CHAPTER SEVEN
BANG! BANG! BANG!
She opened her eyes and checked the time. "Hell-FIRE...." she breathed.
BANG! BANG!
Growling, she pulled on her robe and padded across the bedroom. "This time of the damn mornin', somebody better be dying...."
BANG! BANGBANGBANG!
"I'M COMING!"
Silence.
Shaking her red curls as she did so, Mags moved across the living room and jerked the front door open. "WHAT?!" she snapped.
Peter walked in without being invited and didn't waste time on pleasantries. "I need to know where Isabel is."
"WHAT?" she repeated, glaring at the wall clock. "You come bargin' in here at seven in the morning for THIS? Look, Peter, it's between HER and MIKE. So just scram and let me go back to--"
"Mike's dying."
Mags froze, her mouth hanging open. When she could trust her voice again, she whispered, "Mike's... WHAT?" "
Dying. Their link goes deeper than mine and his, obviously. They can't be physically apart for this long without it hurting! Isabel's in danger too! So tell me where she IS!"
Mags's mouth worked soundlessly for a second, then she said softly, "She's gone home." "
You said that before. Where IS home?"
"Harker's Ferry. North Carolina, I think."
"Good enough." He spun on his heel and stalked out.
Mags sank to her knees. "...dying?"
Peter tucked Mike in, brushing his rapidly graying bangs out of his eyes.
Don't....go. Even his mental voice shook.
I have to.
Her... choice.
Blast it, Mike, I am not going to let you stubbourn yourselves into a pair of early graves!
Peter....
I'm going. And I'm not returning without her.
Mike nodded weakly and closed his eyes.
Peter looked at him for a long moment, then took off -- flying east as fast as he could fly.
Even at his top speed, it took Peter nearly three days to reach the East Coast. When he touched down to find what state he was in, he was startled when the teenager at the Pennsylvania gas station called him 'sir'. His confusion vanished when he entered the gas station's restroom --
And found his temples almost completely grey and crow-feet around his eyes. "Oh, blast... me too...."
Pointing himself south, he lifted off again, flying fast, his face lined with grim determination.
The two lives at stake had just become three.
Two more stops for directions, and he touched down on the edge of Harker's Ferry. He began making inquiries to where Mrs. Evans lived.
An hour later, he found himself outside a sprawling mansion. He telekinetically opened the gate and walked inside the grounds.
A yapping dog menaced his ankles, but he ignored it. He marched right up to the ornate door and used the brass knocker with angry vigor.
After an interminable amount of time, the door swung open. A tiny, elderly woman glared up at Peter. "Yes, what do you want?" an unfamiliar voice growled.
Peter sized her up. The lady didn't seem to be the type to appreciate beating around the bush. So he didn't. "Isabel."
Her eyes narrowed. "Perhaps she doesn't want to see you, young man." She began to close the door.
"Mike's dying. And I'll wager she is, too."
The door stopped. Slowly, it opened again. "How is he dying?"
"He's aging. Rapidly."
The woman drew in a sharp breath.
"I need for her to return with me -- the only way to stop this is for them to be together."
"After what he did to her?"
"Ma'am, she left him. He can't get out of bed, he's so depressed! And he's aging so quickly, I'm afraid that if we don't leave TODAY, it might be too late!"
She seemed to be considering, then she seemed to reach a decision. She swung the door all the way open and stepped slightly aside. "Come in. I'll get Isabel. We'll discuss this together."
Peter sighed as he walked in. She closed the door and motioned toward the couch. "Help yourself to the tea, it's hot." And she moved away, down the hall.
Peter sat down, though he didn't touch the tea. His knee, quite without his conscious control, began to jump with nervousness.
This had seemed like such a good idea at the time....
A small sound drew his attention. He looked down the hallway, and his jaw unhinged as his eyes widened. Slowly, he came to his feet.
The woman at the door was walking toward him, a second elderly woman by her side. This woman's silver brows drew together in a puzzled frown, then her eyes grew huge with recognition. A familiar voice -- though it trembled with age and, perhaps, with shock -- whispered one word.
