The ropes stung fiercely as they were bound tightly around her wrists.  Wade bit her bottom lip, but refused to ask for them to be loosened.  Whether it was pride, dignity, stubbornness, or fear, it didn't matter to Wade.  Squirming would give her captors pleasure, and she was determined to remain defiant.

She glared at Patrick who'd decided that he'd personally be the one to tie her.  "I'm not Kalin, you know," she said.

Patrick gave her a look that said it didn't matter.  "Whether Kalin, her sister, or just some fool with the misfortune of resembling her, your capture will still accomplish great things for me."

"I'm proud to look like Kalin," remarked Wade.  "But you are an idiot to judge accomplishment by my capture."

Almost laughing, Patrick continued his task.  "You lead a legion; you're worth more than you know."

"I wasn't supposed to even get involved in this war," Wade remarked, pausing only shortly before continuing.  "But if I were, there's nowhere I'd rather stand than alongside these people."

He finished by yanking the knot firmly which caused her to flinch.  "Then you are a pathetic little girl."

-----

Lydia spotted Luke and Naomi in the crowd and made her way over to them.  Naomi was carrying a large sack.  Lydia glanced at Luke and he nodded.  "Everything's ready?" she asked.

Naomi tapped the sack.  "Yes."

Luke gave her a half smile.  "Those around the platform await our signal," he informed Lydia.  He looked over at their friends who were about to be hung.  "And now would seem to be a good time," he added.

Lydia followed his gaze.  All somebody had to do was pull that lever and the trapdoors would fall and the four prisoners would die.  She shuddered at the thought.  "Go quickly," she told Luke.  "Give the signal.  I'll guard the lever."

He nodded and, taking the sack from Naomi, ran across the courtyard and towards a large building.

Out of the corner of her eye, Maggie witnessed the actions of the three of them.  It was almost time to act.  Her eyes traveled back to Quinn and Rembrandt.  Now or never.  She kicked the guard who was standing beside her, then hit him as hard as she could with her bound hands.

The people gathered nearby joined quickly in the fight, freeing Maggie.  One man cut her hands loose and offered her his knife.  She immediately accepted and delved into the fight.

Just then, a fireball streaked across the sky.  Maggie caught sight of it even with the sun's glare.  Luckily, the sky was fairly overcast.  The army outside would see it also.  Maggie grinned.

Sir William tried to flee from the area where the conflict had broken out.  He ran across the platform, shoving past Quinn as he did so.

Losing his balance by being hit, Quinn started to fall - stopped only by the rope which tightened securely around his neck.  Not quite hitting his knees, he wasn't able to get back on his feet since they were tied.  The side of his neck burned where the rope pressed against it, constricting his airway.

-----

Pulling another arrow from the sack, Luke positioned it in the bow.  Using Maggie's lighter, he then set the tip on fire.  He looked down at the people below as he waited for the flame to thoroughly ignite.  The riots had already begun.

He steadied himself, making sure not to slip on the slanted roof.  Once he'd gotten his footing, he sent the next arrow up into the sky.  Just one more to go and his job would be done.

-----

Arturo watched the third arrow blaze across the sky.  It wasn't very bright, but it was truly a sight for sore eyes.

Jared and John were already headed for the city walls.  They'd be attacking mostly from the east where the water of the lake that surround Zion like a moat was shallowest, only high as an average man's hip.

Ladders would be placed against the walls, but their main hope was that the massive drawbridge would be lowed.  Without it, they wouldn't have much luck entering the city.  However, as it was, it served the purpose of preventing the English army from getting out.

Arturo himself would be staying with the back line, and then trying to find his friends.

-----

Fighting to be able to breathe again, Quinn struggled desperately to get his feet back under him.  Adrenaline surged through every vein in his body and his heart was pounding so loudly that he swore everyone could hear it.

Somewhere off to the side of his mind was the vague recollection that Rembrandt was shouting something.  Probably trying to get somebody to help him.  Quinn thought he'd be able to get back up if only he could control his panic.  Fear was causing him to struggle blindly.  There was no way in hell he was going to die like this!

When his vision started to cloud from lack of oxygen, he suddenly slammed down against the hard wood.  This new pain was eagerly welcomed.  He let himself fall limp and start to pass out.

“Oh shit, Quinn, breathe...”  He tried to focus on Maggie as she loosened the noose and pulled it over his head.

He slowly registered the fact that the rope was gone, and he forced himself to draw in a sharp breath.  His lungs burned with an intense fire.  Not getting enough air, he panicked and started to hyperventilate.

Quinn's breathing remained ragged for a minute as he sucked large gulps of air into his lungs with painful gasps.  He was eventually able to calm himself as he accepted the fact that he was down.  He closed his eyes again and forced himself to take a few slow breathes, easing his breathing back to normal.

Eventually, he realized that Maggie was asking him if he was alright.  "Thank you," he managed to say about her cutting the rope.

"God, don't ever do that again," she scolded, the edge of worry still apparent in her tone and expression.  "You sure you're okay?"

Quinn nodded - a motion which looked funny with him lying on his side.  "Yeah," he said, his voice a bit rough.  He swallowed a few times.  "I'm fine."

"Um, Maggie," he added after a moment.  He wiggled his hands behind his back.

"Oh right!"  She quickly picked up her knife and cut his hands free, then she removed the binding from his ankles as well.

Quinn flexed the tight joints, then pushed himself into a sitting position as Rembrandt stepped up beside them.  "Hey guys, this isn't the best place to be holding a conversation," he told them.

He put an arm around Quinn and helped him up.  "You okay, Q-ball?"

"Fine," Quinn replied, this time feeling more confident with his answer.

"So what's the plan from here?" Rembrandt asked.  "And nice dress, by the way, Maggie," he added.

Maggie discarded her cloak and ripped a few other layers from her outfit while she was at it.  She made lousy royalty.  She was a military brat and proud of it.

She looked to where the English soldiers were fighting amongst the people who'd prevented them from getting to the hanging before all the men were freed.  Bearing pitch forks, staffs, and chair backs as shields, the peasants were using anything they had as weapons.  Maggie was rather proud of their rag-tag little army.  With them and the army outside, they easily outnumbered the English since most of their men were already out of the city to fight other battles.

"We've got to get the drawbridge down and then get ourselves back outside," Maggie said.  "Luke, Lydia, Naomi, Jordan, and Daniel should already have things well underway."

"Whoa," Rembrandt interrupted.  "You guys came in here with only three people?"

Maggie shrugged.  "Actually, we recruited Jordan once we were inside."

Rembrandt laughed.  "A lot more than him," he commented about the army that had formed around them.  "You guys never cease to surprise me."

Quinn grinned at his friend.  "You should be used to this kind of thing by now."

-----

Before the drawbridge was all the way down, John already had his men halfway across, halting any English who attempted to stop them from entering the city.

Jared continued his assault on the wall.  Their ladders were being knocked down, and the men atop the wall shot arrows at them, but they were gaining ground.  With the drawbridge now lowered, this battle would be over in short order.  He just hoped that his sister was having as much luck inside.

-----

Lydia was furious as she noticed that several of the buildings had caught fire.  She removed her cloak and started trying to put out a small fire that had started on a nearby stack of hay.  As she continued to swat at the flames, somebody grabbed her arm.

She turned to see Quinn.  "Lyd, come on," he told her.  "It's time for us to go."

"Leave if you must," she shot back at him.  "I choose to stay."

Quinn dragged her along with him.  "We can't fight if we're not armed," he reasoned.

"What good is winning this war if we burn Kalin's dream?" Lydia asked him.

Looking at the fire, Quinn regarded her reply.  "Later," he said softly.  "Right now we've done what we came to do, and we need to get outside, okay?  Please, Lydia."

She reluctantly agreed and tied her cloak back around her shoulders, heading with Quinn towards the gates.

They met Maggie when they neared the drawbridge.  The English were still being held back from it fairly well by their rag-tag little army.  Maggie smiled at the people who were using common items as weapons.  Some teenagers were throwing dirt in the eyes of the soldiers.  They were definitely an inventive bunch.  And the army outside wasn't doing such a bad job either.  She looked to Quinn and Lydia.  "Remmy and the others should already be on their way across.  You two about ready to exit this popcicle stand?"

Lydia looked baffled while Quinn nodded.  "I admit to being confused.  What dost it mean to--"

"Never mind," Quinn cut her off.  "Watch yourselves out there, okay?"

"I'll take point," offered Maggie.  "You guys can guard my six."

"Or we could just run," suggested Quinn.

Lydia sided with Quinn, not having a clue as to what Maggie had just said, and they took off at a run for the drawbridge.

Once outside the walls and on the massive bridge, they found themselves caught between the two fighting sides.  Maggie wished she had her old M5 with her right about now.  This was not a good place to be unarmed.

"Watch out for those arrows," she shouted when they lost all protection of the wall.

"We just need to get to the other side and we'll be with our own people," Quinn called back.  "Heads up, and keep running!"  There was no turning back at this point.

A man came up behind Quinn, and Maggie threw her knife at him, sending him falling back in great pain.

Quinn spun to look at the man and then at Maggie.  "Remind me never to play darts with you," he thanked her.

After a few more strides, Lydia fell down and an arrow pinned the edge of her cloak to the wood of the drawbridge.  Quinn was grateful the arrow had missed her, but she was left a sitting duck.  He ran back to help her.

"Quinn, hurry!" Maggie called to him, grabbing a fallen sword and quickly defending herself from another soldier.

Quinn glanced back at Maggie, then continued towards Lydia.  She seemed slightly stunned, but was trying to pull the arrow loose and free herself.  Several more arrows hit around her, and she put her hands over head, shielding herself the best she could.

Arrows filled the air and whizzed all around him.  But Quinn had never realized just how fast they were.  He barely even heard it cutting through the air before he felt the sharp pain.  Looking down was the first time he saw it, deeply imbedded in his chest.

"QUINN!" Maggie screamed, seeing him get hit.  He turned towards her voice, his hand clasping the arrow but too stunned to yank it out.  It had gotten him in the left side of his chest.  Had it pierced his heart?!  She tried to run to him, her hand reaching out for him.  But before she could get to him, a sword struck hers and a person separated them, forcing her to look away from Quinn as his knees buckled beneath him.

A sharp gasp was the only sound which escaped from Quinn’s lips as the ground rushed up to meet him.  Everything went blank as he fell, the pain disappearing as the world spun around him and then slipped into blackness.

Maggie swung around, her sword clanging against the metal of her attacker.  They fought for a moment, then out of sheer rage, Maggie got in a quick move and stabbed her sword into his stomach.  Her sword ran him completely through, but Maggie didn't feel anything like she thought she would.  She simply yanked her sword out of the man, kicking him backward with a strong blow.

It had only taken a few seconds for her to kill him - an act that would have tormented her at any other time.  But not now, not during this battle, and not when all she could think of was Quinn.  She tried again to reach her friend, who had collapsed and lay motionless near the edge of the drawbridge, but right as she was almost able to get a clear path to him through the fighting, he was kicked by one of the English, and he fell off the bridge and into the water.

Maggie dropped to her knees and clasped her hands against the drawbridge's edge, her eyes searching the water below.  But the water was dark with mud, stirred up by the army fighting on the east side of the lake.  It was also tinted slightly red with blood.  "NO!!!" she screamed as several more arrows entered the water where Quinn had disappeared.

For a brief second, Maggie contemplated jumping in after him.  But the water on this side of the lake was as deep as she was tall, and the bank that dropped into it was steep like a wall.  She knew it would be impossible for her to climb out again.

So she cried out, screaming until her focus finally returned to present.  She couldn't dwell on what had just happened - she had to get up, had to fight.  But she couldn't make herself move.  She'd lost Quinn.

-----

A strong hand grabbed her shoulder, and Maggie spun quickly, ready to defend herself.  Rembrandt raised his sword, blocking hers.  Seeing her friend, she dropped her weapon and turned back to the water.

"I..." she cried.  She wiped her face.  "Quinn..."

Rembrandt placed his hand on her arm again.  "I know," he said.  "I saw."

Lydia picked up Maggie's sword and took up a position watching her back.  "We best be moving," she told Maggie and Rembrandt.

Casting a short glance off the side of the drawbridge, Rembrandt hoped that Quinn had taken a kill-shot.  There was nothing they could do, and he prayed that at least his friend might have died instantly.

Rembrandt kept a hold on Maggie as they ran again for the far side of bridge, continuing their struggle to reach safety.

-----

Pain - stabbing, burning, unrelenting, overwhelming....  But something was keeping him awake, and as awareness set in, Quinn realized that it was water.

He tried to open his eyes, and after a moment, he realized that they were open.  He attempted to focus on the darkness of the murky water.  Up was down and down was sideways, and couldn't figure out which way was actually up... which direction would lead to air.

There was light coming from somewhere, but his consciousness was slipping away, and taking with it his ability to think.  He struggled to push back the nausea brought on by an intense pain, and tried to focus on the light.  Above him, the water seemed clearer, shallow, as if there was barely anything separating him from the air so close above.

But there was something wrong with the water.  It was red.  Had it always been that way and he just hadn't noticed?  Or was his vision clouding over from the pain?  And then a sick realization hit him.  The water was being stained with his own blood.

