Makes Me Wanna Die

She'd seen him off at the airport knowing that she would never see him again. Had been surprised and a little mortified to find herself sobbing as she watched him vanish amongst the throng at LAX. He'd gotten under her skin-- something she had not allowed anyone to do in all her thirty years. She'd returned home in a funk that had lasted for weeks, until the realities of life forced her to try to put aside the emptiness she felt inside and move on.

The force of her considerable will had propelled her forward. But John Lee was still a ghost who haunted her dreams when she slept and routinely invaded her waking thoughts.

A month after he'd left, she'd received the only communication from him that she expected she ever would. A small packet which when opened, proved to contain upwards of ten thousand US dollars and a note, penned in English in an elegant, flowing hand:

To make up for some of the damage inflicted on your livelihood because of me. J.

In the note, below the English, a few characters of Chinese had been written. Meg had wondered over them for days, until unable to stand the suspense of not knowing what they said, had repaired to her favorite Chinese restaurant to beg a translation from one of the staff.

I do miss you. Live well.

Not a very romantic postscript perhaps, but the tenderness behind the spare message haunted her for weeks.

The packet from John had contained no return address, just a postmark from Canton. The customs seal had euphemistically labeled the contents as printed matter. She'd kept the wrapper and the note, unable to throw away the unexpected link to her mysterious companion of those scant few days, months ago. In fact, she'd found herself pulling them out of the drawer she'd consigned them to, her fingers moving to trace out the writing, more times a day than she found healthy.

It was hopeless. She would never see him again. She had to get on with her life. She had never been the type to moon after any man. What made him so different?

Damn the man anyway. Could he not have sent her news? Had he rescued his family? Were they well? Was he? Were they still in China? Or had the packet been posted even as he had made his escape--and theirs? The fact that she would never know ate a hole in her heart.

Heart disease from attrition.

She was angry at herself. She'd made a point, since childhood, not to form attachments. To keep people at an arms length, to control her emotions when it came to her fellow man. It was safer that way, less messy. She'd grown a thick hide in the foster care system and it had protected her long and well.

Until John. Damn him!

She'd debated what to do with the money he had sent for several days. She had finally decided to be practical and realistic. What savings she'd had had gone to repairing her apartment and placating her landlord so that she could stay where she was. She had considered moving, but had ultimately decided against it. While not a classy residence, the rent was reasonable and the location ideal and the space cavernous. The money from John allowed her to pay off her replacement computer equipment, as well as to beef up security. She'd gone back to forging documents out of necessity, and found that in the destruction of Wei's gang, that more business had started coming her way. Part of her had wanted desperately to follow through on the redemption of her soul that saving Zedkov's son had begun, but straightforward graphics did not come close to paying the rent, or keeping her in food and supplies. At least for his part, Zedkov had left her alone--his gratitude for her part in saving his son's life creating a blind eye when turned in her direction.

Buzzing at the door of her apartment startled Meg out of her reverie.

She glanced over to the monitor that sat atop her filing cabinets, focussing on the figure that coalesced on the screen and in her consciousness.

A woman. Small boned, but still tall, especially for Chinese. As she watched, the woman's head swiveled toward the security camera which was now, just as it had always been, disguised from plain sight in the hall.

The woman's movement reminded her of someone. As did the lovely features that were revealed as she faced the camera.

"Meg Coburn?" a soft voice asked, looking into the eye of the camera with an almost preternatural knowledge of where it was.

Deja vu....

"Never heard of her," Meg replied over the intercom, her standard greeting. But something kept her hand away from the gun she had hidden under her desk. Some glimmer of recognition putting her through the paces, but preparing her for what came next.

"I need your help, Meg Coburn," the young woman said, and without further speech, held three items up and toward the camera. It was then that Meg had confirmed what she had suspected when she'd looked into the lovely young woman's face.

She was holding out the passports that Meg had prepared months ago. One she'd merely replaced the photo in. The other passport visible was one of two that she'd managed to salvage from a hidden stash the police had missed and created on replacement computer equipment bought hastily on credit. The name was not visible on the third document, but she needed no further confirmation beyond what she saw.

Alan Chin and Sung Ju.

John was either back or he was dead, the woman in the hall using the passports at his instruction as a bill of passage.

Meg did not hit the mechanism that unlocked the door remotely, instead standing up and dashing around her desk and to the door, throwing it open-- her natural caution forgotten. The young Chinese woman's resemblance to her brother was unmistakable. She was John Lee's sister, Meg had known it instinctively even before seeing the passport evidence.

The young woman appraised her quickly, "You are Meg. You're just as he described you," she said softly, smiling slightly, invoking the ghost of another smile on a handsome face. Her voice was dulcet, her English lightly accented.

"And you're John's sister! You look like your brother. Come in, please!" Meg invited, tamping down the urge to ask the question she really wanted answered and five minutes ago, damn it: Where the hell is John....?!

"I cannot. I need your help, Meg Coburn. Please, can you come with me?"

Although her well-honed senses assured her that this did not feel like a trap, Meg hesitated, her survival instincts calling out a warning.

"Wait a second. Go where? What's wrong? Where is your brother? He's not..." Meg paused, thinking of one likely scenario for sending his sister to her in this fashion.

"I've come to take you to him. We need your help. Please! There is no time to waste." The young woman responded, grabbing Meg's hand, looking at her, her eyes pleading.

Feeling for her keys in her jacket pocket, Meg nodded, closed and secured the door behind her.

Her heart in her throat, she followed.

They did not go far. Walking down the stairway to the ground floor, Meg's companion had led her out of the lobby and into the adjoining alley. This had given Meg opportunity to look at John's sister more carefully. The lovely features were, on closer inspection, marred by lines of fatigue and worry; the hands that held hers, cold with stress and fear. She could think of only one possible scenario and tried not to let it panic her as the young Chinese woman pulled her further into the alley; tried not to pull from her grasp and break into a dead run towards what she feared she would find. Meg's heart was thumping loudly in her chest, her breathing constricted.

There, on the far end of the alley, near the dumpster, a willowy, dark haired Chinese woman bent down over something in the alley.

As Meg drew closer, she did pull from her companion,and broke into that dead run as she realized what she was seeing.

John Lee, collapsed to the ground. Meg's heart clenched agonizingly.

Meg's long legs carried her the distance quickly. She paused only the barest fraction of a minute to look down on the man she'd thought never to see again, then she dropped to her knees at his side.

Her first panicked thought was that he was dead, he was so pale and still. The hand that shot out to touch the pulse point on his neck came away reassured of a heartbeat. Meg released a breath she'd not realized she'd been holding.

"John!" Meg exclaimed, her hands going to each side of his face, cradling his lax features between them. His skin was hot and dry to the touch.

Fever. Dehydration. She willed his eyes to open and to look at her with recognition, "John, can you hear me?"

The long eyelashes fluttered, and the soulful brown eyes beneath them opened, looking at her muzzily.

"...Meg...?" his beautiful voice queried bemusedly, as though he did not trust the evidence of his sight.

"Yes, John, it's Meg. You're home now, you're safe," she soothed, meaning every word.

Her immediate reaction was to call an ambulance to take him to the hospital. But even as the thought formed, she rejected it. She did not know what was wrong with him, illness or trauma, nor whether he was being pursued by assassins or police. While Zedkov had assured her he'd made the file he'd begun on John disappear as part of his gratitude for saving his son, Meg still harbored a basic distrust of the police. She could not count on his having been completely truthful. Not where John's life was concerned.

As much as she yearned to deliver John into the hands of professional medics, she also could not risk that in so doing she would bring him unwanted and dangerous attention. And if he had been shot, as gut instinct told her he had, hospitals and clinics were required by law to report the injury. She could not risk it.

"We've got to get him inside, to my apartment." Meg looked up at John's sister and mother who stood over them, worry deeply etched in their faces.

"Welcome to America," she said with feeling.

CHAPTER 2: BREATHING INTO THE HEART

Not always comfortable with her height of five feet eleven inches, Meg was grateful now that she was taller and stronger than the average American female, and better able to support John's mostly dead weight. John's sister and mother helped her as best they could, juggling what little luggage they had with them at the same time. As they had maneuvered him inside and into the freight elevator, John's sister, who finally introduced herself as Liu Shen, explained how they had just arrived in Los Angeles a few hours past. John had been ambulatory enough at first to make it to a taxi, but had faded fast after that. It had been all they could do to get him into the alley after being left off at Meg's building.

Once in Meg's apartment, Liu Shen had tossed their luggage aside and thrown all her effort into aiding Meg with John.

Looking at their small satchels, Meg marveled that entire lives could be reduced to such small bags as the Lees fled their homeland.

Easing John down on her double bed, Meg set about removing the clothing from his unconscious form, searching his body for signs of trauma and injury that would account for his condition. She was pleased to see how well the wound to his left shoulder--which he'd suffered saving Zedkov's son--had healed. But seeing it brought her back to the moment when she'd seen him hit -- she relived the fear all over again.