"...Peter?"
He nodded, idly wondering just how far his own aging had progressed. a second look at her state shoved that line of thought right out of his mind. He was positive the tremble in his voice was pure shock -- he'd not expected her to be this far along.
"Hey, sweetheart."
She moved forward and hugged him. She had no struggle with him, after all. Pulling back, she frowned and touched his cheek. "Peter?" she whispered again, shaking her head slightly.
Peter took her hands and sat down with her on the couch. "Isabel..." he began.
"What are you doing here?" she asked. "Peter, your HAIR..."
"I know," he said softly. "It's because I'm linked with Mike." At the agony in her face and its aversion, he reached out and turned it back to face him. "Isabel... that's why you and he are this way."
Her eyes widened. "'He'? Y-you mean Mike... Mike's aging TOO?"
"Not only aging -- he's dying." He squeezed her hand. "And so are you, sweetheart."
"Why?" she whispered.
Peter took a deep breath. "Micky has a theory about that...."
He had her full attention now. "W...what's that?"
Squeezing her hands gently once more, he said, just as gently, "He thinks, because your link was a result of you pouring your life-force into Mike to heal him, that you two need to be in proximity to each other, or --"
Isabel's eyes grew wider and wider as Peter spoke and she felt the honesty from him. When he paused, she whispered, "Or we die."
Peter could only nod.
Isabel looked at her grandmother, who shook her head. "Your choice, girl. This is a matter of the heart."
Licking her lips, Isabel looked down, studying the richly ornamented carpet.
"Sweetheart?" Peter asked, still holding her hand.
Slowly, Isabel met his eyes. "When do we leave?"
Peter touched down shakily on the balcony at the Pad's back door. He staggered in, barely avoiding dropping his precious bundle.
The noise drew Micky from upstairs. "Peter!" he gasped, soaring to his side -- and freezing at the sight of the grey temples and silver-streaked blond hair. Peter turned to look wearily at him, and Micky gasped aloud at the lines around his eyes and mouth. "P-PETER?"
"No time," he gasped. "Michael?"
Micky licked his lips. "Not good. He looks ninety, and he barely has a pulse."
"Made it?" Peter asked, swaying. "Still... alive?"
"He's alive," Micky said, taking the large, quilt-wrapped bundle from Peter and gasping at the warmth of it. "Peter, WHAT?"
He raised bleary eyes to Micky. "Isa... Isabel.... it's Isabel.... No time... flew str-straight through...." With that, Peter's eyes rolled back in his head and he collapsed.
Micky screamed for Davy even as he rose into the air, heading for the bedroom. Davy appeared at the railing, cursed, and vaulted over, growing to seven feet as he did so. Lifting Peter easily, he climbed the stairs, ducking his head as he entered the bedroom. Laying Peter on Micky's bed, he asked, "What the HELL happened?"
"He got her," Micky said as he unbundled Isabel from the quilt. "Damn... her too...."
"What'd he do, fly straight through? He's exhausted!"
"That's EXACTLY what he says he did." Micky balanced Isabel on a field while he turned down the covers beside Mike's frail form. "Think he was scared he wouldn't make in time." Slowly, he lowered Isabel into the bed and covered them both.
Davy shook his head. "I can understand that, but SHEESH, Peter!"
"Davy -- look." At Micky's awed whisper, Davy turned to Mike's bed.
Isabel rolled over on her side. Her eyes never opened, but she scooted closer to Mike. Mike's eyes never opened either, but he reached out and pulled her closer. Her hand went over his heart, and his reached out to cover it and hold it there.
Slowly, a glow suffused their bodies.
Micky and Davy smiled at each other. "Now," Davy said with a satisfied nod. "We wait."
As it often will, life interfered with intentions. Between calls from Valerie, Mags, Davy's gal du jour, and other distractions, it was nearly four hours before Micky and Davy made it back upstairs.
The first thing they noticed was the room was dark. The glow that had been surrounding Mike and Isabel was gone. They frowned at each other as Micky turned on the light.
Peter lay curled in his bed, his back to them. Davy grabbed Micky's arm. "His HAIR!" he whispered.