Quinn desperately forced himself in the direction he prayed was up, fear gripping him as he noted that his left arm didn't want to work.  Yet he fought anyway, his final attempt rewarded with the sensation of wind on his hand.  He gasped for air, but the one breath he managed to get was of little use as he lost consciousness and slipped back beneath the cold, dark surface.

-----

Spotting Arturo, Rembrandt headed towards him.  "Professor!" he called.

"Mr. Brown, Miss Beckett, Lydia," he greeted them, "you will never know how pleased I am to see you."

"I'm going to try to find Jared," Rembrandt said, cutting past the pleasantries of being reunited with his friend.  "I want you to get Maggie out of here."

Arturo turned his gaze to Maggie.  She didn't appear injured, but she seemed immobilized and far away.  He looked to Rembrandt for an explanation.

Rembrandt's expression was solemn and pained.  "Quinn was killed."

Arturo closed his eyes for a moment, but then nodded.  He said nothing, silently promising himself that they'd find Quinn's body after the battle was over.  He wondered how they'd break the news to Wade.

Maggie attempted to regain her composure.  She was military, which meant being tough, brave, and above all else, it meant not having any emotions.  She'd seen death before.  Why should losing Quinn knock her completely off her game like this?  "I'm okay," she tried to offer.

But in reality, Maggie couldn't believe how absolutely not okay she actually was.

-----

Jordan came up from the water, coughing and gasping for air.  In the fighting, he'd been knocked off the side of the drawbridge.  Several people were in the water on this side of the lake.  He swam to the edge of the moat, his arm around a barely lucid Quinn, the arrow still in his chest.

His hand grasped at the muddy wall of the steep bank, but he couldn't pull himself out.  "Help me," he called to the army above him.

Daniel was near and responded to his urgent request.  He leaned over the edge, lowering Jordan a spear.  Jordan placed Quinn's hand on the pole.  "Quinn, you need to try to climb out," he told him.

There was no response and Quinn's head lolled limply to the side.  Jordan shifted his hold on Quinn enough so that he could slap him gently across his face.  "You must stay awake," he ordered Quinn.

Quinn moaned and then managed to pull himself part way up with Daniel lifting the spear, but then he fell back down again, losing consciousness once more.

Jordan immediately pulled him from the water.  His shirt was not only soaked with water but also blood.  "We have to get him up," Jordan yelled to Daniel.

Realizing that with Quinn unconscious there was no way the two of them could get him out, Daniel called down to Jordan then left to get more help.

-----

Daniel located Arturo, Rembrandt, Maggie, and Lydia before they had a chance to split up.  "I require your assistance," he called to them.  "Jordan needs our help.  He is with your friend."

"Quinn?" Maggie asked.  "He's alive?"

"For the time being, yes," Daniel answered.  "Yet that mayst prove false at any moment."

Maggie, Rembrandt, and Arturo didn't even have to exchange a single word before they were all following Daniel.  Lydia went with them, deciding to find her brother later.  After all, Quinn had been trying to help her when he'd been shot.

Upon reaching the moat, they found Jordan still treading water, trying to keep Quinn from drowning.

It took them a while, but together they were eventually able to get both Quinn and Jordan back on dry land.  Once that part of their task was completed, Daniel returned to the battle, leaving them to tend to Quinn.

As they laid Quinn's limp body flat on the ground, Arturo knelt next to him.  He was pale from the cold water, although Arturo hoped that would slow the blood flow and numb some of the pain.  As he checked Quinn for a pulse, he spotted the slight rope-burn which ran across the front and side of his neck where the noose had rubbed him right below his chin and jawbone.  "My God, what happened?" he asked the others.

"Long story, Professor," mumbled Rembrandt.

Arturo accepted that answer without pursuing the issue further.  There'd be a time for questions later.  He returned to checking on Quinn and found that he was still breathing and his pulse was fairly strong.

"Should we not pull that arrow out now?" Lydia asked.

Arturo instantly rejected that idea.  "No, he's not bleeding that badly at the moment.  But if the arrow cut an artery, removing it may cause severe bleeding that we won't be able to control."

"We should take him back to camp," suggested Maggie.  "We'll be better suited to help him there."

Shaking his head, Arturo replied, "It's not safe to move him."

"'Tis not safe to stay here either," Jordan countered.

"We'll have to risk moving him," Rembrandt said, scanning the surrounding area.  "What if we carry him just to that tree line?  It's not far, and we should be clear of all the fighting."

Reluctantly, Arturo nodded.  Rembrandt gently lifted Quinn, and they started walking.

-----

Wade glanced over at Brad who was walking beside her.  "We can't keep up this pace," she told him.

He didn't respond.

"We need to rest," she implored him.  "Matthew won't--"

He held up his hand.  "Silence."

Shooting him an evil glare, Wade continued.  "You can't possibly think that you--"

This time Brad stopped her by slapping her hard across the face.  "You *will* continue walking, and at this pace," he instructed.

Wade nodded, but their scene had already drawn attention.  Patrick left his position in the group, calling for a halt, and strolled over to Wade and Brad.  "Is there a problem?"

Brad shook his head.  "No."

"Yes," retorted Wade.  She jerked her head in Matthew's direction.  "He's in no condition to keep this up.  We have to rest."

Patrick seemed to consider her words.  He walked over to Matthew, then he drew his knife.  "No!" Wade shouted, then spun and closed her eyes tightly.

Her eyes were still closed when Patrick returned to her side.  She couldn't look.  Something cold touched the skin near her collar bone, and she felt Patrick's breath on her face.  She slowly opened her eyes.  The tip of the knife was against her own flesh, and it was wet with blood.  Wade wanted to be sick.

"Was there anything else, m'Lady?" Patrick sneered at her.

-----

Rembrandt laid Quinn on the ground when they were far enough away from the battle and into the woods, although they could still clearly hear the sounds of the war.  Quinn groaned in agony as pain pulled him back into consciousness.

Maggie leaned his head carefully against a log, trying to make him comfortable.  He was shaking slightly, and his eyes were hazy.  She knew he'd lost too much blood.  He was going into shock.  She inspected the arrow that went deep into his shoulder.  If it had been a few inches lower, he'd be dead now.  She ripped his shirt to get it out of the way.  Quinn moaned loudly in protest.

Rembrandt flinched slightly at the sight of the arrow.  He wondered how badly it must be hurting Quinn.

"Wish I'd kept that chain-mail on," mumbled Quinn.

Maggie tried to smile at him.  "Yeah, so do I."

"What kind of arrow is it?" Quinn painfully asked, now almost completely awake.

Lydia inspected the wound where it entered his chest.  She took note of the line it had cut into him.  "It has a thick tip."

Quinn leaned his head back and closed his eyes.  He took a few deep breaths, trying to ease his pain.  "Did it go all the way through?" he managed to ask next.

"No," Arturo answered solemnly.  The arrow was very deep, but it hadn't come out his back.  "I'm sorry, Quinn."

"Is that not a good thing?" Jordan asked.

Maggie shook her head.  "No, it's not."  With a large tip on the arrow, they wouldn't be able to pull it out.

Quinn moaned again, already in great pain.  But he knew what had to be done.  His tired eyes looked at his friends.  "Push it through."

"Quinn, no, we can't," Maggie argued.  "You could bleed to death if we remove it."

Quinn gazed at her with a pain-filled expression.  "Maggie, I don't have a choice," he told her before biting his lip to hold back a cry at a fresh wave of agony.  "The slide is still days away."

Arturo frowned.  "The lad is right.  We need to get that arrow out."

Maggie finally relented.  She picked up Quinn's shirt and tore it again, then folded the piece and put it in his mouth.  "Bite down on that," she instructed him.

Quinn briefly nodded, then tried to ready himself.  He closed his eyes and tried to calm himself, focusing on his breathing.  Just relax.

Maggie looked at Rembrandt, exchanging a silent conversation with him.  He understood and knelt next to Quinn, taking her place.  "Ready, Q-ball?" he asked, placing his hands on the arrow.

Giving the slightest nod of his head, Quinn signaled that he was.  Rembrandt broke the arrow, snapping off the end.  It splintered and a piece of the wood went into his hand.  It hurt, but he wasn't in nearly as much pain as Quinn.

Quinn's hands were clamped into such tight fists that his nails dug into his palms and actually drew blood.  He clenched his teeth hard and tried to hold back his cry, but a partial scream of agony escaped his lips despite his efforts.

Noticing Rembrandt's hand, Maggie wrapped the other piece of Quinn's shirt around hers.  "I'll do it," she said to Rembrandt.

"Thanks."  He gave her a grateful look.

Maggie returned her attention to Quinn.  "Are you okay?" she inquired softly.  He just looked at her without replying, hurting too badly to attempt telling her what a stupid question that was.  If he opened his mouth, he knew he'd only be rewarded with a sob and not words.  He forced himself to roll onto his side so that she could push the arrow out his back.

Arturo and Jordan braced Quinn so that he would be held still when Maggie did it.  Lydia just watched.  Rembrandt picked the rather large splinter from his hand.

Maggie placed the hand she'd wrapped on the end of the arrow so the splinted wood wouldn't cut her.  Her action had to be flawless.  She looked into Quinn's hazy eyes.  "Ready?"

"Just do it, Maggie," he said through gritted teeth, still waiting for the last wave of pain to ebb.

"Okay," she agreed.  "On three."  She made sure she was firm on the arrow, then began to count.  "One, two--"  She shoved hard on the arrow, stabbing it through his back.  He would have fallen onto his back had the others not been holding him.

Quinn screamed in agony from the intense pain that surged through his entire body.  As burning white-hot bolts of heat shot down into his arm and across his chest, he gave up on being strong, yelling until he finally fell silent, too tired to scream any longer.  He felt like he was going to die.  He leaned hard against Arturo and Jordan.  Maggie brushed his wet hair from his face.  He was soaked with sweat, and his breathing was heavy.  "I should.. h've known you'd d-do that," he struggled to say to Maggie about her going on two instead of three.

The pain still overwhelming him, Quinn quickly became quiet again, unable to talk.  Arturo, who was still bracing him, could feel how tense he was.  He held Quinn firmly, trying to comfort and support him as he shook with choked-back sobs and quick, labored breaths.

Gasping and trying to breathe, Quinn closed his eyes tightly.  He was exhausted as if he'd just ran a marathon.  And then there was the pain.  He cried.  He knew he was in shock, but figured the worst was already over.  Now the only thing left was for the arrow to be slipped the rest of the way out.  He looked at the others, guessing that he wouldn't be able to stay conscious much longer.  "Get ba'k to the f-fight..."

Maggie tried to soothe him as she pulled the bloody arrow the rest of the way free.  A trail of blood ran down his back.  Quinn let his head loll weakly to the side, crying silently, unable to withstand the pain any longer.  An odd sensation washed over him as he vaguely realized that his chest was wet.  The strange tingling rush told him that he was fast losing blood, and he absently wondered if he was bleeding to death.  He waited for the numbness of complete shock to set in, knowing it would ease his suffering.

Rembrandt moved closer, kneeling beside Maggie.  Something was wrong.  There was too much blood and they all knew it.  They were losing Quinn.  He tilted Quinn’s face towards himself, trying to get his friend to look at him.  But Rembrandt knew that Quinn no longer saw him; his eyes were staring straight through him, focused on nothing.

It was then that he noticed the blood on Quinn’s lip.  “No, Q-ball, don’t do this to us,” he pleaded.  He glanced desperately at Arturo.

The older man just shook his head.  Quinn might have only bit his lip, yet it could be something much worse.  He hated not knowing.

Quinn’s body jerked a few times as his eyes started to roll back.  Maggie stroked his hair while his trembling subsided, keeping her other hand pressed against his chest.

Maggie's attempt at comforting Quinn failed, and he finally passed out from the still present pain, actually welcoming the escape even though he knew it probably wasn't safe for him to sleep.  At this point, he didn't care.

When Quinn fell completely still, Arturo moved his hand in order to place two fingers on Quinn's neck, checking for a pulse.  He found one and nodded to the others.  Then he rubbed Quinn's arm in a fatherly way, understanding how painful the last few minutes must have been for him.

"We've got to get this bleeding stopped," Maggie said, knowing that Quinn wanted them to go back to the battle but not giving a damn.  She placed both hands on his wound, trying to apply more pressure as his blood soaked her fingers.  The war needed its leaders, but they all continued caring for Quinn instead.

-----

Maggie returned to the battle about an hour later.  All of them weren't needed to look after Quinn.  His bleeding was almost stopped and he'd never regained consciousness, so there was no real point in her staying.  There was nothing more she could do for him.  She needed to concentrate on other things and trust that Quinn would be fine.

Jared ran up to her as she approached.  "We have a serious problem," he called to her.  He was about to explain when he noticed that she was alone.  "Where is Quinn?"

"He was shot," answered Maggie, "but I think he'll be alright."

Her news set Jared at unease.  "Then I fear the situation worsens."

"What's going on?" Maggie inquired nervously.  She had a sick feeling in her gut that said something was very wrong.

"Our wounded are falling ill."  He paused.  "The arrows were tipped with poison."

-----

Maggie sat staring into the flames of the fire.  She tried to let her mind go blank for a while.  She wished that she could turn off the world for a few hours and get some rest.

The fire crackled and she snapped quickly back to reality.  Rest would come later.  She gazed over at the setting sun and sighed.  Tonight would be one with no sleep for her.  She was fairly certain of that.  She stood and started to make her way across their camp.