John's mother silently aided Meg, drawing her attention to a bandaged area on John's right shoulder as she helped pull his shirt off and away. Meg guessed that the woman had no English, or a very limited amount since she had yet to speak.

"Our escape was a close thing." Liu Shen explained as she was shooed back by her mother as she and Meg stripped John down to his skin, "Wei's gang still has some adherents in China, out to seek revenge. We spent months in hiding, waiting for the right time to leave. It finally seemed safe to do so four days ago. My brother went out to attend to last minute details, and came back wounded. The bullet, you will see, went through, coming out the back. At the temple where we were hiding, the monks tended and bandaged him-- they made him rest for two days, but the situation was such that John felt we must delay no more. The monks helped us get to the airport and on the plane. They told me to watch for infection, but I could bring none of the medicine they used with us on the plane." she said sadly.

Meg rolled John onto his left side to inspect both entry and exit wounds after removing the bandages. Whatever the monks had done, blood loss since their tending of John had been minimal. The wound did show the signs of infection however, and required immediate attention.

Meg ran to the bathroom, retrieving a bottle of antiseptic and clean towels. She returned to John's side, cleaning the wounds as best she could for now, covering them with a towel dampened with warm water. Carefully, she eased him onto his back, holding the makeshift dressing in place as she did so.

Meg began a mental list of things she'd need to treat the wound properly. More bandage material for fresh dressings, better antiseptics. Antibiotics. Broth, juices and assorted liquids to re-hydrate a body that by pinching a fold of skin on the back of John's hand --which "tented" noticeably-- told her was dehydrated by blood loss and inadequate fluid intake.

They had taken a terrible chance in flying with John in this condition. Meg suppressed a shudder thinking of the higher risk for blood clots and embolism that sitting in a pressurized cabin for upwards of fifteen hours presented. That John Lee had arrived alive seemed in itself a miracle. Their situation must have truly been desperate for him to hazard the trip at all.

Meg inspected John's body for other signs of injury, finding none to her immense relief. But the face and figure before her told the tale of months of hardship and stress. He was far thinner than he had been six months before -- and his frame had been spare then for man over six feet tall. His face was lined by the same fatigue and stress Meg had seen in Liu Shen's features and saw echoed more deeply in their mother's.

Meg covered him with sheet and blankets. She reached out a hand to smooth his luxurious black hair away from his forehead, her fingers tracing the line of his cheek. John responded to the touch, turning into it slightly, his lips forming words that his voice did not have the strength to carry. She shushed him, continuing to stroke his cheek soothingly.

One miracle had occurred already. John had returned to her. She hoped it was not asking too much to hope for another.

As difficult as it was to leave, Meg did so a few minutes later. Not sure if the person or persons who had wounded John had followed them from China, she gave Liu Shen a crash course in the security features of her apartment. She urged her guests to be as quiet as possible, and not to respond to any phone calls or visitors at the door, although there was little--even with the reinforcement she'd installed in the windows and doors-- to be done to prevent a truly motivated attacker from gaining entry. She queried Liu Shen on the possibility that they had been followed from the airport. Sensitized to being stalked by years of running and hiding, John's sister assured her that they had not.

Mindful of the dangers of the dehydration, the symptoms of which John was displaying Meg left Liu Shen with instructions to rouse her brother and make him sip water while she was gone, as often and as much as he could manage.

Meg currently had no pending document transactions. She took a spare minute to change the message on her voicemail to reflect that she was unavailable until future notice. That should prevent anyone except someone tailing John and his family from showing up unexpectedly.

Meg hightailed it to a nearby drug store which carried a line of caregiving products, including hospital grade wound dressings and topical antibiotic ointment. Oral antibiotics required a prescription by law, but Meg knew someone who worked behind the counter at this particular pharmacy who owed her a few favors for helping his relatives with forged documents. She left the store with the strongest antibiotic the pharmacy had in its stocks.

She then repaired to a Chinese herbalist shop on the outer fringes of L.A.'s Chinatown to pick up a list of items John's mother had requested through her daughter. Liu Shen had, in turn, written down the items in Chinese characters to facilitate the transaction.

Finally, Meg had stopped at a grocery store and loaded up on basic foodstuffs plus a variety of soups, broth, stocks as well as several ethnic Chinese items.

She returned to her apartment, never knowing she'd set a new record for speed shopping.

Stowing all the items except the wound dressing, antiseptics, antibiotics and some juice in the kitchen temporarily, she hurried back to the bedroom.

Lee's mother sat next to him on the edge of the bed, wiping his face with a cool compress. When Meg appeared, she stood and moved, indicating that Meg take her place.

Meg sat down, picked up the cloth from the bedside table where Lee Ma, as Liu Shen had indicated her mother preferred to be called, had laid it. She passed the cloth over John's face, noting the perspiration seemed to bead on his forehead almost as quickly as it was wiped away. He was shivering, even though he had no fewer than three blankets pulled up to his chin. He was still unconscious.

"We need to get more fluids into him. Dehydration is just as dangerous as infection. I have some western medicine here that should help with the infection, but we need to get it in him. Liu Shen, can you help me?"

John's sister nodded, stepping to the far side of the bed and seating herself beside her brother. Slipping an arm underneath his shoulders, she sat him up with similar assistance from Meg. Lee Ma hurried to place pillows behind her son's back.

"John," Meg urged, touching his face at first tentatively, then cupping her palm against it, stroking his cheekbone tenderly, "I need you to come back to me, John. Please wake up."

Liu Shen spoke softly to her brother in Chinese, an exotic echo to her own voice. Meg wondered if she translated, or added her own sentiments. It didn't matter. It was likely that his mother tongue would reach John first in whatever recesses his mind had repaired to in his insensibility.

But neither language seemed to bring forth the response that Meg's touch did. As before, his head moved slightly, shifting into her caress. Finally, a long minute later, his eyes opened and focussed on her face. His lips moved, forming her name, but his voice was too weak to be audible.

"That's it! Come back to me, John. I need you to take some medicine and have something to drink. Do you think you can manage?" Meg asked, her voice mild.

John nodded slightly, opening his eyes wider and regarding her, solemnly at first, then with a deeper emotion that took her breath away. His eyes moved as though he were drinking in her face, her features, cataloging any change, recommitting the whole to memory. She felt abashed by the intensity of his regard.

While his sister steadied him and his mother stood ready to assist, Meg tipped some pills out of the large envelope she'd gotten from the pharmacy. She opened the juice bottle, pressing the recommended dosage between John's dry lips, along with some ibuprofen that likely would not begin make a dent in his pain but which might be of some use in bringing his fever down. She brought the juice bottle to his mouth. John swallowed the pills without difficulty and drank long and thirstily from the juice container. So eagerly did he drink that Meg had to stop him, mindful of the fact that fluid intake had to be matched to his body's ability to handle it. She reluctantly set the bottle down.

"That was great, John, I'm proud of you. Your sister and I are going to change your dressings. It is going to hurt. I wish I had pain pills to give you, but scoring any would bring down too much unwanted attention right now. I'll try to be as gentle as I can, okay?"

Again came the slight nod, and a tired blink.

Meg spared another tender touch to John's cheek. Then she set to work.

In her varied life she'd dressed other gunshot wounds, even tending John's shoulder wound after the battle with Wei and his goons. But none had left her as drained as tending to John Lee's right shoulder. It had less to do with any particular physical difficulty or severity of the wound than it did with her desire to do what she must, but at the same time, not inflict any unnecessary pain. By the time she was finished cleaning the wound as best she could, applying copious amounts of topical antibiotic and redressing it, she felt completely enervated.

Liu Shen and Lee Ma had repaired to the kitchen as soon as Meg had finished the rebandaging, and already the delicious smells of cooking food were filling the apartment.

Meg tried to feel guilty that she was leaving her guests to shift for themselves in what had to be an unfamiliar cooking environment, but for the moment she lacked the will and desire to leave John's side. She sat now, perched on the side of the bed, smoothing the covers back around him.

John's mother had brought in a bowl of infused herbs that she had urged John to drink before he had fallen back into a weary slumber, spent from the pain and exertion of the wound dressing. Meg was relieved to see that he now seemed to be resting a bit more comfortably. She wondered if his ease had been caused by her efforts or the herbal decoction. She would have to ask Liu Shen about it.

She'd never been a drug abuser, preferring to remain in complete control of her senses and destiny at all times after some early youthful experimentation. She'd never regretted the choice until today, when having a stash of something stronger than ibuprofen might have come in handy.

Meg sat at John's side, staring at him, doing her own version of what she'd witnessed him do not long before. She studied him intensely. Committing and recommitting every little detail to memory, noting every small change.

If she had not been so worried, she might have been astonished at the underlying happiness that filled her--settling into the background of her sensibilities like a gentle fog. He was back. He was alive. She was going to keep him that way.

It suddenly seemed too unreal. To reassure herself she reached out and took his lax hand in both of hers then brought it up to cradle against her cheek.