Micky smiled to see it. Peter's hair was all blond again. He leaned over and shook Peter's shoulder, gently calling his name.
He rolled over, blinking up at Micky. "....Micky?"
"Welcome back, Pete," Micky grinned.
He sat up slowly. "Ba...Back? I-I'm my age again?" At Micky's nod, he looked over at the other bed. "Mike...."
"We haven't looked yet."
Peter nodded and closed his eyes. Michael.
No answer. Peter reached further and smiled, opening his eyes. "He's sleeping. Normally."
"That's good," Micky smiled, moving to the other bed. "Davy," he whispered, chuckling. "They've both burrowed under the blankets!"
Davy smiled at that. "Check them out, see if they're okay."
Micky began to pull the covers down, but froze at the sight of the tops of two heads -- both with jet-black hair. Drawing in a breath, he pulled the covers down to their shoulders.
Soundly sleeping, Mike and Isabel lay curled into each other's arms. Both of them were once more in their late twenties.
With an audible sigh of relief, Micky collapsed into a nearby chair, grinning like an idiot. "You did it, Peter. You did it!"
Isabel felt a smile shining on her. Slowly, she opened her eyes and returned it. Hey, handsome.
Hey, beautiful, Mike sent in return, sliding the back of a forefinger down her unlined cheek. We're all right again?
She captured his hand in hers and turned it over so she could kiss his palm. We're all right, she confirmed. Physically... and emotionally.
"Oh?" he whispered.
Isabel nodded. "I was reeling." She lowered her barriers, letting him see the truth behind her words. "It was just too much, too soon. I needed time to adjust."
Mike hesitated before asking, "And... now?"
She smiled slightly. "And now, I've seen we quite literally can't live without each other." The smile grew. "It's slightly romantic, actually." She couldn't stifle the laugh at that.
After a second, Mike did too. "All right, you imp, I'll give you romantic." Since that's true, and we have to stay together... how about we do it up right?
Her eyes went wide. Mister Nesmith, is that a proposal?
If that's an acceptance.
I'll have to think about it.
He nodded.
If this is really true... and it seems to be... then I guess that's the only thing we can do.
Mike smiled and kissed her lightly. Want to wed when Peter and Valerie do? Make it a double wedding?
She nodded, nudging him. Why, Mike Nesmith, you ARE a romantic!
Yeah, well, don't spread it around. And with a smile, he kissed her again.
TEN WEEKS LATER
Isabel had learned to dampen the link without severing it. That came in handy on days like today, when she had to get up early. It helped her husband go on sleeping after a late night's work.
She tiptoed into their bedroom and sat beside him, watching the gentle rise and fall of his chest and basking in the warmth of his happy dreams. She ran a finger down that chest, and was rewarded with a shiver and a small, sleepy smile. She sent a mental Wake up, cowboy.
The glow around his body faded and died. His dark eyes slowly opened, blinking at her until the sleep-muck cleared and he could fully see her smile. "...what've I told you," he tried to growl at her, but he couldn't stifle the smile, "'bout callin' me cowboy?"
"Semantics," she laughed. "You up for some good news?"
"Always," he said, sitting up and pulling her close. His lips met hers and he sent, Tell me.
Using images, she told him where she'd been, what she had been told. His eyes widened and he pulled back slowly, brain and emotions churning.
"Mike?"
"How?" he whispered. "I... I can't... I'm...."
She smiled into his eyes. "It's yours," she whispered tenderly, the link showing her honesty. "There's been nobody else."
He began to smile even as he sent, I was told I couldn't father another child. Ever.
Doctors have been wrong before, she replied in kind. Speaking of which... Valerie should be delivering HER news any--
She was interrupted by Mike's jerk of surprise and the slow, giddy smile that spread as Peter's emotions overwhelmed his own for a moment. The joyous shriek still echoing in his mind, he wrapped his arms around her again. "He got it."
"Wonderful, isn't it?" she purred.
"Mmm," he replied. "Let me show you HOW wonderful...." He pulled her down to the bed and began to dance the ancient dance of love.
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