The battle for Zion was practically over, the kingdom virtually theirs now.  But she'd been trying to keep word of Quinn's condition from spreading.  Without him, she knew that the army wouldn't fight.  They'd lose hope if news reached them that their leader was dying.  So she and the others had kept it under tight wraps.

It was only an hour ago that she'd been able to send a few men into the city to try and get an antidote for the poison.  She wondered if they'd return soon enough.

Pausing beside one of the tents, she tried to free herself of all the negative thoughts that had taken residence in her mind.  Thoughts of not knowing where Wade was, thoughts of the possibility of losing this war... thoughts that Quinn might die from an unknown poison with no cure to be found, and no one on the other side willing to talk when questioned about it.

She pushed her hair back from her face and took a deep breath of the quickly cooling air.  Night was falling and bringing a sharp chill with it.  She entered the tent and looked to Arturo.  "How is he?" she asked regarding Quinn.

They'd brought Quinn back to camp as soon as they'd been able to that afternoon.  He'd already been warm with a slight fever that had steadily worsened as the day progressed.

Arturo had tried to keep an eye on him, staying and helping out at the temporary camp while the others fought and tried to plan the fall of Zion.  The camp would be home until Zion was perfectly safe.

Moving his gaze from Quinn to Maggie, Arturo set aside another blood-soaked bandage as he answered her question.  "He's feverish, delusional."  He shook his head slightly.  "The poison is keeping his blood from clotting; he's still bleeding fairly badly considering.  However, I'm more concerned about his fever.  If it doesn't break soon, I fear we may lose him."

Quinn was moaning and tossing slightly.  Maggie decided that his tossing was probably what was keeping them from being able to completely stop his bleeding.  She didn't know if he was awake or in a restless sleep, but she knew he wasn't aware of what they were saying.  She knelt beside him and placed a hand on his forehead.  He was burning up.  "Shit," she cursed silently.

"We'll find a cure," she stated a moment later, knowing that there was probably no way Quinn could fight off the fever without it.  Sickness had swept over him rapidly and with an intense fierceness, keeping him slipping in and out of a partial consciousness.  Every time that he'd waken, he'd only moaned in pain and mumbled things that were incoherent, never responding to their concerned voices.

"He'll be okay."  Maggie tried to sound determined and optimistic.  They'd come close to losing Quinn a dozen times before and he'd always pulled through.  She wasn't about to let him die from some damned poison.

"I'm sure you're right," added Arturo, mirroring her positive tone of voice.

But as Maggie sat beside Quinn, gently stroking his hair, she knew that neither of them was certain of that fact.

-----

Margaret looked up at the two men.  The filthy dungeon disgusted her, but she wasn't about to cooperate.  "Il n'y a aucun traitement," she said coldly.

Jared turned to Rembrandt.  "She says that the poison has no antidote."

Rembrandt was really tired of getting the run-around.  He grabbed her chin and tilted her face so that she was forced to look at him.  "Our friend is dying," he told her angrily.  "Help us save him."

Jared quickly translated and, after a brief exchange, he sighed in frustration.  "She is very adamant about knowing of no cure."

Pinning her arm against the wall, Rembrandt pulled an arrowhead from his pocket and sliced her with it.  "Ask her if she wants to change her answer."

Margaret flinched, but then she grinned in defiance.  "Vous bluffez."

Rembrandt didn't need Jared to know that she was trying to call his bluff.  Except he wasn't bluffing.  He stared her straight in the eyes, and then spoke to Jared.  "You tell her that was the same arrow we pulled out of Quinn."

-----

It was late when they finally returned to the camp after gathering the needed supplies.  Jared gave Rembrandt a portion of the powder they'd brought back.  "Go tend to Quinn," he instructed.  "I will see that the others are cared for."

Rembrandt thanked him and immediately headed for Quinn's tent.  When he entered, Maggie was sitting beside Quinn, talking softly to him and wiping his face with a damp cloth.  Arturo, who was also there, gave Rembrandt a brief greeting.

After taking a look at Quinn, Rembrandt retrieved a cup of water and dumped the powder into it.  He stirred it, then knelt next to Quinn.

"He's completely out of it," Maggie informed him.

Rembrandt studied Quinn.  He was drenched in sweat from the fever and his breaths were shallow and obviously labored.  Rembrandt hated seeing his friend have to struggle just to breathe.  "We need to get him to drink this," he told Maggie.

She nodded and moved into a position so that she could support Quinn's head.  "Come on, Quinn, wake up," she asked him.

His eyelids fluttered and he stirred slightly, but otherwise didn't acknowledge having even heard Maggie's voice.  She didn't think he was capable of anything more than a partial consciousness.

"Q-ball, can you hear me?" Rembrandt asked.  He only moaned slightly in response.  "You have to drink this, okay?"

Rembrandt held the cup to Quinn's lips while Maggie tilted his head.  He poured some of the liquid into Quinn's mouth.  Quinn tried to drink the bitter mixture, but he only choked on it.

Rembrandt tried again to get Quinn to swallow some of it.  He succeeded in taking a few small sips, but then started coughing.  His body suddenly tensed as he seemed to become aware of the fact that he could no longer breathe.

-----

Quinn attempted to push past the haze that seemed to surround him.  But he couldn't focus, couldn't make out his friends, and couldn't register anything that was being said to him.  There was just the blur of voices, fading in and out.  He could hear a few words, but then the darkness swallowed them back up.

Trying to remember the things that were said was so hard.  He wanted to just let go, to stop listening.  What he'd been able to make out had been bad.  His fever was spiking dangerously high, and they couldn't get his bleeding to stop.  But there were also soothing words, attempting to comfort him, telling him he'd be okay.

Couldn't they understand that he wasn't able to hang on anymore?  Didn't they know how much pain he was in?  He didn't want to fight it anymore.  Yet they stayed with him.

Oh God, why wouldn't they just let him go?

Quinn couldn't even grasp awareness anymore.  No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't force his eyes to open.  His body refused to register anything but the pain.  Somebody was touching him, but that sense was also fading.  And the thought of completely losing the outside world scared him.

And then he couldn't breathe.  Sleep tugged at him, and Quinn wanted badly to surrender.  He could let everything go so easily.  But for some reason - perhaps a need to feel the supporting hands of his friends, or a sense of responsibility that refused to let him have peace, or maybe it was simple yet overwhelming fear - he struggled for consciousness, striving to push past the burning fever which wracked his body with agony.

But he failed.  So he settled on the one reaction his body agreed upon and couldn't deny him, and he started choking.  That was all he could do, just cough, and try to force himself to be able to breathe again.

But as new pain surged through him, he absently wondered if his struggle was completely futile.

-----

Rembrandt set down the cup and held onto Quinn who curled over his arm as coughs racked his body into convulsions.  Arturo was immediately with them, bracing Quinn and rubbing his back.

After a few minutes, Quinn's choking fit finally subsided as he lost the small bit of consciousness that he'd been hanging on to.  Rembrandt and Arturo, who were still holding him, eased him gently back down.  Maggie brushed his wet hair from his forehead.

The unsteady rise and fall of Quinn's chest told them that their friend had won that round.  However, he was barely breathing, and none knew how much longer he'd be able to keep up the fight.

As Quinn kept twitching and quietly moaning, Rembrandt watched his fists clench tighter every time his face would contort with pain.  He wondered what nightmares Quinn was trying to escape.

Arturo couldn't help but notice the blood that was now on all of their clothes.  Quinn's tossing wasn't helping to stop the bleeding in the least.  He continued to grow weaker as his fever spiked.  Heat radiated off his sweat-drenched body despite the chill of the air.  Arturo prayed that he'd been able to swallow enough of the antidote to get his fever to break.  He looked at Rembrandt and Maggie and knew they were thinking the same thing.

The three of them stayed with Quinn until his breathing was even and they were sure he'd slipped into a sound sleep.

-----

It was late evening before the band of prisoners was allowed to rest.  Wade sunk to the ground gratefully, her ankle throbbing.  She didn't think she could walk another step.

The food she and others were given was pathetic.  Each of them was only spared a single piece of bed and a small amount of water.  Their hands were never untied to free their movement while they ate.

Wade glanced at the sun which was low in the sky.  It would be dark soon, and she prayed that they were stopped for the night.  She lifted bound hands awkwardly to her mouth, savoring her last sip of water.  She cursed when she spilled some.

Patrick happened to be passing by and laughed at her.  He was always around at the worst times.  "Enjoying gloating?" she asked rudely.

He held his own cup in front of her.  Then he turned it over and let the water dump onto the ground.  "Yes," he replied before leaving.

Wade just glared at his back as he walked away.  Then she settled herself as best she could on the lumpy ground.  She should at least try to sleep.  As she watched the stars appear in the heavens, she wondered where the others were and hoped they were okay.  She missed them.

Annoyed with her self-pity, Wade swore that she wasn't going to cry herself to sleep.  Sleep never came.

-----

Waking, Quinn found himself in a soft bed, covered with sheets of silk and satin.  He tried to sit, but ended up just moaning in pain.  He leaned back against his pillow again.

For a moment, he didn't know what had happened or how he'd gotten there.  Then he recalled getting shot.  Sure enough, there was a bandage wrapped around his chest that also went over his left shoulder.  It was thick over his wound, yet blood had soaked through it anyway.  He noticed that there was also blood on the expensive bedding.

He recognized the room as being the queen's bed chamber.  He attempted to stand, but got dizzy and light headed.

Just then, Maggie entered the room.  She rushed to his side and helped him lie back down.  "Quinn," she scolded.  "Don't even think of going anywhere.  You need to stay in bed - for a couple days at least."

"Thanks," he told her, knowing that he'd have fainted had he kept standing.

Maggie's expression softened.  "You okay?"  She caressed the side of his face gently after checking once more for any trace of fever.  He'd been unconscious for over a day.  And in addition to sickness brought on by the poison, he'd lost a whole lot of blood.  He'd almost died again during the night.

"I think so," replied Quinn, still hurting but able to bare it now.  "What happened?"

Maggie smiled a bit.  "We took Zion.  The kingdom is ours."  She walked over to the large window and pulled aside the drapes.  From there, they could see a flag that was proudly blowing in the breeze.  It bore the symbol of the cross.

Quinn was happy and sad at the same time.  "Kalin's banner."  She'd never be able to see it flying over her kingdom.  But they'd achieved her dream.  Her city was free.

He sighed and leaned back into the soft pillow.  His head ached and he felt very weak.  "How long have I been out?" he asked.

Maggie's expression changed to one of concern as she looked at him.  "What's the last thing you remember, Quinn?"

"I'm not sure," he answered.  "I was trying to help Lydia, and then..."  He paused, looking at bandage again.  "I remember the arrow, the pain....  After that, there's just a blur."

"That was two days ago," explained Maggie.  "You don't remember anything during the fever?"

Her statement seemed to shock Quinn.  If he'd gotten sick, he shouldn't be alive now.  He reached up to rub his face but quickly lowered his left arm at the shot of pain brought on by lifting it.  He shook his head slightly in reply to Maggie.

"The arrows were tipped with poison," Maggie continued.  "It kept you pretty out of it.  I wasn't sure if you'd recall anything or not."  She was partially thankful that he didn't.

Quinn seemed to sense her unspoken thoughts.  "How bad did it get?" he questioned, still stunned that he'd survived with a weak immune system.

Maggie looked down at the floor and then back at him again.  "Very bad," she answered honestly, deciding that any more detail wasn't needed.

"Are you sure that you're okay now?" asked Maggie after a brief silence.  Quinn was acting pretty heavily affected by this news.

He didn't tell her how possible his dying would have been.  He knew that he must have come close, it was etched all over her concerned face.  There were also flashes of memory that he shoved aside.  They had other things that needed their attention, and his telling her now would only worry her.  "Yeah," he lied.

"Quinn..." Maggie started, but let her words trail off.  She tucked the blanket around him and then gently stroked his hair.  He was sound asleep.

----

It was six hours later when Quinn woke again.  Rembrandt was setting a bowl of soup on the table beside his bed.  "Where's Maggie?" Quinn asked him.  He considered trying to sit up, but rejected the idea, recalling the pain and nausea brought on by his earlier attempt to do so.

"She left a couple hours after you passed out," Rembrandt told him.  "She's discussing plans with Daniel and Jared.  They're figuring out what should be done with the captured soldiers.  Most are willing to join with us, but some are still loyal to their queen.  It's hard to know who to trust.  There's also decisions to made about what should be done with Zion now that we've taken it.  Since Kalin is dead..."

At the pained expression on Quinn's face, Rembrandt stopped.  Kalin was a topic that nobody was comfortable with at the moment.  "It's okay," Quinn said, trying to put the sadness of Kalin's death out of his mind.  He was sure it hurt Rembrandt just as much as himself.  "Go on."

Rembrandt nodded.  "Everyone is growing restless without an actual leader.  The army is also dividing.  Half wishes to regroup with the other legions, while the other wants to hold up here and defend Zion in case of any attacks.  With the way things are, this war might be lost by our own hand.  And then there's you."

Quinn looked over at him.  "What about me?"

"News has spread about your being shot," Rembrandt informed him.  "The Fifth defies orders from anyone else now, even orders we say come from you.  They won't listen to messengers.  Rumor has started circulating that you died."