"He called for you, in his sleep, on the plane," Liu Shen's voice broke into Meg's reverie, startling her. She'd been completely oblivious to John's sister's return.

Self conscious, she lowered John's hand to his side, and carefully composed herself before bringing her eyes to meet those of the young woman.

"He did?" Meg replied disbelievingly, finding no trace of guile in Liu Shen's demeanor.

"Several times. And when he was awake he talked about you, about how we should come to find you. He was anxious to see you again." John's sister continued.

Meg smiled wanly, "His passport probably just needed a touch up," she commented dismissively. She would never admit how deeply the thought of John's speaking of her, looking forward to seeing her, warmed her.

Liu Shen smiled, a knowing smile of secret amusement that Meg almost wanted to challenge her on. She fought the urge.

"When he became more ill late in the flight, it was then that I realized we must come to you sooner rather than later. I know this is a terrible imposition, but I did not know what else to do."

"You did exactly the right thing, Liu Shen, I wouldn't have it any other way. I owe you the apology, for ignoring your needs as I have. Here you are cooking and everything..." Meg did not admit that it was probably safer that they had, she was more renowned for her ability to phone for take out than culinary wizardry.

Liu Shen shook her head, "You are where you are needed, no apology necessary. I am relieved that you are taking such good care of Jian." Meg noted the Chinese pronunciation. It was subtle. Jian. John.

"He told me all about your adventures together when he came to us in Canton. I feel as though we are already old friends." Liu Shen continued. "He has always spoken of you with great admiration."

Meg did something she never thought she could, she blushed. She remembered, all too clearly, a tense time when she and John had been at odds with each other--unwilling hostage and unrelenting captor. But he had never treated her less than gentlemanly, even when he had pinned her to the bed and held a gun to her throat. She'd seen the torment in his eyes, remembered that for all the danger of the moment, his touch had been gentle. Had noted the disgust with himself as he had broken away and stalked cross the hotel room.

"And affection. Very great affection." Liu Shen finished, looking at Meg closely, her expression kind and understanding.

Meg was dumbfounded.

"His love for you and your mother was behind everything he said or did when we were together those few days." Meg finally countered, partly to steer the conversation into less dangerous--to her emotional equilibrium at least-- waters as well as to return the favor that Liu Shen was paying her.

Liu Shen dipped her head, breaking eye contact, a shift in demeanor that made Meg wonder if she had said something that gave offense.

"We have the shame of what he had to do to protect us from harm and preserve our lives," the young woman said quietly.

Meg had often wondered if John's family had been at all aware of the life he had been forced to assume by Terence Wei, had hoped somehow that they had been able to stay oblivious. Obviously, that had not been the case.

"I didn't mean it that way, Liu Shen!" Meg cried, "Wei was an evil bastard who destroyed a good many lives--literally and figuratively. Nothing he was forced to do changes the type of man John is. I've never met anyone so honorable."

"Jian was always the hope of our family, he had such a promising future. That he had to give that up..."

"Had nothing to do with you. John spoke to me of your father. There was the larger political situation to consider--and the ability of opportunists like Wei to take advantage of almost any predicament people find themselves in. You mustn't take that shame on yourselves. John wouldn't want that. He loves you too much." Meg stood and moved over to where Liu Shen stood, her head still bowed, a tear tracing its way down one porcelain cheek.

As Meg watched, Liu Shen brought her hands up to cover her face, and sobbed uncontrollably.

Meg, who never guessed that she possessed the requisite ration of empathy, was moved to reach out and enfold the young woman in her arms.

"I can only imagine the horrors you've been through, Liu Shen. The strain and fear that has been a part of your life for a long, long time. But I want you to try to believe that you are safe now, and that you all have a chance at a fresh start and a new life here. I will do everything I can to help." Meg soothed. She felt the other woman collapse against her.

"I'll bet you haven't had much rest in the last few days. And worrying about John and caring for him on the plane--you must be exhausted. You and your mother both need to rest. I have a futon in another room, let me go get blankets and pillows for you and make down a bed, while you go eat some of that delicious food I smell cooking. I'll look after John while the both of you get some rest. Everything will look much better after you've had some food and sleep, I promise you."

Liu Shen pulled away from her, looking quickly in John's direction, then shifting her gaze to meet Meg's eyes.

"Everything he said about you is true. That you are brave, resourceful, and kind," the young woman remarked.

"Don't believe a word of it. He obviously has me confused with someone else. I'm really a bully and I'm sending you eat! NOW! John will be all right for a few minutes on his own. I'll get some more liquids and nourishment into him while you and your mother rest."

Liu Shen bowed, and left the room, wiping the tears from her cheeks as she went to rejoin her mother in the kitchen.

Meg watched her go, then turned briefly to John, bending over him. She reached out to touch his forehead, smooth his hair again.

"Brave sister you've got, " she said softly.

Impulsively she kissed him on the cheek, then straightened and turned away to tend to her guests.

When she looked into the room she'd euphemistically called her "guest room" some time later, the two Chinese women were curled up side by side on the made down futon, fast asleep. The room was really little more than a place where she kept some boxes of supplies, extra clothing and the seldom used futon, and she found herself wishing she had better accommodations to offer to John's family. After all they had been through, the presidential suite at the swankiest hotel in town would have been no less than they deserved.

Meg moved through the hall, a tray in hand. It was vital that she get more fluids into John and as quickly as possible.

Meg placed the tray on the night stand and seated herself once again on the edge of the bed. She was startled when the movement resulted in John turning his head toward her, unbidden.

He was awake.

She smiled. "Hi there, how are you feeling?" she asked, her voice quiet.

He looked at her, pain evident in his eyes and face.

"I know, stupid question," Meg didn't give him a chance to try to speak. "I've got some food here, if you're up to it. Congee, your mother said. More juice. And some more of that stuff that your mother had you drink earlier. I really need you to try to get it all down. Will you try for me? We'll take it slow and easy."

"Yes," John responded. His voice was stronger, a good sign. "Thank you, Meg."

Meg beamed at him. "Don't mention it. Good to hear your voice again, my friend. But try to save your energy. There will be plenty of time to talk later. Your mother and sister are resting, in case you're missing them. They were exhausted, I made them lie down and get some sleep."

John nodded. He was still propped up on the pillows, so Meg tucked a length of paper towel under his chin, and brought a spoonful of the rice soup to mouth, tipping it between his lips. He swallowed, and encouraged, she continued slowly and deliberately, until the bowl was empty. Next she picked up the herbal decoction and watched him drink it slowly down.

"I found this joggers bottle in my cupboards, complete with a straw, that should make this easier to drink. Juice, same as before. Do your best, and take your time." Meg urged, holding the flexible straw to John's lips. He drank slowly, but deeply, his eyes closed for much of the time as though the effort took some concentration. When she pulled the bottle away, it was half empty. Good, the combined volume of the soup, the herbal drink and the juice would go a long way to fighting the dehydration. She sat the bottle on the side table then turned, removing the paper towel, and resting her hand lightly on John's chest.

"I'm going to go out in a little while and see if I can score you some painkillers, John. I can't stand seeing you hurting. Some hydrocodone maybe."

"No, Meg. I'm all right. Don't want you to...take that risk," John responded looking directly at her, his voice louder, stronger. Through sheer force of will, Meg was sure.

"I take bigger risks every time I fire up my computer. I won't have to go more than a block to connect with a guy I know. Shouldn't take me more than fifteen minutes. Tops."

"No! I...don't want you to get into trouble. I've brought enough to you." John replied. He was reaching out with his left hand, moving to take hers. She met him halfway, relished the warmth of the fingers that curled around hers.

"I was born in trouble, John. I'll be all right. Zeedo's been giving me a free pass lately. As long as I don't run around trying to score heroin, I ought to be okay."

John shook his head with as much force as he was capable, "NO!" he fairly spat the word out, "Nothing illegal. Not any more."

"Shit, John! You always pick the damnedest times to go law abiding on me! You do NOT have to suffer! You'll heal better and faster if you get some relief, and are able to get some quality rest."

"The herbs will help, they just take time," John continued the argument, agitated.

Meg saw she was fighting a losing battle, could see the toll being taken on Lee's energy. "Okay, okay. Calm down, relax. I won't leave, I promise."

John took a deep breath, "My mother is well versed in Chinese medicine. There is no need for you to put yourself in jeopardy." Not content to win the argument by default, he was attempting to put a fine point on it via logic.

"I just wanted to help, John!" Meg cried, frustrated.

"You...already have, Meg," he responded, squeezing her hand. "You've taken... my family in...saved our lives. The pain is nothing less...than I deserve."

"You never deserved any of this! Damn it, John. You're the most stubborn man I've ever met."

John, in spite of his weakened condition and visibly fading energy, favored her with a broad grin. Meg felt dazed by the sheer brilliance of it. "What is the American...saying? That is the pot...calling the kettle black?"

Unable to suppress her own answering smile, Meg laughed, "I've missed you, John Lee. Haven't had a decent argument with anyone since you left!"

