, dying young dragon she had discovered in a cavern on an island two months ago while trying to escape from a run gone horribly wrong. She had been so fearful then, wanting nothing more than to run from the cavern and leave the dragon to its fate. Dragons were, after all, some of the most dangerous and crafty creatures on the planet. Conventional wisdom had it that you weren't supposed to trust them, because they would always screw you over. Maybe sooner, maybe later, but it was like a game to them. "Never deal with a dragon," went the old saying.

Up until that day, Kestrel had believed it.

But somehow, he had convinced her to help him. His voice had been so gentle, so reassuring, so--afraid. Although Kestrel's maternal instincts were, if possible, even more nonexistent than her culinary abilities, something in the dragon's mind-voice had spoken to something deep inside her that day. Something that wouldn't let her desert him to die alone and frightened in a dark cavern. Something that had driven her to do whatever she could do to save his life, even at the risk of her own.

She hadn't realized quite the extent of it at the time, but her life had changed irrevocably that day. She had lost her beloved shadowrunning team--her best friends, almost her family--to the missile that had taken down their helicopter. But, she had discovered over the past two months, she had possibly gained something that was in its own way just as valuable.

"Kestrel?"

Her head came up sharply as she realized he was speaking to her again. "Hmm?"

"In your own world again?" he asked softly.

She nodded. "I was just thinking about--the island. Did you say something?"

"I just asked if you wanted more wine." He set his own empty wineglass back down on the table. "Why were you thinking about the island?"

Taking a deep breath, she shook her head. "I don't know exactly. I just do--sometimes." She tossed her napkin on the table and met his gaze. "Gabriel--"

"Yes?"

"Could we--take a walk?"

He looked at her just a bit oddly. "Of course, if you like. Now?"

She nodded. "Yes, I--I think so."

His gaze stayed on her for a moment longer before he rose gracefully. "Anywhere in particular?"

"No--I just want to...walk." I sound like an idiot. He must be reading me like a book. She stood up as well. "And talk, a little."

They walked a lot more than they talked. He stayed at her side, a silent, comforting presence, content to let her take her time with whatever it was she wanted to say. It was one of the things she liked about him: he was always so calm, so serene. Occasionally she wondered if he had not chosen the name he showed to the world on purpose, knowing full well its angelic connotations. In the two months that she had known him, she had never seen him get angry, or frustrated, or even short-tempered. The only emotions he had shown her were his ever-present amusement, affection, and a childlike wonder at what the world had become while he had been sleeping beneath a mountain in the Algonkian-Manitou Council lands. As he walked along beside her, letting her choose the destination, she looked at him from the corners of her eyes and submerged another wave of emotion. So young, but yet so ageless--it was a combination she found difficult to ignore.

Looking up, startled, she realized that they stood near the door to her chamber. They had been walking for nearly an hour, but somehow without thinking (yeah, right, she thought; the old subconscious knows you better than you do) she had led them here.

"Are you tired?" he asked, noting their destination.

He's giving you an out. Use it. "Only a little," she heard herself say. Her voice shook just a bit. "Gabriel--will you--come in for a minute?" She motioned toward the doorway with one hand. The chamber was open, up near the top of the small cavern complex. She had joked about camping, since there was no furniture: her bed consisted of a sleeping bag on an air mattress.

Without answering he followed her into the room and stood near the window opening, watching her. Waiting.

She began to pace around. Why is this so hard? It's never been so hard before, with anyone else. "I--we--" she paused, mentally kicking herself for being so hesitant. "We've known each other two months now," she finished lamely.

He nodded, once. "Yes."

Either he's the densest dragon I've ever known, or he's making this difficult on purpose. She immediately regretted the thought, and hoped that he hadn't picked it up. None of this was his fault. "I was--" She took a deep breath and let the words rush out before her barriers could halt them: "I was wondering where we might go from here."

"Go?" He didn't cock his head to one side like a slightly confused puppy, but his eyes managed to convey the same impression. "I'm not sure I understand. I thought that you would teach me about your world, and I would teach you of mine. Was that not our agreement?"

She sighed. When she spoke, her voice was sad. "Gabriel..." A pause, and then: "Yes. That was our agreement. And I want to learn. I want to stay with you as long as you want me around. But--"

"But what?" He took a step forward, his calm violet eyes fixed on her. "I want you to remain with me for as long as you like. Surely you know that." He smiled, just a bit. "I think we make a fine team." Once more, his expression grew serious. "But there is something else." It wasn't a question, but yet it was.

She nodded bleakly.

He came closer, taking her shoulders in a gentle grip. "Tell me, Kestrel."

"Juliana."

Something in his gaze changed almost imperceptibly. "Juliana?"

She still didn't meet his eyes. "That's my real name. Juliana."

He bowed, just a slight movement of his head. "Juliana," he said softly. The tone in which he spoke the name suggested that her sharing it with him had far greater meaning than it might have. "Please tell me what it is."

It was a long time before she spoke. "It--it isn't easy. And I don't even know why."

He remained silent, still watching her, still gently holding her shoulders.