"Well, that's a rumor that can be quickly taken care of."  Quinn started to push himself up, but had to bite back a cry at the pain which shot through his arm and shoulder from the slight strain he put on it.

Rembrandt quickly supported him and helped him to sit.  "Are you in a lot of pain?" he asked with concern.

Quinn flexed his left arm and grimaced.  "At least pain means there probably isn't any nerve damage," he said weakly.  He noticed that somebody had changed his bandage.  No blood had soaked through this one, and Quinn hoped it meant that the bleeding had stopped.

"Quinn?"

At the worried look on his friend's face, Quinn nodded slightly.  "Yeah, I am," he answered truthfully.  "It hurts whenever I move my shoulder or breathe too deeply."

"I can try to find something to give you for it," suggested Rembrandt.  It was clear that Quinn's pain was constant.

"It's not that bad," Quinn lied.  "I'll just be more careful about moving my shoulder.  We need to focus on more important things right now.  And besides, I doubt you'll be able to find any Tylenol on this world."

"You sure, Q-ball?"

"Yeah, don't waste your time," Quinn answered, not caring about himself.  "We need to go find Wade as soon as possible.  Zion will be fine without us."

Rembrandt looked questioningly at him.  "What makes you so certain?"

"I'll leave some of the Fifth here to guard the city just in case.  They'll listen to me," explained Quinn.  "I assume I've played my part rather well.  I'm not with the other wounded, instead in the queen's room.  That means you wanted to keep my injuries from the army, meaning that they respect me as leader and follow my orders.  With me hurt, structure falls apart as you said."

He paused.  "I'm capable of continuing that role as long as necessary.  We'll take the others and go after Wade tomorrow morning.  Knowing that we're returning with an even larger army, nobody would dare attempt attacking Zion now."

"Are you up to this?"  Quinn still looked very weak.

"I have to be, Remmy," he replied.

-----

"Things won't work out as you've planned," Wade commented to Brad as the caravan stopped that afternoon.  She'd made it through another day of the agonizing trek.

Brad sat next to her.  The random moments when she'd start talking to him were actually becoming amusing to him.  "And why is that?"

She shrugged.  "Ever heard of poetic justice?"

Brad couldn't help but grin.  She was definitely persistent.  And she had no idea how much she and Kalin were alike.  There was a part of him that hated that, and yet another that admired it.

Wade was about to continue when one of Patrick's men came for her.  "What do you want?" she asked angrily.

"Lord Patrick wishes your audience," the man replied.

"Somebody has an ego problem," mumbled Wade as her arm was grabbed and she was pulled roughly to her feet.  "Alright, alright, I'm coming."

She was escorted to Patrick's tent where, once there, she was shoved to her knees in front of him.  He waved away the guards, leaving the two of them alone.  "You've impressed me," he told her.

Wade struggled to resume standing, putting as little weight as possible on her injured ankle.  She raised an eyebrow at him.

He stood up from his seat and stepped over to her.  He looked her up and down.  "Yes, you are quite something.  I have seen how the others respect you.  I find you intriguing."

"And I find you an arrogant bastard."

He laughed.  "Quite the tongue on you, little girl."

She turned her head as he continued to walk around her.  He placed his hands on her shoulders.  "Together we might accomplish much," he added.

"You repulse me," Wade spat at him.

"I'm offering you your life."  He ran his hands down her arms.

Wade shuddered.  "I do just fine on my own."

He spun her around to face him.  "You could please me."

"Oh, I'd rather not."

"You seem to comprehend very little," he continued.  "What I'm asking is for you to be my partner.  The leaders of two armies combined as one."

He didn't remove his hands from her body.  "What you're asking is for me to be your slut."

He struck her.  "I could have you if I wanted you," he spoke into her ear.  "If I untie you, you will do as I command."

Wade shook her head slowly.  "If you untie me, I'll beat the crap out of you."  Her words were serious and her voice never wavered.

"That was your last chance," he told her.  He grabbed her and dragged her along with him out of the tent.  When they were where everyone could see them, he threw her to the ground.

Patrick made a slight motion with his hand and two of his men came to his side.  "Beat her," he instructed them.

One of the men obliged and hit Wade.  She grimaced in pain.  Patrick wasn't satisfied.  "Did I speak words commanding you to cease?" he asked.

With that, Wade was hit again repeatedly.  She kept expecting the abuse to end at any moment, but Patrick never spoke.

He let it continue until the force of the blows was finally to great for her to bare and she was screaming in agony and pain.  He let them hit her a few more times even then, but finally stopped them when she was on the verge of passing out.  "Get up," he ordered her.

Wade somehow managed to push herself up, but her knees buckled and she fell back to the ground.  Patrick stared down at her.  "Kill me, and you receive nothing for my capture," she warned him.

Patrick kicked her, and she rolled onto her back from the impact, crying in pain.  As he moved to kick her once more, she jerked away, and his boot collided with her ankle.  Wade tried impossibly hard to hold back her scream.  She was positive that he'd broken the already wounded bone.

He grabbed her arm and hauled her up again, dragging her over to the others.  She stumbled and tripped the whole way, unable to walk.  "Let this be lesson to all of you," he yelled.  "Nobody defies me.  I don't care who you are."  He threw her forcefully back to the ground, then left.

Wade just lay there.  She closed her eyes tightly and tried to ignore the pain.  She fought back silent sobs for several minutes before she realized Brad had sat beside her.  She looked up at him with a face damp from tears.

He offered her a drink of water.  "I'm sorry," he said.  "I did not know they would do that to you."

"I'm the leader of the group you're at war against," Wade snapped at him.  "What did you expect?"

Brad took his eyes off her and looked at the ground.  "I didn't expect to care."

-----

As he finished bridling his horse, Maggie approached Quinn.  She stroked the bay’s mane for a moment before speaking.  “Max, Remmy, and I will go.  You should stay here, Quinn.”

He glanced over at her.  “I have to find Wade.  We don’t have much time left.”

“Quinn, you’re in no condition to--“

He spun to face her.  “I’m fine!”

She held eye-contact with him.  “You’re hurt,” she said softly yet firmly.  “We’ll find Wade.”

Quinn grabbed a saddle, grimacing at the stab of pain caused by lifting it, and continued tacking up his horse with his other hand.  “We have to stick together.”

Knowing that he wasn’t going to back down, Maggie relented.  She helped him tighten the girth.  Quinn stepped to the side and let her finish the task.  He clutched his upper arm with his right hand, keeping his left arm held against his side, forcing his injured shoulder to remain stationary.

Maggie noticed his actions yet said nothing.  Quinn would push himself to the breaking point no matter what she did.  He’d been that way as long as she’d known him.  She sighed.  “I’ll see that the others are ready to head out.”

Quinn nodded as she left.  Then he titled his head back and closed his eyes, trying to ease a new wave of pain.  He wanted to search the city for a pub and get completely wasted, but that wasn’t an option.  He’d just have to live with the pain a while longer.

-----

Whispers rushed through the lines of prisoners quickly, and Wade strained to hear as much as possible.  They’d come to a stop as they were met by a messenger.  Wade could see him talking to Patrick.

The conversation rolled back over the group in waves, those in front passing what they overheard to those around them.  Apparently, this messenger came from one called William.  He brought news that Zion had fallen, and the queen had been captured.  To Wade’s ears, this was too great to be true.

After a long while, Patrick parted ways with the other man and worked his way to Wade, a stone expression on his face.  “It seems we cannot return to Zion,” he informed her.  “*Your* banner now flies there.”

Wade simply glared at him, and he spit on her before spinning on his heel and leaving.  “We head for the beach,” Patrick called to his men as he mounted his horse.

Once more, hushed whispers surged about the captured army.  “What is it?” Wade asked frantically.  Something was very wrong.  “What’s at the beach?”

“‘Tis where we’ll die,” Caleb answered.

-----

It would be dark soon, and Quinn looked over his group as they made camp.  He wondered when he’d started thinking of them being his.  It had just happened.  They were his friends, part of his army, people he trusted.  Of course, part of it had to do with his double.  But it wasn’t just playing a role, it went beyond Quinnten of Avignon, touched something inside of him.  He didn’t know what, but he could feel it.

Nothing he’d done on this world had been a lie.  He wasn’t acting anymore.  There was a connection that he couldn’t explain.

He shook off the strange feeling and went back to work.  Lydia gave him some more wood as he continued trying to light the fire.  She smiled, watching him.  “Perhaps I ought to try,” she offered.  “‘Tis ladies’ work.”

Quinn couldn’t help but laugh.  “Thanks.”

He rubbed his arm as she started the fire.  He closed his eyes a moment, exhausted.

“You should rest,” Lydia remarked.  “Allow me to finish setting camp.  You appear worn.”

Quinn grinned.  Had she just told him that he looked like hell?  “Maybe you’re right.”  He settled down next to the now crackling fire.

Lydia left, giving Quinn’s mind a chance to wander again.  He thought about how he’d taken enough men with them be a safe number, leaving Daniel behind to look after the city.  He thought about Lydia and Jared... and Keith, and Kalin.  He thought about the prophecy that had given him the idea of how to conquer a kingdom.

His random ponderings focused back to that story of angels and martyrs, and about Kalin’s death.  Then he suddenly thought about Wade.

Quinn sat up quickly, deciding he needed to talk to the professor.  He instantly regretted that motion as the familiar woozy feeling washed over him, making him nauseous.

Pushing past the pain caused by his shoulder, he got up and eventually found Arturo.  “What is it, my boy,” the older man asked him.

“I don’t know,” Quinn admitted.  “I just have a bad feeling.  Maybe we shouldn’t stop for the night.  I want to find Wade, now.”

Arturo frowned.  “You know it’s not wise to move all these people in the dark,” he told him, not voicing his other concerns about Quinn’s health.  “Let’s stay focused.  We’ll continue searching for Miss Wells at first light.”

“I’m worried,” Quinn said.

Arturo put a hand on his uninjured arm.  “That girl is perfectly capable of looking out for herself.”

Quinn finally nodded.  Tomorrow they’d find the other legions.  Then he’d have Wade back, and they could slide off this world and leave the war behind them.

-----

The sun was setting as Wade woke up.  She didn’t remember falling asleep, or when they’d arrived at the beach, yet the waves crashed in the distance as beams of dimming light reflected off them.  A single cross had already been raised, silhouetted by the sun as it sunk behind the ocean.  It was almost beautiful...

Moaning, Wade tried to clear her head.  She knew they’d come here because crosses were easier to stand in the sand; Caleb had told her that.  She also suspected that the setting was liked because it added something to the drama aspect.  But the fact that tugged at her mind was that she was going die here.

Paul and Caleb were beside her now, all of them still bound.  Wade groaned as she wiggled her hands which were firmly secured.  However, her feet hadn’t been tied.  Someone had cared enough to not bind her broken ankle.

“What happened?” requested Wade.

“You fainted,” Paul answered.  “You’ve slept a good while since.”

She nodded.  A few painkillers would be eagerly welcomed at the moment.  “Why is only one cross up?” she continued questioning.

Caleb looked over at her.  “The others will be raised after we’re on them,” he told her.  “That one ‘tis but a test.  They cannot be too near the water.”

Wade thought she understood.  “Heaven forbid they should fall over,” she mumbled.

“I wonder if they’ll be using nails or rope,” Caleb mused.

She turned to him in shock.  “What?”

“Surely rope,” replied Paul.  “They would not be so barbaric as to actually use nails.”  He looked over at Wade.  “What is your view?”

“I...” Wade stuttered.  “I never thought about it.”

Seeing how their conversation was rattling Wade, Caleb shrugged it off, despite his own fears.  “It’ll be rope,” he tried to say positively as if that would comfort Wade.  “Faster, cleaner death.”

“Faster?”  That surprised Wade.  Surely the pain from the nails would kill a person more quickly.

Paul nodded his head slowly.  “If luck’s with you, the ropes won’t provide as great of support.  You’ll stop breathing sooner.”

Wade put her face in her still-bound hands, trying not to cry.  “I’m so sorry.”  They’d trusted her to lead them and she’d condemned them all to die.

-----

Wade was stirred from her thoughts by somebody untying the ropes around her wrists.  She looked up at Paul who put a finger to his lips.  “I was able to slice my binds on a rock,” he informed her in hushed tones.  “With night upon us, we might yet have hope of escape.”

She tilted her head slightly, letting him know that she understood.  Once she was freed, she moved to Caleb.  “You two flee,” he whispered urgently, “Before you are noticed.”

“Uh uh,” Wade disagreed, shaking her head.  “We go together.”

As she was untying Caleb, Paul caught sight of Brad.  “Go,” he shouted to Wade, shoving her toward the hill on the edge of the beach.  They’d been spotted.

Wade took off as fast as she could with her broken ankle, checking over her shoulder for the others.  Paul grabbed Caleb, but his ankles were still bound and Paul left him behind.  He moved to help Wade.

Not wanting to go without Caleb, Wade hesitated.  Paul dragged her along with him, pulling her arm over his shoulder and almost carrying her since she couldn’t run.

“Stop!” a voice called from behind them.

Without thinking, Wade looked back.  “Oh god!”  She forced Paul to turn.  Brad had captured Caleb and had a knife to his throat.

“Continue to run,” Paul instructed her.

“I can’t.”  She shook her head weakly.  “He’ll kill him.”