John chuckled softly, then brought her hand to his lips and kissed her palm, " And I've missed you, Meg Coburn. When I was shot, my greatest fear was that I might not live to see you again."

Meg fought hard to hang onto her composure, stroking his face tenderly as he kept her hand captive against his cheek.

"I'd never have forgiven you if you hadn't." Meg paused, looking away for a brief moment to compose her aggravatingly unsteady emotions. A change of subject was definitely in order.

"I need to ask, John, so that I know how to prepare. The people who shot you--are they following you?"

"Remnants of Wei's gang. They are dead. I don't know about others, we took precautions against being followed," he responded, his eyelids growing heavy.

"His organization in L.A. disintegrated after his death. The police made sweeping arrests of the survivors after you left. Those they could charge, they did. Some of them got deported--presumably the same ones who ended up chasing you over there. I think you're fairly safe here, at least in the short term. I'm not sure that LA is a good prospective home for you and your family long term though."

"I thought... about... Seattle..." John ‘s finite stores of strength were nearly depleted. He was fighting to keep his eyes open. "Some...of my mother's....relatives escaped there...fleeing the Cultural...Revolution..."

Meg brought her left hand up to cup against John's other cheek, "Awfully rainy up there. But a nice city I'm told. Mountains nearby, lots of water. Scads of trees. Pretty and green. You could do worse." She modulated her voice to soothe.

John's eyes lost their battle to stay open. His breathing deepened. He was asleep.

And Seattle had another advantage. It was only a couple of hours away as the jet flies, Meg thought to herself as she watched him doze.

CHAPTER 3: KEEPING HOPE ALIVE

John slept for the rest of that day, not stirring again until the next morning. Meg sat vigil over him all that time, dozing when she could no longer help herself. She periodically checked his wound and the bandage, taking exquisite care not to disturb his rest. He was still feverish, but his wound showed signs of improvement, though she considered that only she would be able to detect those small changes, watching over him through the long hours making her ever more the expert regarding all things John Lee.

She found herself relaxed and happy, in spite of scant sleep when she saw John's eyes open and regard her fondly. She roused herself and began the tasks of caring for him.

Meg changed dressings and applied more antibiotics. John was quiet for much of the ordeal of the dressing change, Meg realized he was doing his best to exhibit a stoic front to her, in spite of the amount of pain the ritual caused.

Meg wanted to tell him not to squander his precious energy on hiding discomfort from her, but she respected his pride. Once again she regretted the lack of effective painkillers on hand. She gave him his antibiotics and more ibuprofen, watching him carefully as he drank down the liquids his body so needed.

She wondered at the stamina it had taken to reach her at all. On the run for so long, exhaustion certainly factored into his present condition. His immune system had suffered the privations of of the last few months, aided and abetted by inadequate food, a lack of restorative rest and the stress of the situation. He'd simply had nothing left to fight with when he'd been shot--in spite of the Buddhist brothers' excellent care.

The flight had presented its own problems. No doubt dehydration had begun with blood loss. If John had been unconscious for any length of time even under the brothers' care, his fluid intake may have already been inadequate. Pressurized cabins were notorious for adding to dehydration and John, from the sounds of things, had soon been in no condition to take advantage of the fluids offered on he fifteen hour flight. He had been right to doubt that he might survive the trip from China, the dominoes of his physical condition had already begun to fall before he had ever boarded the plane.

She brought in fluids, overseeing his taking of medication that was by now overdue. Checking his temperature and pulse, she then repaired to her small kitchen and warmed up food for him to eat.

She balanced the dishes on the tray, as before. John insisted on trying to feed himself, balancing the spoon for the congee awkwardly in his left hand. There was no movement from his right.

"John, I've been wanting to ask you --" Meg began after John had had a chance to nearly finish the soup in the bowl. She paused, as though not sure if she should continue.

"What do you wish to know?" he asked quietly.

"Why did it take six months for you to get your family out of China? And just what were the circumstances of your being shot? Liu Shen gave me the Reader's Digest condensed version of the latter and said next to nothing about the former."

John took in a final spoonful of soup, seeming to consider his answer before speaking.

"It was and is a difficult situation to leave China. There were preparations necessary that required careful planning, strategy and execution.

"And also, you see, Mr. Wei had a good many interests in China, and there were others in situations such as my own. My family was not the only one that required escape.

"Towards that end, I and a select few like myself set about carefully liberating some of Mr. Wei's wealth, hidden in secret bank accounts, some in China, some not. His illegal dealings financed freedom for nearly one hundred people. I tried to send Lee Ma and Liu Shen ahead without me, but they would not leave unless I did---"

"Because there was no guarantee that if they left you behind, you would ever leave. Right John?" Meg interrupted, her voice low and quiet. She had surprised even herself with the revelation, but knew it to be true, her gut wrenching with the knowledge.

John ducked his head, the action confirming to her that she had guessed rightly. "My original intention was to get Lee Ma and Liu Shen away. I did not consider that I had a future anywhere, so it did not matter what happened to me, if I never left China, I was resigned to that fate. If I ended up dead or imprisoned for what I was doing, it was no less than I deserved for how I had spent over twenty years of my life. The many deaths that I was responsible for in those years.

"Their intractability in not leaving unless I did, made me adjust my thinking. As did the fact that I was missing you. More and more each day. So we resigned ourselves to being among the last to leave.

"The deportation of Wei's people here made things more complicated, dangerous. We were often on the move in those months avoiding members of Wei's gang who realized what we were doing and tried to stop us. A day here, a week there. But it was good and necessary work, and I took pride in my part of it. That was a novel experience, taking pride in doing something. Having a positive impact on people's lives, not taking them. I thought of you often, and how you'd be proud of me continuing the work I had started with Zedkov's son. I hoped to channel much of that money that to finance the work of the monks, to help others to escape.

"My mother and sister were stoic, putting up with many privations. Always I tried to convince them to await me in a safe place, but they would not hear of it, were intent on sharing whatever hardship was necessary to stay together. They were very brave.

"Finally, almost a week ago, the remnants of Wei's gang found me. I was concluding the final phase of the business, transferring the last of Wei's assets to offshore bank accounts. One of them had been in Wei's private circle. He tried to exact revenge for my killing his master. I was able to neutralize him and his compatriot. But I was wounded in the process. The rest I think you know. We returned to Canton, to the monks there. They cared for me and my family for two days, then we finally made our escape.

"It had been my intention to establish Lee Ma and Liu Shen here first, then come to you. When I fell so ill on the plane coming over, Liu Shen formulated the plan to come to you immediately. She pumped me for information --I realize now--about where you lived and how to get to you. At the time I saw it as her way to comfort me, neither of us were sure I was going to live to see the US and you at that point. The rest you do know."

Meg, during the course of his explanation, had moved from the chair to sitting on the edge of the mattress. As he concluded the tale, Meg had put her arms around him, offering him solace, empathy evident in her eyes.

He returned the embrace, thankful once more that he had survived to reach her. Counting every privation endured worth it to be here and in her arms.

"I was right to be worried for six months straight. You were never out of my thoughts. I could sense, I swear it, that something was wrong, but having no information, no word from you..."

"It was for everyone's safety, yours included. In my mind I wrote you long letters about how we were and what I was doing and that I wanted to see you again. But I could not risk putting them down on paper. I dared not even try to get a message to you through the brothers."

Meg made a gentle shushing noise, touching his face, "It's all right. Messages can be intercepted. And you had your family to protect. What I went through was nothing--NOTHING compared to what you and your family were going through. I'm just so happy that you all made it out alive, and that you came to me first. That you didn't die."

Meg's eyes glistened with unshed tears, her expression stricken. It was John's turn to comfort, and he did so lovingly, "Mo men tai," he said softly in Cantonese, "mo men tai." It's all right.

Meg sat with John until, once again, he fell asleep. The effort of relating the story of the last six months of his and his family's life had seemed to drain away his fragile energy, but also seemed to bring a measure of peace. He rested more comfortably than before, while Meg uneasily contemplated what he had said, and had grown restless.

He had gone back to China, never figuring to return. To do the noble thing she had watched him attempt once before, which had prompted her to be at his side as he took on Terence Wei.

She was more grateful than ever for the miracle of his return.

Liu Shen and Lee Ma stirred not long after John had fallen back to sleep. They moved through the apartment, looking a bit sheepish, as though embarrassed at how long they had slept.

Meg, speaking softly so as not to disturb the sleeping John, assured them that their long sleep had been just the remedy for a long journey. And for the months of stress previously, she thought to herself, had it been her, she would have slept for a week.

Liu Shen and her mother listened carefully to Meg's news of John's progress, smiles replacing frown lines as she noted every small improvement. Liu Shen happily translated for her mother, who in turn expressed her relief in giving Meg a hug, murmuring her thanks in Cantonese.

Meg was entranced by John's family, grateful that she had had a small part in their safe escape, happy to finally come to know the people that she had only heard about from a taciturn John all those months ago.