Her eyes came up. "I--I'd like--" She paused, searching for the words. Everything she came up with sounded either too trite or too overwrought in her mind's ear. "I--find you very--attractive," she finally got out, then immediately regretted it. It was all wrong! Wrenching herself from his grasp, she stalked across the room and feigned great interest in the opposite wall.

After a moment, when he didn't speak, she turned back around, frustration and embarrassment flashing in her eyes. "Aren't you going to say anything?"

He stood there in the same place where she had left him. His hands were at his sides, and his face was unreadable. Except for his eyes: they held sadness. "What would you have me say?" he asked very quietly.

She shook her head. "Never mind. Just forget I said anything. I--I knew it was a mistake. I was just tired." Plopping down on the air mattress for emphasis, she nodded. "Yeah. I was tired."

He came over and stood before her. "Kestrel. Juliana. I am not judging you."

"I know that," she snapped, and then sighed. "I'm sorry." After another pause, she added, "But you're not interested."

Moving with easy grace, he dropped to a half-kneel, half-crouch in front of her. "It isn't that." The words did not come with his usual confidence.

"Then what is it?" She looked at him again.

"I find you very attractive as well," he said. "In many ways: your form, your mind, your enthusiasm, your--soul, if you want to use such words. I hope that you don't think otherwise."

Her eyes closed. "I love you, Gabriel. I already know that. I'm already having a hard time remembering what it was like before I met you." Inwardly, she wondered how she had spoken those words with such ease, when the others had been drawn from her with great pain.

He gripped her shoulders again. "And I love you, Juliana. And not only because I owe you my life."

"You don't owe me anything," she said. "That's in the past. We're in the present now." She opened her eyes. "You don't even know how you affect me, do you?"

"Tell me, and I will."

There was another long pause, after which she sighed and spread her hands. "Look at you. You're beautiful. Handsome isn't even right. You're like something that can't even exist in the real world. Haven't you seen how women look at you? Hell, haven't you seen how some men look at you?"

"I hadn't noticed," he admitted. He considered. "I chose this form because I like it. Does it disturb you? I could choose another--"

She shook her head. "No. No, that isn't it." Inexplicably, the thought of him taking another form--a more ordinary-looking one--disturbed her even more. "But--when I see you, I--react to you like I would to any man that attractive." She shrugged, trying to salvage her dignity with a tiny smile. "When you throw in the personality, I can't help it. I forget you're a dragon, and I want to--know you better."

"You want to have a sexual relationship with me." He spoke softly, but matter-of-factly.

She looked up quickly, eyes wide. "Well, aren't you the romantic tonight?"

He sighed, rising. There was something troubled in his eyes. "I would do anything for you, Juliana," he said at last. "Whether you wish to acknowledge it or not, my life is yours. If this is what you desire, then--"

She started to say something, then thought better of it. This was not a normal man she was dealing with. Instead, she said, "You don't want to." She laughed, a little cynically. "I can't believe this. I'm getting the 'let's be friends' talk from a dragon. That's one for the books."

There was an awkward silence. Finally he broke it: "It isn't that I don't want to." He paused again. She had never seen him this uncertain; he appeared to be choosing his words with the care most people would reserve for tiptoeing through a minefield. "You--must remember that this is not my true form."

She nodded, picturing the massive, golden-scaled creature that had come up from the underground lake and trying to reconcile that picture with the young man who stood before her. "I know that. It's just--hard sometimes. Especially when you--" she trailed off. "What you're trying to say, in your oh-so-polite way, is that we're not even the same species." Smiling a bit, she retreated behind her street-honed barriers. "I didn't think it mattered, I guess. I saw you today, coming out of the water. It didn't look like that would be a problem."

He glanced off for a moment, remembering, then nodded. "Physically, it would not."

"But--"

He sat down next to her on the air mattress. "There are other components."

"Gabriel--"

"Gethelwain."

She looked up sharply. "You're telling me your real name?"

"You told me yours." Again, he spoke softly but matter-of-factly.

"Yeah, but mine anybody could find if they looked hard enough. I thought a dragon's real name was a big deal."

"It is," he said even more softly. "And I am a dragon, Juliana. I wear a human mask to make it easier for me to move about in this perplexing new world, but that changes nothing. I love you. Should it become necessary, I would die for you. But you must never forget what I am." He looked at her, his violet eyes searching her face, looking into the depths of her soul and opening for her a window into his. Very slowly, he leaned forward and kissed her on the forehead. "Still, I will do as you wish."

Pulling back and meeting his gaze, she studied him. Almost a full minute passed, during which neither of them moved, but many thoughts flashed through her mind. There were too many ways she could play this, and every one held a different possibility. The time stretched out as she considered. He watched her, his eyes full of calm and hope and--a little bit of pleading.

She sat there a moment longer, trying to force her emotions into line with what she knew was the right answer. Strangely, the more she tried to force, the more she realized that she didn't have to.

Finally, she grinned, reaching out to muss his inky hair into an impossible tousle. "So, kid," she said, "how about we head back and catch a Packers game tomorrow? I'd love to see how you'd look in a cheese-head."

Something quick (was it relief?) flicked across his face as he smiled that radiant smile. "Yes," he said, nodding. "I think I'd like that."