Paul held her firmly, but she jerked away.  “Better than us all.”

Something inside her told Wade that she had to go back.  “Let him go and I’ll come back willing,” she called to Brad.

He nodded.  “You first.”

Paul cast Wade an imploring look.  “You know this to be a trap.”

“I don’t have a choice.”  She limped back down the hill.

When she neared Brad, Caleb tried to break free.  Wade saw the move coming and lunged at Brad.  The knife slipped to the ground and she managed to grab it before Brad could stop her.  She flicked the blade towards him and then moved to hold it at his throat.

Brad laughed at how the situation had reversed.  “You can not kill me.”

“Get out of here,” she ordered Paul and Caleb.  “I’ll be fine.”

Reluctantly, seeing more men approaching, the two turned and ran.

Moving the knife tighter to Brad’s throat, Wade told him to call the others off.

“I will not.”

“I can kill you,” she said fiercely.

He turned slightly, trying to look at her.  “The tremor in your hands proves that to be false.”

Wade felt a tingle of fear creep through her.  He knew she was lying and was calling her bluff.  She slit the skin on his neck just enough to draw blood.  “Tell them to back off,” she tried one last time.

By this point, Patrick had joined those watching.  He was holding a torch so that he could clearly see her in the darkness.  He walked almost right up to her, a grin on his face.  “Oh, do slit his throat,” he told her.  “It would be most amusing.  And then I’ll hunt you down regardless.”

Disgusted, Wade threw down the knife.  She couldn’t kill anyone, so she let herself be captured and dragged back onto the beach.

-----

The next hours passed in a blur for Wade.  Nothing seemed real until she was forced to lie on the wood of one of the crosses.  She closed her eyes as the tears came unbidden.  All the other crosses had already been raised.  She was the only one left.

She kept her eyes closed as the ropes were wrapped around her wrists and ankles.  She didn’t even notice how tightly they were knotted, providing as much support as possible, and securing her firmly.  More ropes were added higher on her arms, and she guessed the purpose was to keep her alive longer, but she didn’t care anymore.

“Quinn, where are you?” she whispered silently.  “Somebody help me...”

“Praying to your insignificant God?” Patrick’s voice asked from above her.  “Do you wish now that you had chosen me instead?”

Opening her eyes, she looked sadly up at him.  “Never.”  She tried to speak the word with conviction, but even she heard the waver.

He shook his head in mock pity.  Looking to his men, he waved the fingers of one hand up a few times, signaling them to raise her.

She felt herself being lifted and tried in vain to control her panic.  The cross was placed in the hole and secured.  She was going to die.

Wade gasped as her body suddenly ached from the pull.  Fear took over and her breaths became faster as she tugged at the ropes.  Her mind finally told her to stop fighting.  The ropes would hold, and if she struggled, the slack it caused would only make it harder to get any air and she’d die faster.  She forced herself to control her breathing.  There had to be a way out of this.

Her gaze fell upon Patrick.  She could still beg for her life, agree to whatever he wanted.  All she had to do was join him and she wouldn’t have to die here tonight.

“Patrick...”  Her voice cracked as she spoke his name, calling out to him.  She was desperate.

As he turned back to her, she caught sight of motion in her peripheral vision.  His men had returned, and they were dragging a body.  Paul.  Her heart sank.

Patrick followed her gaze and smiled.  The man was clearly dead.  “And the other one?”

“Of no matter,” somebody called back to him.  “We’ll be long gone and they’ll all be dead by the time he reaches help.”

He looked back to Wade with satisfaction.  He waited for her to continue.

In the torch light, his eyes sparked with evil as he grinned in victory.  He’d broken her.  She closed her eyes.  All she needed was to say the word and he’d take her down.  Everything inside her was torn, wanting life yet screaming against her willingly surrendering to such a vile person.  It was against everything she believed in.  Yet she needed him to spare her life.

If she joined Patrick, she’d be powerful.  They were both leaders on this world, commanding armies.  Wade could assume the role of Kalin, steal her double’s life.  Yet that would make Wade solely responsible for the wrong side winning this war.

The next words she spoke took all her strength and willpower.  “Go to hell.”

Patrick turned away and she knew she’d never get another chance.  She left her eyes closed, accepting the pain of defeat.

Except Patrick wasn’t satisfied, and he looked back at the crosses once more.  “Break their legs.”

-----

Exhausted and stumbling, a lone figure made his way to the light of a single fire.

Quinn lay next to the dying embers, staring up at the stars.  He was near the edge of the camp, having left the others to be alone and think.  He’d stayed there all night, just now drifting to sleep.

Caleb approached him.  “Help me...”

The sound of his voice jerked Quinn fully awake.  At first he was startled, but then noticed how worn out and tired Caleb appeared.  He moved to him and helped him to sit.

“Where did you come from?” Quinn asked.

Caleb fought the urge to sleep after running through the night.  “They’ve been captured.  You have to help them.”

Quinn called for the others to wake up before turning back to his new guest.  “Who?”

“The Third...”  Caleb stopped to catch his breath, lying down.

“Damn it!”  Quinn had never been more awake.  “Rembrandt, Professor, Maggie, get out here!”

Lydia, Jared, and Rembrandt were the first to respond to his calls.  “What is it?” Rembrandt asked.

Quinn looked from Caleb to his friends.  “The Third Legion has been captured.”

That statement was all Rembrandt needed to understand the worried expression on Quinn’s face.

Lydia knelt beside Caleb who was trembling.  “Tell us what happened.”

“He crucified them.”  The words were small and afraid.  Lydia rubbed his arm, trying to comfort him.  He was obviously very frightened.

Running a hand through his hair, Quinn began to pace.  A whole legion of Kalin’s army had been executed.  He stopped and stooped beside Caleb who was almost asleep.  Quinn shook the young man, needing to ask the question that was tormenting him.  “Was Wade with them?”

“Yes,” he answered before passing out from fatigue.

-----

Trying to close her mind to the screams was impossible, so Wade had to settle for just closing her eyes.  At least everyone else was behind her.  Being in the front row of crosses, the last thing she’d seen had been the darkness of the ocean waves in the faint moonlight.

She tried to find peace, but there was none.  She was alone to die, not even knowing the fate of her friends.  She prayed that they were alright, missing them dearly.  Remembering them eased her mind, and she longed for just a single moment more with them.

Then pain settled over her, dulling her senses and numbing her mind.  She'd long since given up on attempting to free herself in any way from the ropes that bound her.  Losing herself in a pleasant memory from years ago, she quit trying to hold herself up and untensed her muscles, letting herself fall limp and almost suffocating as her air passage was practically cut off.

Thinking back, she remembered telling Quinn once that if she died, she’d have no regrets.  That was still true.  He’d been so young and eager to explore the multiverse once upon a time.  They both had.  She missed that.  They used to welcome each new adventure.  And now it was over.  She’d never see Quinn again.

Maybe that was her only regret.  Dying alone.

She hung heavily against the ropes now, and they burned fiercely as they dug deeper into her flesh.  Her whole body ached with an intense pain.  It was no longer specific, everything hurt, it was just one overwhelming pain enveloping her.  A scream of agony escaped from her lips, but she barely heard it.  She began to slip out of consciousness.

Brad stood watching her.  She’d let him live, and now he was responsible for ending her life.  He hated how he was putting an end to such a bright spirit.  She’d been so full of hope and optimism, still so innocent despite all the sorrows he knew she must have suffered.

He turned away from her without breaking her legs.  She’d be dead soon enough anyway.

-----

“We can’t just let her die!” Quinn shouted angrily.

“We should wait until morning,” advised Arturo.  “We could be walking into a trap.”

Quinn shook his head, growing more upset with each passing second.  “I’m not leaving her there.”

“Do you have any idea what crucifixion is?”  Arturo placed his hand on Quinn’s arm.  “Miss Wells is probably dead already.”

“You don’t know that!” yelled Quinn, adamantly refusing to accept that.  “And do *you* know what crucifixion is?  Let me tell you.  First a nail is driven right here.”  He placed his finger on the slight depression at the front of his wrist.

“Both wrists, of course,” he continued, his voice rising once more.  “Just enough slack is left to the arms to be torture.  And then the cross is raised and the feet are next to get a nail.  Now comes the searing pain, because if you want to keep breathing, you’re going to push yourself upward and those nails will send fire through your nerves.  When you’re finally too fatigued to struggle anymore, you can still manage to draw in some small gasps of air, but you can’t exhale.  Carbon dioxide builds up in your lungs and bloodstream.”

Arturo tried to turn away from Quinn, but the younger man grabbed him.  “I’m not done yet.”

He forced Arturo to face him.  “We’ve still got HOURS of pain to go.  And a new agony: the crushing pain deep in the chest as the
pericardium slowly fills with serum and begins to compress the heart.  But don’t worry, we’re almost done now.  At this point, the heart is struggling and tortured lungs are ready to give out.  Now’s when you get that lovely chill as you know you’re going to die!”

There was moister in Quinn’s eyes lurking just behind the rage.  He’d felt that chill himself once, on the world where he’d slipped into a coma.  “That’s what they’re doing to Wade right now,” he cried, sinking to his knees and finally sobbing.  “And that was just the Reader’s Digest version.”

Maggie stood beside Rembrandt as they watched silently.  Arturo put his arm around Quinn and tried to comfort him.  She could see him speaking quietly to Quinn, but she couldn’t make out the words.

She looked away from her friends as she tried to not be heavily affected by what Quinn had said, although the thought of that happening to Wade - to anyone - terrified her.  On her world, the only real mention of crucifixion had been in the Bible.  And that had described the terrible event in just four words, “And they crucified him.”

-----

Quinn only let himself break down for a few short minutes.  “I’m sorry, my boy,” Arturo told him as he stood.

Wiping the tears from his face, Quinn eventually turned to the others.  “I’m going after Wade.  I’m not asking anybody to come with me.”

Rembrandt moved to stand beside him.  “I’m going also.”  Maggie and Arturo both nodded.

Lydia looked at her brother.  “Jared, gather a few men to take with us.  I’ll prepare the horses.”

Quinn watched his friends for a moment.  “Thank you.”

-----

Patrick’s men were leaving the beach, and Brad walked to join them.  He had to walk past the rows of crosses as he did so.  He thought a few people were still alive, but he didn’t want to check.

Yet he stopped in front of the cross that Wade was hanging on.  She was still alive, but only half conscious and moaning almost silently.  He looked sadly at her.  He'd only prolonged her pain.  He lifted his spear and ran it's sharp edge down her right wrist.

Wade was in so much pain that she didn't even feel the spear as it cut her.  She couldn't even see anymore.  She didn't know if her eyes were open or not.  She also realized that she couldn't hear anything.  She was grateful that the screams had stopped.  But that meant either she just couldn't hear anymore, or everyone else was already dead.  Both possibilities scared her.

She tried once more to fight the ropes that held her, fight the pain, fight anything.  But she knew that she wasn't even moving.  It was as if she was no longer a part of her body.  She didn't want to die.  "God, don't let this be the end!" she screamed silently.

Brad watched as the blood slowly pooled on her wrist.  Wade's moaning ceased, and her body seamed to fall completely limp against the ropes.  He'd ended it.  He turned and walked away.

Wade's pain disappeared slowly and all of her struggling finally came to an end.  She felt herself slip into the darkness - that she knew would be followed by death - that was overwhelming her as the first of many drops of blood fell from the now red stained ropes and splattered on to the sand below.

-----

After riding through the rest of the night, Quinn was almost exhausted.  There was a faint glow to the east as Lydia reigned in her mount.  “There.”  She pointed to the rise of the hill.  Beyond it was the beach.

Quinn kicked his horse’s sides, urging it forward.  He stared in shock and horror at the scene before him as he reached the top of the hill that looked down at the shore.  The beach was covered with rows of crosses facing the waves.  The rising sun illuminated them in the ghostly light of early dawn.  He guessed that there were at least forty of them.  A body hung on each one.

"Good Lord," Arturo said, joining Quinn.  "It doesn't seam real, does it?"

"It is real," Lydia's quiet words said.  "It looks like most of our army."  Her heart sunk at the sight of them.  Her friends, her companions, her only hope for winning this fight for freedom she was waging.  Zion had fallen, but now so had they.  Now it was hopeless.

"No," Quinn gasped.  "Wade can’t be here."

Maggie moved her horse beside his and put her hand on his arm.  "She might not.”  She tried to reassure him.  "And even if she was with the Third, she could have escaped.”

Quinn dismounted, then ran his hands through his hair.  "Yeah, you're probably right," he said to Maggie.  He couldn't allow himself to fall apart over this.  She could very well be alive.  But not knowing was killing him.  And the odds were against him.

They slowly walked down to the where the rows of crosses began.  "If only we'd gotten here sooner..."  Lydia let her words fade into the breeze from the sea.

"You'd have just been killed also," Arturo said.  "We all would have."

Rembrandt walked over to the cross nearest him.  "We have to cut them down," he stated.

Lydia walked back to the horses and retrieved knives for all of them.  She handed one to each person.  Then she got a few spears for cutting the high ropes.  She’d come prepared.

Jared took a spear from her.  "Rembrandt and I will take the first row.  Arturo, you and Michael the second.  Quinn, Maggie, and Lydia the third.  And, Jordan, you and Mark can take the last row.  Let's get them down."