In spite of the life they had been forced to lead for the last two decades, both women possessed a liveliness and optimism that Meg found herself envying. She marveled at their strength and bravery.

She wasn't feeling very brave herself or very strong. She hoped that by association she might learn how to be both again.

CHAPTER 4: WITH GRACIOUS MOTION

When next John opened his eyes, the light of the apartment was dim, illuminated only by a tiny bedside lamp of low wattage. Night had fallen.

John's first thought was of Meg. His last conscious memory being of her sitting beside him, her hand to his face.

How he had missed her! Even he had not realized how much until he had seen her again.

There had seldom been a day, in all those months in China when she had not been in his thoughts, had not invaded his nightly dreams. Shot and bleeding, he'd refused to postpone their escape, as the monks had suggested. In spite of their insistence that he understand the health risks he would run. If he died getting his mother and sister out of the land of their birth and near destruction it would have been worth it. But he knew he would not die. At least not until he'd had a chance to see Meg once more.

He had never allowed himself to consider that he would have a life beyond getting his family out of China. For all his sins, he knew he did not deserve any kind of normal life. For the last several years, he had been focused solely on surviving long enough to do what he must to free sister and mother.

But now...

Where was she?!

John shifted, realizing that Meg was to his left, sprawled on the bed beside him. Exhausted from holding vigil, she must have laid down to rest, finding the chairs in the room too uncomfortable and spartan to accommodate her tall frame for any length of time.

He did not mind. In fact, he'd dreamed her beside him many a time.

Quietly, he reveled in her proximity, drinking in the sight of her. He had noted earlier that she had become somewhat more conservative in dress in the months since he'd last seen her, less gothic in her appearance. The change suited her. The henna tattoos on her hands, the razor blade necklace and punk outfit replaced by well manicured nails, a yin/yang pendant and a flowing dress of flattering line and pattern that fell just above her knees. She wore her hair in an upswept style that favored the shape of her face. She looked...beautiful.

But then she always had been.

He intended at first, merely to enjoy the sight of her as she slept peacefully and companionably beside him. But the months of separation had created a hunger for touch, and almost before he realized it, he was reaching out, using the back of his left hand to touch her face, trace the line of her hair. He continued the contact, moving his fingers to follow the line of her neck, her shoulder, her arm.

She came awake slowly, languorously under his touch, her beautiful brown eyes opening and looking at him, their pupils large. She looked vulnerable, young.

She lifted her head up, propping herself on one arm, reaching out to touch his face. He seized the opportunity, slipping his left hand around her neck, and urging her near, until her face was close, their lips touching. Hungrily, he drew her down to him, loosening her hair, then kissing her deeply, tenderly, exploring her with his tongue.

She responded in kind, moving close to him, molding her soft curves against his body.

He felt no pain, amazingly, and the lack of discomfort freed him. He dared not move as he would have wished, his right arm stubbornly immobile, but his left explored Meg's body at will even as she trailed kisses from his face to chest to abdomen. He eased her dress up her thigh, stroking the soft skin beneath the cloth. Taking his lead, she slipped the dress over her head, revealing her naked body to him, shaking her golden brown hair down around her shoulders. He caressed her, exploring the peaks and valleys of her body with a light, sensual touch. Her body, like her face had grown thinner, and it worried him, her ribs plainly felt beneath the surface of her torso. He tried to put the concern from his mind, to concentrate with all his being at expressing his need for her.

He had wanted this for so long, dreamed of it every night for six months. And now it seemed that Meg had wanted it as well.

His injury dictated that he had to leave most of the work to her, but unspoken communication told him that it was a task she was willing to assume. Gently, tenderly, she lowered her body onto his and they melded into one.

He'd come home.

Meg's head laid on his chest, both of them breathing hard from the pleasant exertion.

John had never felt more happy, more complete. Their lovemaking had been everything he had dreamed and more. Even the pain that was returning to his body dimmed in contrast to the warmth and well-being that filled his spirit, fed his soul.

"Are you all right?" Meg was asking softly, lifting up her head to meet his gaze, worry mixed with love in her beautiful face.

"Yes... absolutely," he assured fondly.

"That wasn't a doctor recommended activity for someone in your condition. But I don't regret it," she admitted, her features suddenly painfully vulnerable, her body tense.

John sought to ease the fear her saw deep in her eyes. He knew how desperately she guarded her heart, her emotions. One wrong word now could destroy her and the future he was beginning to envision with her, so he stuck with the truth, "I've dreamt of this since I left you. But reality is so much better than the dream..."

Meg buried her face against his chest for a moment, a moment in which he felt the tension that had overtaken her fade away. When she looked up again, he cupped her cheek with his good hand. She closed her eyes, leaning into the caress.

"I love you, Meg Coburn," he said quietly, tenderly.

Her eyes opened and he saw in them that the emotion was, in fact, reciprocated, but he knew she would not yet be able to say the words. She'd shielded herself so fiercely for so long, it simply wasn't possible to admit it to herself or to him. At least not yet. So the reply she gave did not faze him. Instead he found it oddly endearing.

"Your fever's broken, John, you're gonna be all right, you know?" She said quixotically, her voice small, quite stripped of her usual bravado.

"I know," John Lee said and smiled, drawing her to him for another kiss.

Meg stood looking at her reflection in her bathroom mirror, trying to force the smile from her lips. She'd dozed beside John for hours, made languorous by the intensity of their passion, for all that it was necessarily understated. She had awakened to a lightness of spirit that she was hard pressed to contain. Fearing she might impulsively wake John, she had repaired to the bathroom.

They'd made love. Who would have thought it possible? Just hours earlier she'd been convinced she was never going to see John again, never even have the comfort of the knowledge that he was alive.

What a world of change a few hours could bring...

She tried to make herself to feel guilty for taking flagrant sexual advantage of a sick man. But however hard she tried, she could not rally the appropriate feeling of culpability. He had wanted it as much as she had, had made the first overtures. The act had been life affirming itself in the face of what had seemed desperate odds mere hours before.

And his fever had broken. He would continue to need antibiotics to keep it at bay, and he was far from ready to resume any kind of normal activity. But he was improving with heartening rapidity. Meg suspected that blood loss and dehydration had felled him more than the infection, which seemed incipient judging by the rapid response to the antibiotics. When he was feeling better, she'd have to lecture him about fluid replacement during long airline flights and after blood loss.

God forbid that either would ever be part of his future again....

For herself, the emptiness she'd felt all these long months, the longing, the sense of missed opportunity was gone. She felt as if she'd been granted a second chance, a new start. Contentment settled deeply in her bones.

He had said he had loved her. John never said anything he did not mean. She knew him well enough to be assured of that.

She, on the other hand, had not been able to say the words. If she felt guilty for anything, it was for that.

He'd fallen asleep again, spent completely by the exertion of their lovemaking--as tentative and tender as it had been. She knew he was in pain, again regretted the lack of a strong painkiller on hand.

That was a situation easily remedied. She glanced at her wristwatch, noted that it was only two am. Busby would still be hanging around, two alleys down. He got most of his business at this hour.

But how would she explain the sudden appearance of medication to John? He'd been adamant that she should not try to buy anything on the street, and she doubted he would believe a story about a forgotten current prescription suddenly found. He might take her action as a betrayal.

She knew there was one thing she never would be able to bear. And that was to see disappointment in her reflected in John Lee's eyes.

Meg splashed water on her face, then buried it in the soft plushness of the towel hanging near the sink. She moved back into the bedroom. She laid herself down on the bed next to John, slipping under the covers, carefully molding herself to him, relishing the feel of her bare skin against his. Possessively, she placed her arm around him. He responded without waking, turning into her embrace instinctively, and to the limits set by his injury.

She was home. For the first time in her thirty years, she was home.

Meg awakened to dawn light and a feeling of abandonment.

Her fingers clutched, expecting to feel John's body beneath her hand. Instead she came away with a fistful of bedclothes.

It had NOT all been a dream....!

She sat up, looking around frantically, her eyes finally settling on the dark head that was just visible above the far side of the bed. Panicked, she slid out from under the covers, grabbed the dress she'd tossed aside in abandon the night before, threw it on, and ran to John's side.

John Lee had apparently tried to rise and collapsed getting out of the bed. He was sitting on the floor, his back against the side of the mattress. His eyes were closed, legs splayed out in front of him. Bedclothes swirled around him, providing a semblance of modesty.

"JESUS! John!" Meg cried in alarm. There was no telling what kind of damage he'd done himself.

Men! All alike, every one of them. They got laid and figured they were invincible...!

She dropped to her knees beside him, feeling for the pulse at his neck. Strong and steady. Good.

His eyes opened at the contact, his gaze meeting hers. She thought she detected a trace of sheepishness in them.

"John, what the hell were you thinking?! You're in no condition to try to get up! Did you hurt yourself? Are you all right?" She ran her hands over his body quickly, checking for damage.