Obeying her brother’s orders, a tear escaped and slipped down Lydia’s face as she walked across the cold sand.

Quinn walked to the third row after her, followed by Maggie.  He had to catch his breath at what he saw.  He didn't even know the person, but he was just about the same age as him.  Quinn shuttered.  Ropes had been used instead of nails, but that was still an awful way to die.

Maggie cut the ropes around his ankles while Quinn and Lydia freed his wrists.  Then they lowered his body onto the sand.  Quinn checked for a pulse.  He shook his head.  "He's dead," he told the others.  But they already knew.  "It looks like his legs have been broken."

Maggie had already moved to the next cross.  "All their legs are broken," she stated.

Quinn slowly walked over to her, leaving Lydia with the other body.  She was too shaken up to continue yet.  She had known him.  Not very well, but this was too much death for her anyway.  All her friends were dying.

Quinn just closed off all his feelings.  He had to stay focused.  He wouldn't allow himself to even think about what had happened here.  He knew that if he did, those thoughts would never leave him.

-----

Rembrandt finished laying another body on the ground.  That was the second one.  He looked down the beach at all the others.  He closed his eyes for a moment against the sight, then he opened them again and started to turn back to Jared and the task at hand.  But something caught his eye and he froze for a minute before he could do anything.

"Are you alright?"  Jared looked questioningly at him.

Rembrandt ignored him.  "Quinn, Professor, Maggie!" he yelled to them as he ran across the beach.  "Get over here, now!"

Quinn and Maggie and Arturo all ran over to him as fast as they could.  None knew what to expect, but fear gripped Quinn as drew nearer to the cross where Rembrandt had stopped.  The feeling overwhelmed him and he prayed that he was wrong.  "Dear God, please let her be alive!" he screamed inside silently.  "If it's her, don't let her be dead!"

He told himself that it wasn't her; it couldn't be.  But just by looking at his friend's face, he knew what he'd see on that cross.  He didn't want it to be true, but when he came around to the front of the cross, he saw her.  He became unable to move and couldn't even breathe.  The body on that cross belonged to Wade.

-----

The mist swirled around her and she felt strange.  Wade had never felt this way before.  Peaceful, serene, light, in no pain.  She felt an overwhelming sense of calmness.  She tried to look around as the mist dispersed, broken by rays of the rising sun.  It's bright beams of light crashed over the waves and sparkled across the sand, creating a beautiful glow.

Wade looked out over the ocean at sunrise.  She was awestruck by its dazzling colors.  Never before had she seen anything so wondrous.
"Beautiful, isn't it?" her own voice asked her.

Wade turned to see Kalin standing beside her.  Her long hair was pulled back at the sides and blew a bit in the gentle breeze.  She was wearing a white dress that hung all the way past her ankles.  "Where are we?" Wade asked her.

Kalin held out her hand to Wade.  She took it and Kalin turned her around, away from the water.  The beach was lined with rows of crosses.  There were no bodies, just the crosses.

"I don't understand," Wade said.  "I should be there, on one of those crosses.  But I'm not.  And I can't feel any pain."

"You've left that world, Wade.  It's behind you now."

Wade was confused.  "But where are the others?  Quinn had the timer.  I couldn't have slid...."  She quit talking and gazed at the empty crosses.  "Oh please no."  Then she turned to Kalin.  "Am I..."

Kalin nodded slightly.  "You died, Wade."

Wade choked a bit on a slight sob, then tilted her head back and stared at the sky, trying to accept what she'd just heard, wanting to cry but not, feeling a scream inside her but remaining silent, needing to understand but feeling lost.  "Why are we here?"

"I'm here to guide you.  You are here because you refuse to leave this place."

Wade turned back to face Kalin again.  "What do you mean?"

"You choose to stay here, where you're near your friends.  You died a horrible death, Wade.  And you don't want to accept it, to move on.  And you don't want to leave your friends while they're hurting," Kalin explained.

Wade began to understand.  She could feel Quinn, Rembrandt, the professor, and Maggie.  She could hear their thoughts.  She sensed their pain, sorrow, and grief.  She knew they'd found her body.  "I shouldn't have died."

"It was your time, Wade," Kalin told her.  "You've helped so many people and changed so many worlds.  You've given lost souls hope and healed the injured.  So many lives have been affected by you, Wade.  And your death has given my world another martyr.  You sacrificed yourself to help complete strangers.  You've done so much good.  But now it's your time to go home.  The journey is over."

"But I can't," Wade replied.  "I didn't want to die.  I wasn't ready.  I have to go back."

"Nobody is ever truly ready.  Not you or your friends.  But it is your time, Wade.  Your whole life was written before you were born.  And this is where your mortal life ends."

Wade shook her head.  "I'm not ready for eternity!  There are still things I don't understand.  I have so many questions."

Kalin smiled softly at her.  "I'm not the one you need to ask."

"Then who? God?" Wade asked, now angry.  "He's never answered me!  My prayers always went unanswered, but I trusted in him anyway!  And now I died because of my faith!  Where was God when I asked him for help?  Where was he when I prayed from that cross?!"

-----

Quinn closed his eyes.  He didn't want to see the beach, the waves, the crosses, or Wade's body.  He just wanted it to all go away.  "Dear God," he whispered, inaudible to the others, "please help me.

"I've never been one to pray a lot," he continued.  "Not really, anyway.  But I'm asking for help now.  Wade has taught me to believe in something; she's opened my eyes to a faith I thought I had but was never really there.  I've found it now, what she meant ... and it's so wonderful.  And I want that - I want a savior like she has.  I want to believe in something that strong."

Quinn paused for a moment.  "Save her life, Lord.  Wade believes that you have the power to perform miracles.  Give her one; don't let her die."

As he opened his eyes again, he felt himself shaking with the sobs that threatened to take over him.  He tried to look away from the cross before him, but he couldn't.  He couldn't do anything.

-----

"He was listening to your prayers, Wade," Kalin said.  "He always is.  And he gave you your answer.  It was no."

Wade started to cry.  "I'm sorry.  I do believe and I still trust.  I just didn't want to die yet.  But I'll accept it.  If it's really supposed to be this way, I'll accept it.  I just wish I could have said goodbye to my friends."

"Then go back."  Kalin smiled.  Wade had pushed aside her anger and still held onto faith.  She was strong and could pass any test that was laid before her.

Wade was puzzled.  "What?"

"You aren't the only one who prayed, Wade," Kalin explained.  "Another prayer was just said for you - by one whose faith isn't as strong, but he asked for help anyway.  And his prayer was with so much belief that he could have moved the mountains with his will.  You gave him faith he never had.  His answer was yes, Wade."

"What are you saying?"

Kalin let go of her hand.  "You're being given another chance to live your life.  You can choose what path you take from here, forward or back.  By going back you can save your friend.  He'll believe and find a stronger faith because his prayer was answered.  If you die, he'll turn away from his beliefs because they failed him.  And if you go back and the two of you have a strong enough faith, then you won't die on that cross.  But you need to make sure your friend follows the right path.  Only you can save him, and only he can save you now."

"But I don't understand.  What if I fail?" Wade inquired.  "I don't know what to do."

"Then at least you'll be able to say goodbye - to be with your friends one more time," Kalin stated.  "This is a test for you, Wade.  Can you face the pain of going back?  Do you really believe?  Are you strong enough?"

"Yes," Wade answered with a certainty she'd never had before.  A part of her felt like she'd already passed the greatest part of this test, although she didn't understand where that feeling came from.  "I do now.  Send me back."

The mist swirled back around her and everything became dark once more.  She was in unbearable pain as her senses returned to normal and she realized that she was back on that cross.  She didn't know if what she'd just experienced had been real or a dream.  But where she was now was very real.  Her pain was real.  She struggled to breathe, but couldn't get enough air.  "Please, Lord, help me," she said silently.  But her pain just increased and she wasn't able to breathe - she didn't have the strength.  She fell back into complete unconsciousness.

-----

A wave of terror engulfed Quinn, replacing his helpless feeling.  Wade was dead.  The sudden realization of that fact hit him hard, like he'd just been stabbed with a dagger.  He couldn't do anything, and his best friend was dead.  "Cut her down," he ordered, but his words just came as a choked whisper.

Arturo put his hand on Quinn's shoulder.  "You should go, my boy," he told him.  "Rembrandt and I will get her body down."

How could this be happening?  Quinn wanted to scream.  Scream at the top of his lungs.  But he couldn't.  He couldn't even move.  He felt nauseous, like he wanted to vomit.  His head started to spin and he felt his knees begin to buckle beneath him.  Maggie grabbed him and kept him from falling.

Arturo and Rembrandt cut the ropes around Wade's ankles and wrists, and her body fell limply from the cross into a heap on the ground as they lowered her.  "Quinn, go," Maggie said softly to him.  "You shouldn't have to be here."

"No," Quinn managed to say, even though he felt as though he was going to pass out.  "I need to be here."  He forced himself to walk the few steps over to Wade's body and slumped onto his knees next to her.  He gently touched her bruised face.  He thought he felt some warmth still left in her skin as he touched her.  He wanted to die for not having gotten there sooner.  If he had, she might still be alive.

"No," he cried.  "How could I have let this happen?"  He leaned over Wade's body and started sobbing, no longer able to control his emotions and unable to feel anything but sorrow.  His best friend had been murdered, and he hadn't been able to do anything.  He let his head rest against her body as he cried weakly.

Then Quinn thought he heard her faint heartbeat and lifted his head off her chest.  Was she alive?  He looked at her and noticed that there were no bruises on her legs.  He ran his hands carefully down them and found that they hadn't been broken like all the others.  She had a broken ankle, but that was all.  "She's still alive," he said, almost not believing it himself as he bent over her again and checked for any sign of breathing.

Arturo was kneeling next to Quinn now.  "You're right," he said, checking Wade for a pulse.  "She is alive.  But just barely."

Quinn moved his face closer to hers.  He couldn't feel her breath.  "Oh God, she's not breathing!"

All the others had gathered around by now and watched the scene unfold before them, not knowing of any way to help.

"We have to try to get air into her lungs," Arturo said.  Quinn nodded slightly, then he put his lips to Wade's and blew a breath of air into her mouth.

"Come on, Wade," Quinn said and then gave her more air.  "Come back to me."  He continued to blow into her mouth.  "Please breathe, Wade.  Don't do this now.  Don't give up now.  We're here; everything will be alright.  You just have to breathe, Wade.  Please, I can't lose you."

Lydia, Jared, Jordan, Mark, and Michael watched in confusion as the sliders tried to revive her.  They'd never seen anything like it.  They only had the most basic of medical knowledge.  But Lydia pointed out the one thing she did notice and knew wasn't good at all.  "She's bleeding."

Maggie heard her comment and then noticed Wade's wrist.  She also saw the large amount of blood on the ground.  "Quinn," she said, motioning for him to look at the blood.

Quinn saw the blood for the first time too then.  "Remmy, take over here," he said, giving Wade one more mouthful of air and then changing positions with Rembrandt.  "Try to keep a steady rhythm."  He carefully looked at Wade's wrist, then at the dark stain of her blood on the sand.  He ran his fingers through the red sand.  There was a lot of blood - probably over a pint.  "Damn it," he cursed under his breath.  This had been done recently, but she'd still lost way too much blood.  She needed a transfusion, but he knew that was impossible.  He took off his jacket and tore a long strip from it.  He wrapped Wade's wrist with it, trying to prevent her from losing any more blood.

"This ain't working, Q-ball," Rembrandt told him worriedly.

Quinn took over giving Wade mouth-to-mouth again.  As long as her heart was still beating, there was hope.  He'd keep breathing for her as long as he had to.  He wasn't going to let her die.  He wished there was a hospital on this world.  They could put her on a respirator.  He scolded himself silently.  He had to stop wishing and take action.  He needed to just keep helping her.

"Quinn," Arturo said, "you can't keep this up forever."  There were still days left before the slide.  She needed a hospital and there might not even be one on the next world.  They had to face the facts.  Wade was incredibly weak, and unable to breathe on her own.  They couldn't save her.

"Yes, I can," he replied.  But as the seconds dragged on, Quinn's concern became greater.  He started pleading with her between breaths.  "Wade, you have to start breathing on your own.  Please, Wade.  Come on, breathe!"

Maggie put her hand on Quinn's shoulder.  "Let her go, Quinn."

"No!" Quinn said loudly in reply.  "She's still alive.  She just needs help.  She is NOT going to die!  She's not!"  He pressed his lips hard against Wade's and blew forcefully into her mouth.  "Come on, damn it!" he yelled at her, then blew into her mouth again.

This time Wade actually responded and began to breathe - faintly, but she was breathing.  Quinn said a prayer of thanks, and then scooped her into his lap.  He wrapped his torn jacket around her and held her tightly as tears of relief began to fill his eyes.

The others were all relieved, stunned, happy, and bewildered.  Wade was still unconscious and she wasn't out of danger yet, but she was still alive.

Quinn carefully picked her up into his arms and headed for the horses.  "I'm taking her back to camp," he said.  Jared helped him get Wade onto his horse and then they road off.

Rembrandt followed him, but Arturo and Maggie stayed behind to help cut down the rest of the bodies and to check for anyone else that might still be alive.  They knew that wasn't likely, though.  Wade being alive was just a miracle.