He was smiling at her, the cupid's bow lips turned up in amusement, the smile lines around his eyes became prominent. She'd never noticed he had them before.

"Your dress is on inside out," he commented quietly.

Meg glanced down. He was right. It hardly mattered however, she'd thrown it on to cover herself in case Liu Shen or Lee Ma happened into the room. While she was not ashamed of their actions the night before, she also didn't want to offend the sensibilities of her guests.

Damn him for trying to change the subject, deflect her anger!

"I'll worry about that after I've seen to you! Damn it, John! Who told you you could get out of bed? For Christ's sake! How long have you been down here?"

John looked at her equitably, his left arm cradling his right. His features were serene and not at all contrite, which made her all the more angry.

"Just a little while. I wanted to bring you breakfast," he explained as if it were the most natural thing in the world for a wounded man to amble off to the kitchen and start cooking.

Meg took a deep breath and counted to ten, forcing her anger to dissipate. Then she reached out, placing her palm on his forehead. His temperature was elevated, last night undoubtedly had been too much for him, as beautiful and precious as it had been.

She needed to get more antibiotics into him and change his dressings again, she knew...

"You're delirious!" Meg chided, never realizing that her tone lacked any real bite, was instead affectionately indulgent. "Going all domestic on me, are you? Okay, you're living proof that chivalry isn't dead. And I do love a man who knows his way around a kitchen. But cooking can wait until you're well. Then I'll let you make me a seven course dinner. Let's get you back in bed."

She thought about calling for Liu Shen and Lee Ma to help her, but realized it would probably only cause them undue worry. With no little effort, she aided him up back up onto the bed, admiring his naked form as surreptitiously as possible, reinforcing visually all that she had explored tactilely the night before. He owed her that much for the scare he'd just given her.

Easing him back against pillows she hastily arranged from the disarray of the night just past, she sat down next to him, kissing his forehead in relief. Then, putting on her sternest expression she leaned back.

"You try that again and you're dead meat, got it? I swear I'll kill you with my bare hands, " Meg scolded. She reached for the drink bottle and shook it. Liquid still remained, so she reached for the antibiotics and tipped out another dosage, once again adding ibuprofen. Only then did she allow herself to look John in the eyes.

He was gazing at her intently, his expression one of thoughtful regard, "You are beautiful when you first wake up."

Threats had no effect on the man, it was obvious.

"Sweet talk will not improve your situation, mister," Meg commented dryly as she slipped the pills between his lips and offered the straw from the bottle. Dutifully, he drank and swallowed.

"So are you, by the way. Beautiful when you first wake up, I mean," she added by way of abashed afterthought.

John smiled in response to her admission, and for the second time in as many days, Meg found herself reddening. She looked away, taking special care to place the antibiotic pills and juice bottle on the night stand.

"And even more beautiful when you blush," John continued.

Meg, mortified that she still possessed the ability after the life she'd led, dropped her gaze down to her hands in her lap.

"I'm going to go take a shower," she said, forcing her voice to remain even, "And then I'm going to find you something to eat. In the meantime, you should try to rest."

"Meg," John spoke, his left hand moving to caress her arm, "look at me."

She looked up, reluctantly. She wasn't used to being told she was beautiful, to see such tender regard in the eyes of another. She felt helpless, unsure how to respond. She didn't like the feeling at all.

John was smiling at her, his hand moving up to touch her cheek. Before she knew it, he was drawing her in for a kiss.

CHAPTER 5: DOUBTS

Meg emerged from her shower some minutes later to the sound of lively, if incomprehensible conversation. She was grateful that she'd had the presence of mind to take a full complement of clothing into the bathroom with her and dress before coming back into the bedroom, as John's mother had appeared in her absence.

Lee Ma and John were speaking Cantonese to each other, she sitting on the bed next to him, urging him to eat from a steaming bowl. Meg enjoyed watching the affectionate by-play between the two for the moment or two it took for them to become aware of her presence.

John's mother stood and bowed to her, murmuring a greeting,: "Li taai-taai, nay ee ho oh ma?"

Meg returned the bow, though she had not understood Lee Ma's words, she took them for a salutation. "Good morning Lee Ma. Thank you so much for feeding Jian. Did you sleep well?"

John looked at her, smiling at the Chinese pronunciation of his name, then turned back to his mother, speaking again in his mother tongue, translating for the older woman.

Lee Ma smiled and spoke again, three mysterious syllables repeated twice more in the course of her response. Again, "Li taai-taai".

Meg waited patiently for a translation.

"She says she slept very well, thank you very much. Liu Shen still sleeps, she has not been well lately, and Ma did not wish to disturb her rest."

Meg walked closer to the bed, gesturing Lee Ma to sit back down even as the woman indicated that Meg should take her place. Instead Meg climbed onto the opposite side of the bed, sitting as close to John as she thought respectable in his mother's presence, "I'm sorry, John, I was so worried about you, I didn't pay close attention to Liu Shen. Is she all right now? Is there anything she needs?"

John dutifully chewed and swallowed a mouthful of food offered him by his mother, then turned back to regard Meg reassuringly, "She has always been plagued by nervous conditions. The stress of the last year has been difficult for her. I'm hoping that being here, and finally being safe will be all that she needs to fully regain her health. That and Ma's Chinese medicine."

Meg nodded, resolving to keeping a closer eye on John's sister. She watched as John's mother continue to feed him for a few minutes, then set the bowl aside, nodding approvingly. The older woman removed the small dish towel she had spread across his chest as a napkin, revealing that the bandages Meg had thought to change were gone, a bulky, damp cloth draped over his shoulder in its place.

Noting her interest, John assured, "An herbal poultice, to draw out any remaining infection and reduce pain."

Meg smiled and nodded, grateful that more knowledgeable hands were joining in the healing effort and that the herbs she had bought were being fully utilized. Perhaps between the western medicine and the Chinese, John would soon be back on his feet.

"Is it helping?" Meg asked.

"Yes, the pain is less. Once the heat has escaped the poultice it will be removed. Lee Ma has requested that you then apply the western medicine once she has done that."

Meg smiled, "I will. You are feeling all right after your little adventure?"

John smiled ruefully, "I felt so well this morning, I thought I could manage. I am sorry to have worried you."

"I've spent the last six months worrying and wondering. I can handle a little more," Meg said mildly.

"I need to thank you again, for your help. For taking us in with no warning. I had made other arrangements, but it was not possible to keep them once we arrived. I had planned to come see you, but alone." John explained carefully stressing the last sentence.

"It's all right, John. I'm honored to have your mother and sister here, and everyone is welcome to stay for as long they wish," Meg responded, understanding the necessity of circumspection in front of John's family, but selfishly missing closer contact, especially after the night they had just spent.

As if reading her thoughts, John reached for her hand. As though to reassure and reaffirm, he interlaced his fingers with hers.

Lee Ma noticed the intimate touch, and a small smile came over her serene features. She stood and picked up the bowl she'd used to feed John, then, speaking a few more words of Cantonese, she left the room.

"Did I say, or do something? Why did she leave?" Meg felt alarmed that she might have somehow offended John's mother.

"Not at all," John soothed. "She just said she would come back after the poultice has cooled. She also said the Chinese equivalent of ‘three is a crowd'."

"I don't ever want your family to feel ill at ease--you'll tell me, won't you John, if I do anything to offend?" Meg pressed, not quite sure she should take his assurances at face value.

He drew her hand to his lips, kissing her fingertips, abashing her yet again with the freeness of his affection. "Of course. Liu Shen and Lee Ma like you, very much, don't worry. Ma was telling me as you came into the room from your shower how grateful she is to you and how much she likes you."

"I keep hearing her say something that sounds like ‘tie-tie'. What does that mean? Is she referring to me somehow?" Meg asked, her curiosity finally defeating her caution.

John glanced down, smiling a secret smile. " Taai-taai. It means wife. She is expressing that she feels you are one of the family, like a daughter in law. In China, family is most important. She means it as a compliment to you, a term of honor not of fact."

Meg was flabbergasted, uncertain at first how to respond. An unwelcome thought came to her. "She doesn't know--you didn't tell her... about last night."

"Some things a son does not confess to his mother the morning after." John responded dryly at first, then seeing dismay flash across Meg's features, he continued, soothingly, "Merely because even a mother has no right to know certain things about her children. She wouldn't be offended though, Meg. Don't worry."

Meg still wondered over the title Lee Ma had bestowed on her, making sense of the words in their context now. She had said Li Taai-taai. Wife of the family Li? John's wife? Not used to thinking of herself as anyone's anything, Meg was unsure how to feel, how to react. Morning after etiquette had never been taught in sex ed in high school. And her past dalliances hadn't usually gotten this far into the light of day.

And as for the question of the honorific--Meg wasn't sure she was respectable enough to be considered anyone's theoretical daughter-in-law. She still hadn't told John she loved him. She'd experienced precious little of that particular emotion growing up, had no good role models on which to base a knowledge and recognition of it. She had often wondered if she even possessed the basic capacity for the emotion.