-----

Quinn pulled up his horse when he got back to camp.  It had been difficult to ride with Wade, but he'd made good time.  He cradled Wade's unconscious body against him and checked on her.  She was barely breathing and her pulse was faint.  He was still afraid that she might die.  "Don't leave me, Wade," he whispered softly to her.

Rembrandt reined his horse down to a slow walk, then halted him next to Quinn's.  Jared stopped his horse beside them, and both he and Rembrandt dismounted.  Rembrandt handed him his reins.  "Take care of the horses, okay?"

Jared nodded and also took the reins of Quinn's horse.  "Thanks," Quinn mumbled to him.  Then he slipped Wade down into Rembrandt's arms so that he could dismount.

Wade seemed so fragile in his arms that Rembrandt was afraid of hurting her.  But Quinn looked tired and exhausted, and his shoulder was obviously hurting him, so he kept holding her even after he'd dismounted.

Quinn turned worriedly to look at Rembrandt.  "Come on, we've got to get Wade taken care of."

As they walked towards the tents, Sari met them.  She looked at Wade.  "She's in bad shape," she noted with concern.  "Take her to my tent.  I'll fetch some warm water and clean bandages."

When they got to Sari’s tent, Rembrandt laid Wade down gently on the mat.  Quinn carefully removed his coat from her, then took off the rest of her torn and bloody clothes except for her underwear.  She had bruises and cuts all over her body.  Quinn started to cry when he looked at her.  "I'm so sorry, Wade," he said.  "This is all my fault.  If you die, I swear I'll never forgive myself."

Rembrandt put a hand comfortingly on Quinn's shoulder.  Quinn had always felt so responsible for them all.  He didn't think that even now, after all these years, that a single day went by that Quinn's guilt didn't bother him.  He was about to say something when Sari entered the tent.  She set a bowl of water on the floor and soaked a piece of cloth.  She started to wash Wade's wounds.  The ride back to camp had made even some of the almost closed cuts bleed again.

Quinn unwrapped the strip of his jacket from her wrist.  It was soaked red.  He frowned.  She was still losing more blood.  He got a bandage from Sari and wrapped it tightly around Wade's wrist, tying a firm knot when he was finished.  He hoped that it would stop the bleeding.

Rembrandt checked her for any other broken bones, but her ankle seemed to be all, which he was grateful for.  Quinn looked at him.  "We need to set that."  He turned to Sari.  "Go get a dagger, alright?  Make sure it's at least six inches long."

She had one in her tent and gave it to Quinn.  "What are you planning to do?" she asked.

"I can use this to make sure I set the bone properly.  It's straight and flat.  Hopefully, I'll only have to do this once."  He carefully lifted her ankle.

Wade moaned in pain, and Quinn set her foot back down and moved over to sit beside her head.  "Hey, Wade, can you hear me?" he asked.  He gently touched her face.  "Come on, wake up."

Wade could hardly hear his voice.  The pain in her ankle shot through her whole leg, and her head throbbed.  Her whole body ached.  She tried to speak, but couldn't.

"It's okay," Quinn soothed her.  "You're safe now.  You're going to be alright."

His voice was gentle and caring, and Wade felt a bit better hearing it.  She felt safer knowing that he was there.  She managed to open her eyes and look at him even though her vision was blurry.  "Quinn..."

"I'm right here," he told her.  "Everything is going to be okay, Wade.  Just try to stay awake, okay?"

She nodded a bit, weakly.  Her whole head was swimming and she was having trouble focusing, but she tried to stay conscious.

"There's my girl," Quinn smiled at her.  He caressed her face, then he took her left hand and gave it Rembrandt.  "I want you hold Remmy's hand for a while, okay?"

Rembrandt gave her hand a slight squeeze.  "I'm right here, sweetheart."

She looked at him then back to Quinn.  "You have a broken ankle," he explained to her.  "I need to set it.  It is going to hurt, but you have to stay awake."

She wanted to answer him, but she couldn't talk or move.  Quinn lightly kissed her forehead, then looked at Rembrandt.  "Try to keep her conscious."

Wade grimaced with pain when Quinn picked up her foot again.  She gritted her teeth and tried to brace herself.  Rembrandt could tell that she was squeezing his hand, but her grip was weak.

Quinn looked over at Wade's face.  She was breathing heavily and beads of perspiration had formed on her forehead.  He could tell that she was already in great pain.  He took a deep breath, then quickly set her ankle, using the dagger to make sure he positioned it properly.

Wade cried out in agony, leaning her head back and gasping between her screams, then she started sobbing.  But crying made her chest hurt and her muscles ached.  She closed her eyes and tried to make the pain go away.

"Hey, stay awake, sweetheart," Rembrandt said, noticing that she was losing consciousness.

Quinn splinted her ankle the best that he could.  "How's she doing?" he asked Rembrandt.

"She's obviously in a lot of pain, Q-ball," replied Rembrandt.  "I don't think I can keep her awake."

Quinn moved so that he was sitting next to Rembrandt.  "You can't go to sleep now, Wade," he told her, then brushed her damp hair from her face.  Her skin was warm to his touch.  He glanced nervously at Rembrandt.  The morning was still cold.  "She has a fever."

Sari got a blanket and Quinn put it over Wade.  He kept talking to her, but she didn't hear him.  She tried to stay awake, but was unable to and passed out from the pain.

-----

"Hey, Q-ball, the others are back," Rembrandt told Quinn later that day.

Quinn got up from Wade's side and left the tent.  He squinted a bit as his eyes adjusted to the glare of the mid-afternoon sun, but he spotted Arturo and Maggie and walked over to them.  "Were there any others?" he asked.

Maggie shook her head.  "One, but he died once we got him down.  They're all dead."  She tried not to dwell on that horrible thought.  Remembering the sight of all those bodies made her feel a bit sick.  It wasn't like any war she'd ever seen.  It wasn't fought with guns, and it wasn't over land or some other petty thing.  This was a battle for the right to believe in what was felt to be true, for religious freedom from oppression.  All those people had been executed for their beliefs - for their faith in one true God.  And according to Maggie, they were heroes who died with honor, even if it was more like a slaughter than a fight, for they gave their lives fighting the greatest battle of all.

She’d never really shared their belief in God, but she respected it and them.  And perhaps they were right.

"How's Miss Wells?" Arturo asked, breaking the silence.  He was seriously concerned about her condition.  He'd come to think of her as kind of like a daughter to him.

Quinn rubbed his face with his hands and sighed, then he took a deep breath.  "She's doing pretty badly.  She's lost a whole lot of blood.  I'm not sure just how much, but she needs to be treated in a hospital.  And I think she was severely beaten.  There's no way to tell if there are any internal injuries, but it's very possible.  She woke up for a little while, but she lost consciousness again and hasn't waken since.  She also has a slight fever."

Quinn looked down at the ground, then back at the others.  He tried to just give them the facts of her condition, but he couldn't block out his feelings.  This was Wade he was talking about.  He closed his eyes for a moment to hold back his tears and regain his composure, but when he continued, his voice still came out choked.  "Wade could die."

-----

The small clearing was quiet as Quinn sat on the ground.  He closed his eyes and became still.  He tilted his head down in exhaustion, listening as the birds resumed their chirping, deciding to let him trespass in their forest.  Nature eventually continued on around him as usual, ignoring Quinn’s presence.

Placing his face in his hands, Quinn thought about the last few days.  They’d taken Zion but lost a legion.  And if Wade didn’t make it, for him that meant they’d lost the war.  His friends were all that mattered to him now.  He’d been foolish to think that he could help this world.  The price was too high.

He barely noticed as somebody sat beside him.  “You are not with your friend?”

Quinn glanced over at Caleb.  “There’s nothing I can do for her.”  He hated that fact more than anything.  He’d never felt more helpless.

“You ought to be with her,” Caleb told him.  “You are able to do that much.”

“But nothing more.”  Quinn stared at the ground once more.  “I should have been able to stop this.  I was stupid to not go after her sooner.”

The sun was low in the sky and night would soon fall.  Caleb stood slowly.  “No one can foresee betrayal.  ‘Twas not preventable.”

Quinn stood also.  “Who betrayed you?”

“The one called Brad.”

Quinn paced a few steps in his anger.  “Brad is responsible for this?”  He shook his head and then strode back towards the camp.

Seeing the way Quinn had become tense, Caleb noticed the determination in his raged walk.  He knew that he’d seek revenge.  “Perhaps before you hunt for justice, you should go be with friend,” he called after Quinn.

-----

Wade’s condition worsened, and Quinn could no longer sit idly by her side.  He left her and went to find tack for his horse.

After throwing a saddle on the bay’s back, Quinn reached for the girth and yanked it tight, ignoring the stabbing pain it caused his shoulder.

“Where are you going?” Maggie’s voice asked softly from behind him.

“I have to do this, Maggie,” Quinn told her.  “Please don’t try to stop me.”

“You’re going after Brad?”  It was more of a statement than a question.  He’d told about Brad’s betrayal.

Quinn finally allowed her to catch his eyes.  “You saw what he’s guilty of.”

Maggie nodded.  “But we both know this is personal, Quinn,” she stated simply.

He couldn’t deny it and turned away from her.  Why did she always have to be there?  This was something he had to do.  Brad wouldn’t get away with what he’d done.

“Quinn...”  He slowly glanced back in Maggie’s direction when she spoke his name.  She handed him a dagger.  “Just be sure you’re acting for the right reasons.”

He ran his good hand through his hair, then watched as she walked away.  She was turning her back.  He silently thanked her for looking the other way.  He slipped the dagger into his boot before mounting his horse and heading out of the camp.

-----

After a couple hours ride, Quinn found the camp of the English.  Having seen their tracks leaving the beach, he knew exactly where to look.  He wondered who all might be among those men.  Patrick?  William?  But as his eyes spotted a lone figure, nothing else mattered.  Brad was alone and at the edge of the tents.  He could snatch him away easily.  After all, he’d come here for one man, not a war.

Leaving his horse safely in the woods, Quinn stealthily made his way to where he’d seen Brad.  He waited until the man’s back was turned, then approached him from behind.

“Call out, and you die.”  Quinn placed the blade of his knife to Brad’s throat.

The other man struggled to see who was behind him.  Quinn grabbed his arm, holding him.  “Get up.  Slowly,” Quinn instructed.

When Brad stood, Quinn continued.  “Move to the trees.  Attempt nothing.”  He pressed the knife a bit more firmly to emphasize his point, then moved the blade to Brad’s side as they walked.

“You came for your friend?” Brad asked in a whisper.  “Are you as unwilling to shed blood as she?”

Quinn adjusted the knife.  “I came for you.”

“Then you know that she is dead.”

Shaking his head slightly, Quinn forced him forward.  “No.  But if she does die, I swear to God, I’ll kill you.”

The cover of night hid the two as they left the camp.  No one noticed their presence, or absence once they’d gone.  Surely it would be morning before anyone suspected what had happened.

-----

When they were almost back to the camp, Quinn reined his horse to a stop and dismounted.  The strain on his shoulder was causing him too much pain to shove aside any longer.  Making sure Brad was still securely tied, he took a break and leaned against a large tree.

“We’ll be moving again in five minutes,” he told his hostage.

Brad glared at him.  But he’d noticed that Quinn was favoring his left arm, and there was no mistaking who was actually in need of a rest.  Hiding a grin at his discovery, Brad studied Quinn carefully.

After a few minutes had passed, Quinn closed his eyes for the slightest moment.  And Brad had been waiting for it.  He ran at Quinn and slammed his bound fists against their target.  Knowing in advance that he’d only receive one shot at him, Brad aimed directly for Quinn’s injured shoulder.

Quinn instantly tried to fend off the attack, but Brad’s choice in tactics was sound, causing Quinn to recoil from intense pain.  He fell onto his knee.

Before Quinn had a chance to get back on both feet, Brad jumped and placed a kick to his back.  Quinn grimaced as he was sent sprawling to the ground.  The same shoulder had been hit.  Quinn quickly caught on to Brad’s playing his weakness.

Silver glinted in the moonlight, and two sets of eyes locked on the dagger that had been thrown free of Quinn’s boot.  Both men lunged for it in the same instant, Brad catching it a second sooner than his opponent.

As Brad slit the ropes around his wrists, Quinn realized that he was in a very bad position.  Only managing to get to his hands and knees, Quinn was sent back to the ground easily from another kick to his left side.

Quinn cried out in pain as he rolled onto his back.  Brad stared down at him, holding the knife and looking very satisfied with the new turn of events.  He placed his toe on Quinn’s shoulder, causing the other man to grit his teeth against the slight pressure.

Evilly, Brad slid the edge of his shoe slowly down Quinn’s chest.  He stopped when Quinn screamed.  Tapping his toe, Brad was rewarded with another cry from Quinn.  Pleased, Brad smiled.  Pay dirt.

Quinn lowered his gaze to Brad’s foot as he moved his heel onto the exact spot which had caused him the most pain.  The pressure was light, but it immobilized Quinn regardless.

Brad watched as Quinn became tense.  He was sucking in rasped breaths now.  Brad ground his boot into the shoulder at an antagonizingly slow pace, forcing Quinn to endure as much pain as possible before finally giving him the full amount of weight.

Quinn screamed and gasped for air at the same time.  He couldn’t breathe any longer.  Vision blurring, he struggled to keep his eyes from rolling back and closing.  He was losing consciousness... and probably blood as well.

In a last attempt to save his own life, Quinn reached for Brad’s other leg, trying to force him off balance.  He succeeded but at great cost to himself.  Brad’s motion effected Quinn with an intense surge of fresh pain.

Biting back the screams, Quinn lunged to his feet, propelling himself into Brad head on.  The two struggled for a long while, wrestling and throwing punches.  Quinn only lasted from a need to survive, adrenaline, and the sickening fact that he was going numb.

Starting to block with both arms, Quinn knew he couldn’t hold out much longer.  He ducked as Brad’s knife collided with the tree behind him.  Then Quinn grabbed his wrist as the dagger came at him again.  Shoving hard, Quinn managed to force the blow down, impacting the tree at his side.

Glancing down at the metal imbedded in wood, Quinn’s gaze caught on his hand.  A trail of blood ran down the back of his fingers.  His whole arm was wet, as was his chest.

Brad’s eyes followed Quinn’s, and he spotted the blood also.  Quinn was fast losing his ability to be a threat.  Jerking the blade from the tree, he prepared to end the fight once and for all.

The sound of horses suddenly came from the trees just a short ways from the two of them.  Brad cursed.  Quinn said a prayer of relief.  They were coming from the direction of his army, not Brad’s side.

Brad stabbed at his target once more before taking off at a fast run.  Quinn dodged, but he still felt himself get sliced.  His hand flew to his side, clasping the fresh cut.

Quinn collapsed to the ground.

-----

“Shit,” mumbled Maggie as she flung her leg over the side of her mare, hurriedly dropping to the ground.  She ran to Quinn’s prone form.  Once she’d confirmed that he was breathing, she yelled for everyone else to go after the fleeing Brad.

Moaning, Quinn clutched his side and arm simultaneously while Maggie tried to help him sit.  At least he was still conscious.  She pulled his hand away from the cut.  “Flesh wound,” she commented.  “You need to learn to dodge, Quinn.”

Tempted to flip her the finger, Quinn settled instead for just a retort about how he had dodged.

Maggie just shook her head as she helped him up.  The guy simply didn’t know how to fight.

-----

"Quinn," Wade mumbled.  "Quinn..."

Rembrandt went over to her.  She was stirring and he didn't know if she was awake or talking in her sleep.  She appeared incredibly uncomfortable.  He put his hand to her sweaty forehead.  Her fever was worse.

She woke up and tried to look at Rembrandt.  Her dream had been strange.  She'd thought about her other dream - if it had been a dream - and what Kalin had told her.  She needed to help Quinn, but she still didn't understand.  However, there was one question she could get the answer to right now.  "Is Kalin dead?" she asked Rembrandt.

"Hey, sweetheart, don't think about that now," he said softly to her.  But seeing the seriousness in her eyes, he added, "Yeah, she is."

Wade closed her eyes again.  That part of her dream was actually true.  "Where's Quinn?" she inquired.

Rembrandt shook his head.  "He went after Brad.  He just got back."  He paused for a moment.  "I think he's going to kill him."

Suddenly she understood.  She couldn't let that happen.  "No," she said frantically.  "Quinn can't kill anyone.  He has to do the right thing!  I'll die again if he kills him..."

"Calm down, sweetheart," Rembrandt said, placing his hands on her.  She was breathing heavily and he hadn't understood most of what she'd said.  He was worried.  "Just lie still."

"He has to make the right choice," Wade said again.

Rembrandt was truly frightened now.  Wade was talking as if she had to tell him something important, like she wouldn’t have the chance to later.  She called out Quinn's name again, but her voice was almost silent.  She started to shake, and he didn't think she could breathe.

Getting up, Rembrandt ran to the tent door.  "QUINN!" he called out, hoping his friend would hear him.

-----

When Quinn entered the tent, Wade was having some sort of fit.  Her body spasmed uncontrollably.  He immediately knelt by her side.  "Wade, don't do this to me!" he pleaded, trying to stop her tossing.

*Quinn, help me!* Wade cried, but she couldn't get any sound to come.  Her words were silent, although inside she was screaming.

Grasping her hand tightly, Quinn still tried to calm her.  "Wade, come on, you're scaring me."

*It hurts so much, Quinn.  Oh God, don't let me die!*

He looked up at Rembrandt.  "Go get the professor!" he said urgently, then returned his focus to Wade.  He let go of her hand in order to run his hands agitatedly through his hair.

Wade felt him release her hand.  *No!* she shrieked, trying to make her voice become real.  But she knew that only she could hear it.  She lost all sense of the outside world.  Black emptiness settled over her.  *Quinn!  DON'T LEAVE ME!!*

From his panic filled voice and the expression on his face, Rembrandt could tell exactly what was going through Quinn's head.  He wanted the professor to be there.  That only meant one thing.  They were the only two with medical knowledge, and Quinn didn't know how to help her.  He appeared to be so afraid.  Wade was dying.

-----

"There's nothing we can do," Arturo told Quinn.  "Just try to keep her as still as possible."  Wade's body still jerked violently, and he noticed that there was now blood on her lip.

He didn't say anything else, but Quinn knew his unspoken words.  They were going to lose Wade.  Quinn ran his hands through his hair again.  He was distraught.  He gently lifted Wade's head into his lap, trying to soothe the dying girl.  This couldn't be happening!  But then it did.

Wade suddenly became still, and her head lolled limply to the side.  The night became perfectly silent, and even the air was still.  It was as if time had frozen.

Quinn was motionless also, stopped in the moment along with everything else.  His world became still as he looked at her.  She wasn't moving or even breathing.  Quinn cried.  He'd seen death before, but nothing could have ever prepared him for this.  He cradled her lifeless face in his hand, then slowly ran his fingers down to her neck just below her chin, feeling for the pulse that wasn't there.  He lifted her softly from his lap, and laid her head gently on the floor.

He got up and grabbed the dagger that was still in the tent, then he left.

Rembrandt went after him.  He tried to stop Quinn.  "Don't."

"Stay out of this," Quinn said as he continued walking, not slowing his pace.  This was something he had to do.

"Wade wouldn't have wanted this," Rembrandt said, his face streaked by a tear.  "She told me you had a choice to make.  I didn't understand her then, but I do now.  You can't take his life, Quinn."

Quinn ignored his friend and kept walking.  He left Rembrandt behind and entered the tent were Brad was.  He pulled him up and put the dagger to his throat.

Maggie, who’d been keeping watch on Brad, jumped up.  "Quinn, what are you doing?!"

Hate and rage burned in his eyes.  Maggie had never seen so much anger come from Quinn before.  He had the knife so tight to Brad's throat that he reopened the small cut Wade had made, and a drop of blood rolled down his neck.

Quinn pressed the dagger even harder.  He wanted so badly to slit his throat.  "I told you that I'd kill you if she died," he said to Brad.  "You're a traitor and a murderer!"

"Oh no! Wade," Maggie gasped.  She must have died.  Quinn was here for revenge.

"I'm sorry," Brad choked against the blade.  "Yet I've at least made her into a martyr.  How ironic that she died on the day you celebrate the birth of her Lord."

Quinn hadn’t even noticed that the midnight hour had passed.  He didn’t even remember what day it was.  It didn’t matter anymore.

Maggie looked at Quinn.  The shadows on his face danced in the light of the fire she'd made just outside for warmth and to see by.  He was frightening even to her.  And she was about to witness him kill somebody in cold blood.

But as Quinn stood there, ready to kill Brad, he thought about what he had said.  Rembrandt's words also came back to him.  Wade wouldn't have wanted him to play God.  Quinn fought with himself as he held the knife.  Brad deserved to die!  Yet Quinn knew that if he did this, he’d never find peace.

He released Brad, then shoved him back to the ground.  "You'll get justice, and Wade's death will be avenged.  It just won't be by my hand."  He threw down the dagger.

-----

Quinn and Maggie entered the tent where Wade was.  Maggie had left somebody else to guard Brad.  She was thankful that Quinn had decided to let someone else decide his fate.

Quinn stood silently once inside the tent.  Maggie put a hand on his arm, and she felt him tense but then relax slightly at her comforting touch. "I'm so sorry, Quinn," she said about Wade.

Arturo was pulling a blanket over Wade, but he didn't pull it over her head.  He just tucked it around her, then brushed some hair from her face in a fatherly way.

Rembrandt noticed Quinn and Maggie, and he walked over to them.  "She's sleeping normally," he told Quinn.

Quinn didn't understand.  "But how?  I saw her die."

"CPR, Mr. Mallory," Arturo explained.  He smiled at the boy.  "Her fever has broken."

-----

Wade woke up as the first rays of sun hit her face through the open flap of the tent.  She sighed contentedly.  Her dreams had been pleasant for a change.  Yawning, she slowly opened her eyes.  It was then that she realized she wasn't alone.

Wade smiled.  Her arm was draped over a sleeping Quinn, and her head was resting on his chest.  His arm was also wrapped around her.  She snuggled close to him, enjoying his warmth.  He and the others were really there, not just some sweet dream.

Her stirring woke Quinn.  He didn't know when he'd fallen asleep.  He was tempted to go back to sleep, but he could already hear the voices of the others as they got up and were starting the day.  He adjusted his position slightly and brushed Wade's hair gently from her face.

"You okay?" he asked her, seeing that she was already awake.

Her whole body ached, but it was nothing compared to yesterday.  “Yeah, considering.”

Quinn absently traced a bare patch of skin on her side with his fingers.  “You scared me,” he confessed.

He sighed and she felt the rise and fall of his chest.  She looked at him.  “I’m sorry.”  She noticed bandage under his shirt and carefully slid off his chest, lying beside him.  “What happened to your shoulder?”

“He was shot,” answered Maggie who’d just entered.  “I swear the two of you are in competition for the most near-death experiences.”

At Wade’s concerned look, Quinn shrugged it off.  “Just a scratch.”

Wade pushed herself up so that she was sitting, mindful not to aggravate her ankle.  Quinn cast her a worried glance.  She smiled at him.  “If I don’t get up, I’ll just have more aches later,” she remarked.

Quinn groaned, mumbling something about her logic.  “This could have been a perfectly nice morning,” he complained as he eased himself into a sitting position also.

Watching him, Wade couldn’t help but notice that Quinn wasn’t using his left arm.  As he got up, she carefully inspected him.  “Quinn, are you limping?”

“I’m a bit stiff is all,” he replied.

“From falling off a roof,” added Maggie as she walked past again, receiving a glare from Quinn.

“That’s it.”  Wade patted the floor beside her.  “Quinn, sit,” she ordered.

He groaned as she requested some fresh bandages from Maggie.  Why were those two always playing doctor?  Reluctantly, he sat back down.  At least Wade was gentler than Maggie.

As she started to help remove his shirt, she spotted the bandage on his side.  “Good grief, Quinn,” she sighed.

“Little knife fight,” he explained sheepishly.  “But hey, we’ll have matching scars.”

Automatically, Wade’s hand moved to her injured side.  For a second, she wondered how he knew about her wound, but then recalled that he’d probably fixed that at the same time as he had set her ankle.  In fact, he’d seen a lot more than just her waist and foot.  She felt a flush creep up her cheeks.

By the time they finished getting his shirt off, Quinn was obviously in pain.  He grimaced as she slipped his arm free.  “You alright?” she asked, concerned.

He flinched, accidentally allowing her to spot the rope-burn on his neck.  She tilted his chin in order to get a better look.  “I’m not even going to ask,” she commented about her latest discovery.

Quinn just groaned as she took her hand away.  He tilted his head back down as she began to work at removing the old bandage from his shoulder.  Wade remained silent as she wondered what the others had been through while they’d been separated.  Quinn had apparently been hurt badly - more so than he wanted to admit.

She said nothing upon realizing that whatever he’d been shot with had torn all the way through his shoulder.  She just continued to work.

Maggie returned with clean cloths and a bowl of fresh water which she gave to Wade.  Quinn tried to ready himself for what he knew would come next.

Wade soaked a cloth with the cool water before carefully touching it to his back.  Quinn gasped but was able to hold back his cry.  As she continued to gently wash his wound, he gritted his teeth and dug his fingers into the blanket upon which he sat.

Noticing his breathing become faster, she paused before moving around and starting to clean the front of his shoulder.  She glanced up and caught his eye, his expression telling her how much pain she was actually causing.

“Quinn, if this hurts too much, I can stop...” she offered.

“No.”  He shook his head.  “It’ll be worse if it gets infected.”

“Okay.”  She continued and he closed his eyes against the pain.

Waves of agony pulsed through his shoulder, but there was something soft about the way Wade was touching him, her motions practically rhythmical.  The feeling of her fingers and the cloth against his skin was almost pleasant - would have been pleasant, if not laced with the pain.

As Quinn moaned, Wade quickly finished before he could pass out.  He let out a breath of relief as she re-bandaged his shoulder.  He was exhausted.  He supposed struggling for his life the past couple days had taken its toll on him.  But Wade had been through just as bad... worse.  He took her hand and squeezed it lightly.

Wade gave him a quick smile as she assisted him in getting his shirt back on.  Then she tied the two ends of an extra cloth together and slipped it over his head, placing his arm in the loop.

Quinn studied her as she finished making the sling.  He couldn’t believe he hadn’t thought of that.  Maybe he just didn’t want to admit that his arm was, for the most part, useless.

Done tending to his wo