And God help her, love was the one thing John deserved above all else. That and a peaceful, happy future, the chance to put the life he had led in what amounted to indentured servitude behind him.

Most of all John deserved someone who could love and treasure him, be his comfort and solace. In essence, he deserved someone far worthier than Meg Coburn.

John watched the emotions play on Meg's face, dismayed at the strange, faraway look that came over her. He had thought to offer her an alternate translation of his mother's honorific, afraid of just this very thing. Too much, too soon, even for so little a matter.

He had spent six months coming to realize that he loved Meg--that his life would never be complete without her in it, and that he did not care to live, if it meant living without her at his side. Being wounded had crystalized those feelings, made the need to get back to her urgent.

In making love to her the night before, he had sought to communicate to her his need for her, his desire, his commitment, to bind her to him with an unbreakable bond. Waking this morning, he felt he had.

Yet he also knew that in spite of her bluff and bravado that Meg was fragile. What little she had told him of her background, in those few days together in shared purpose in February, had informed him of so much about her that he had, at first, found mystifying. He'd had months to consider, to ponder, to try understand her.

And to strategize the most important battle of his life, the winning of Meg's heart.

Looking at her now, he knew the battle would be difficult, the care he must take exquisite. He was impatient with the weakness of his body. He wanted to prove to Meg how much she was cherished. Bringing her breakfast in bed this morning would have been a good beginning. But his body had betrayed him, leaving him weak and helpless, creating stress and worry for the one person he wished more than anything to comfort and calm.

She was withdrawing into herself, in front of his very eyes, pulling her defenses back around herself like a coat of armor. Unwilling to allow it, he moved to draw her closer. She hesitated for a moment, then yielded to his gentle insistence.

He drew her head to his good shoulder, stroking her still damp hair. Their positioning was such that her face was turned away from him, but he endeavored to communicate with touch, what seemed beyond her ability to fathom in words.

Betrayed once more by his weakened body, he drifted off to sleep, his mind as uneasy as his resolve was strong.

CHAPTER 6: KNIFE OVER THE HEART

Meg stood watching John sleep. His slumber was deep. She'd moved out of his arms without waking him, and he'd even slept through the subsequent redressing of his wound, after Lee Ma had removed the cooled poultice.

Meg was grateful, knowing that rest was his salvation at this point, the surest path to healing his traumatized body.

There was peace in watching him like this, a return of the comfort she'd known with his return, that had grown with their love making. For the moment she was content to ignore the nagging thoughts and doubts and take pleasure in his proximity.

But they would return, she knew, to plague her anew.

Meg was angry at herself for the sudden loss of confidence she'd felt, triggered, unfathomably, by the simple revelation of Lee Ma's honorific. She'd been on her own, basically since she'd run away from her foster placement late in her fifteenth year. She'd always been proud of the fact that while she had lived outside of the law and almost entirely by her wits, she'd not fallen into the traps so many other young runaways did. She'd forged a life for herself, prided her ability to survive, worn her independence as a badge of honor. She'd needed no one but herself--and been proud of the fact.

Six months ago, John Lee had changed that, just by virtue of walking into her life and complicating it.

That both of them had long lived by their wits and intelligence created a common ground between them, a natural affinity that had quickly formed itself into an amazing partnership. Short lived as it had been, it had fundamentally changed who she was. The woman who had never cared for much of anything or any one beyond herself had been transformed. Seeing John hellbent on a suicidal mission to even the score with Terence Wei, she had abandoned her own finely honed sense of self preservation to fight at his side. Against all the odds--and what she had sensed John's original intent: to pay for his sins with his life even as he ended Wei's--they had both survived.

Watching him go back to China had been another kind of death, although she had understood and genuinely endorsed it. The life of troubled emotions she'd led since his departure had been foreign to her, the war she waged with herself everyday something she had not anticipated.

She used to know who she was and what she wanted. Now... Now all she knew was that she was suddenly a raw nerve, unsure of everything.

Was this what love was?

She'd given herself to him last night freely, and even in the cold light of day, she had no regrets whatsoever about their lovemaking. In fact she had to admit to herself that the act had--conversely--both assuaged and sharpened a hunger she'd not been able to admit to herself before. She wanted to be his every night, wanted to draw comfort and solace from their intimacy, as well as to give it in return.

She felt restless, lightheaded, vaguely nauseous. Had the sudden desire to escape into open air.

Meg turned away, walking back into the small utilitarian kitchen, where Lee Ma and Liu Shen sat quietly eating.

"I have to go out," Meg announced impulsively, even though two minutes ago she had had no such intention. "I'm going to take John's suit to the dry cleaners, and look for a sling for his arm. Get some things...I"ll be back after a while." She'd invented the errands on the fly, not having any such intention just a minute ago.

She wanted to move but found she was incapable. The room was spinning around her. She grabbed onto the freestanding cabinet between the kitchen and her small table to steady herself. Black dots dancing before her eyes.

Meg became aware of the fact that the Lee women were regarding her in concerned silence. Liu Shen and her mother exchanged a look, the younger woman rising and walking over to stand by her. Liu Shen put a steadying arm around her.

"You are so pale! Are you well? I think it is your turn to eat and rest, Meg Coburn. I fear you are compromising your health taking such good care of us, of Jian." The young woman commented worriedly, looking at Meg carefully, "I wish I knew this city so that I could go in your place. Surely the cleaning and sling can wait--at least until tomorrow?"

Meg realized she couldn't remember the last time she'd eaten--she'd been far more concerned with the well-being of John and his family than her own comfort. And it was true that she was short on sleep.

"I'm fine. I always keep irregular hours and catch meals as I can."

Lee Ma, who had been listening intently to the conversation between the two younger women, put her own dish aside and moved to the stove. Before Meg could protest, she had served up a plate full of food. She gestured Meg to the table.

"Come," the older woman said in heavily accented English. "Eat, Li taai-taai."

There the words were again, searing into her soul, wrenching her heart, quite overthrowing her surprise at Lee Ma's direct communication. The power a few syllables of Chinese had over her emotional equilibrium was troubling. She did not understand her reaction.

Meg felt tears burning at the back of her eyes, it took all the force of her will to keep them from forming.

Liu Shen's hand was in hers, leading her to the table and urging her to sit. Lee Ma and her daughter commenced fussing over her as though she were a cherished, long time member of their family. Meg was nonplussed at the attention--as unused as she was to such unselfconscious human kindness.

"I will sit with Jian while you eat," Liu Shen soothed, "then you must lie down and try to rest. Our coming has been too much for you. Tomorrow I will go with you on your errands and begin to learn this city, so that the next time perhaps I can repay your kindness by doing these things in your stead."

Meg glanced down at the food on her plate, then up into Liu Shen's soulful brown eyes, so much like her brother's. Reflected in their depths, Meg found an answer to what she was feeling. She'd always been good in a crisis, doing what needed to be done calmly and capably. Once a crisis was past, she'd often fallen apart. In private, alone and angry. John was getting better now, and it was time to pay the piper.

The tears she'd fought so hard to suppress sprang unbidden to her eyes and she did the one thing she hated like hell to ever do.

She broke down, sobbing as though her heart would break. This brought a flurry of attention from the Lee women, who enfolded her in their arms, murmuring words of comfort in two languages. They stroked her face, her hair, her arms, patted her back, their touch infinitely gentle, soothing, loving. comforting.

To those who have seldom known it sometimes kindness is a sword cutting deep into natural defenses. Meg Coburn was no exception.

It was quite a while before she was composed enough to eat.

Liu Shen sat at Meg's side, stroking the lax hand that dangled off the side of the bed. Quite against the young woman's objections, John's sister had urged her back into her bedroom and to the half of the bed unoccupied by her brother.

Drained by her emotional breakdown, and--John's sister knew--the cumulative effect of six months of worry as well as the shock of their unexpected arrival, Meg had fallen into an uneasy slumber. Liu Shen had covered her with a throw and settled herself down to keep watch.

Jian was still sleeping soundly. He was making steady progress.

And in the way of the strong, Meg had paid a price in equilibrium and strength that even she did was not aware of, until the immediate crisis was past. Lee Ma had slipped a nerve calming tincture into the tea she had urged on Meg during her meal, hopefully it would undo some of the damage done, help their benefactor regain her balance.

Liu Shen understood nerve storms only too well, felt immense empathy for the woman her brother loved. Meg was a strong woman, but that did not mean that she was without her limits of endurance.

Looking at the two, her brother and Meg, Liu Shen could not help but smile. They belonged together. She'd known that ever since Jian had come back to them, in Canton.

Her normally reserved and taciturn brother had waxed effusive and enthusiastic when he spoke of the mysterious Meg Coburn who had made it possible for him to return to his family. It had thrilled Liu Shen to draw Jian out, to see the transformation he underwent when he talked about her. She had spent most of her life marking the changes in her sibling, so few of them for the better. His disarming smile--a rare feature for longer than she cared to remember--had returned in full glory when he spoke of his Meg.

He had, it seemed, fulfilled one of his sister's dearest wishes for him during what had seemed a hopeless, soul killing time. He had found someone he could love.

Liu Shen had regretted deeply that their escape from China could not have been accomplished immediately--for each delay had taken a toll on her brother. He had found his heart, and had been forced to leave it behind, all at the same time. She suspected that the same had been true for Meg. And she had not had the distraction of family to occupy her mind and energy.

Liu Shen's fervent hope was that now that they were together everything would work itself out. Above all else, as part of the debt she felt she owed John, she wanted him to be happy. He deserved no less for all the sacrifices he had made on behalf of his family.

Liu Shen's reverie was interrupted by the sound of her brother's voice, speaking softly in Cantonese.

"<Sister, what is wrong with Meg?>"

Liu Shen looked up and met her brother's eyes. He was taking in the picture of Meg sprawled out on the bed, his brow furrowed, worry and alarm plain on his face.

He wasn't supposed to be awake. Had the tumult in Meg's soul somehow communicated itself to him as he slept? Liu Shen believed such things were possible between soul mates. Jian and Meg were certainly that.

It was little use to dissemble, she'd never been able to keep much from her brother.

"<She was a little ill--had not eaten in too long for worry about you. I convinced her to rest. She will be fine, >" Liu Shen responded in a whisper, letting go of Meg's hand. She stood watching, reassuring herself that their benefactor's rest was undisturbed before moving to her brother's side of the bed. She sat herself down beside him. "<You should be sleeping. I will watch over your Meg for you. Rest.>"

"<You made her eat then? And it is nothing more than that?>" John ignored her advice, as he often did, pressing forward with his concerns.

"<Yes. Ma and I made her eat a good meal. Ma gave her medicine to facilitate sleep. I think the surprise of our arrival proved a bit much for her is all. It would have been for anyone, given the circumstances.>"

John took his eyes from their study of Liu Shen and looked at Meg, the tenderness in his gaze so evident that Liu Shen was awed by it. "" he commented sadly.

"<It has gone as it was meant to. She will be fine. She's very strong, but even the strong need their rest and respite. I'll keep an eye on her for you. >" Liu Shen soothed.

John forced his eyes away from Meg and looked at his sister fondly, "<When did you grow so wise, sister?>"

Liu Shen shrugged. "<Go back to sleep!>."

"<No,>" John said, "<Please call our mother...And I need clothes from our luggage.>"

Liu Shen's eyebrows drew together, "<What for?>" She already had a good idea what he was going to say next.

""

"<Li Jian-Hui!>" Liu Shen exclaimed as forcefully as she could without waking Meg using his full Chinese name, "<it has not been very long since you collapsed in the alley! You are ill! You will stay where you are and recuperate!>" she argued.

"<I have been injured worse than this. Sicker than this many a time. I know what I can do and what I must do. If you do not help me, I will move from this bed by myself. If I must crawl, I will. But I will get up.>" John's eyes took on a dark cast that she had seen only rarely, his expression communicating clearly that he would brook no opposition. It was the face of the man he had become, not the man he was.

Liu Shen did not fear the transformation. But she respected it. She controlled the urge to yell at him, instead channeling her frustration and anger into a quite unladylike gesture, very Chinese in its execution, but one that might easily be universally understood. She stood up and stalked to where John's bag had been thrown the night before. Returning to the bed, she plopped it down across his legs, then stalked off to the kitchen.

If Meg hadn't been sleeping in the same room, she would have let loose with a stream of Cantonese invective that might have peeled the paint from the walls.

But she knew that in a match of Li temperament, there would be no clear winner. So instead she summoned her mother, and together they helped John dress and rise.

Meg came to consciousness with the distinct feeling that someone had played a trick on her. She hadn't been the least bit tired before she ate-- within a few minutes of finishing the meal and arguing with John's sister, the lights had faded out.

"Someone slipped me a mickey!" she said aloud, to no one in particular.

"Excuse me?" the quiet response mystified her. Unless someone had flipped her 90 degrees while she slept, the voice she recognized came from quite the wrong direction, "A mickey'?"

"John??" Meg opened her eyes and sat up abruptly, trying to make sense of what was making no sense. Her eyes fell on John, sitting close beside the bed in one of the chairs she generally kept in her office area. He was dressed--not Armani this time, but an equally impressive label she was sure-- his arm in a sling fashioned from one of her bath sheets.

"What the hell?!" Meg blinked, trying to make sure that whatever had knocked her out hadn't played hob with her perception. She twisted, looking at the empty side of the bed, then bringing her eyes back to meet his, flashing in anger, "What the hell are you doing?! Did I sleep for a week or are you insane?"

John Lee was regarding her with that damned implacable expression again, the one that revealed nothing, no matter how long you studied it. While she was studying it, she made note of his coloring--remarkably good amazingly enough.

"You've been sleeping a few hours only. And I've been called many things, but never insane."

"Yeah, well, how else do you describe someone who doesn't do what he's told? Christ, John! Bad enough you flew over an entire ocean with a hole in your shoulder that a flight attendant could have passed a drink through. Never mind you were unconscious and delirious for two days. What the HELL do you have against taking care of yourself?!"

Meg swung her legs off the bed, sitting on the edge of the mattress. She leaned forward. As much as she loved this man, there were times when she could cheerfully strangle him!

The thought brought her up short. Had she just admitted to herself that she loved John Lee?

"Nothing, Meg. Please, enlighten me. What is a ‘mickey'?" John asked ingenuously. He was a past master at changing the subject.

"A mickey," Meg announced, "short for a Mickey Fin'. A beverage into which SOMEONE has put a narcotic substance designed to render the drinker unconscious." She tossed the emphasized word to the apartment at large, hoping that John's family was within earshot. "And STOP changing the subject!"

"Inactivity," John replied, "increases weakness, it does not cure it. I am feeling fit, Meg, It was time to get out of the bed."

"Thank you, Dr. Lee, for that cogent prognostic assessment. I trust you had help, since the last time you tried it--not that long ago, I might mention--you ended up flat on your ass on the floor? You're probably delirious again, what's your family's excuse?"

"They cursed me and yelled at me, just as you are doing now. I gave them no choice. If you must be angry, be angry at me. And I am not delirious."

Meg sighed. He was impossible to argue with to any satisfying degree. Especially not when he sat there, looking devastatingly handsome and surprisingly healthy. The sling gave him a rather rakish air, and the clothing he had donned, though somewhat overstated for sitting around her apartment, hung well in all the right places.

"Okay. Okay." Meg mumbled, putting her face in her hands for a few moments, "I give up. But I reserve the right to say I told you so when you end up flat on your back and as sick as a dog again."

"Understood," John said equably, "How are you, Meg?"

He was leaning slightly forward in the chair, looking at her with such concern that she was momentarily caught off guard.

"I'm fine. I'm not the one who was shot, remember? I didn't willingly decide to take a nap in the middle of the day, either."

John looked at her intently, "Liu Shen said that you were ill from lack of food, that you went pale and seemed ready to faint. I am concerned about you."

Either Liu Shen hadn't told him about the crying jag, or he was choosing not to mention it. She wished she knew which. It was bad enough that Lee Ma and Liu Shen had witnessed it. She didn't want John to know she'd been that weak.

"No need to be, John. I'm as healthy as a horse. What with all the excitement in the last few days--wonder whose fault that was?--I forgot to eat. I do that sometimes. Go too long without eating. It catches up with me. I nibble on a little something and I'm fine. No worries."

"No wonder you've grown so thin," John said looking at her with a kind of aching empathy.

"I'll take that as all women do--as a compliment. You don't look like you've been eating regular meals yourself."

"We always seemed to be on the move, these last months. And sometimes provisions were difficult to obtain." John said quietly.

"And knowing you, you made sure your sister and mother ate their fill before you did. We're going to put some meat back on those bones, mister." Meg vowed.

John smiled a smile that did not reach his eyes. "I bring nothing but disruption to your life. I am so sorry, Meg. I had wanted this to be very different."

Meg reached out to touch his knee, "Life is disruption, John. I'm just glad you're back and alive. I'm not sorry about how this played out."

John looked at her intently for a moment, finally leaning back in the chair, his left hand going to his right arm, as though the shift in position had caused a jolt of pain.

Meg eased off the bed, kneeling before him, reaching out to touch his right hand, "Have you tried moving it?" she asked, noting that his right hand was warm, revealing good blood flow, which was a good sign. Shoulder wounds could result in permanent damage to the complex structures of blood vessels, muscles and nerve bundles, it wrenched her heart to think of John being in any way disabled by his injury.

John grimaced, concentrating on flexing his right hand. His fingers clenched spasmodically.

Meg beamed, "That's wonderful!" Not quite the movement she'd envisioned, fine motor skills would take some time to regain, obviously. But it was heartening that he could move any part of the arm at all. He'd been lucky.

He was going to be all right, she felt it in her bones. He wasn't as well as he thought he was, she knew. But he was better, and there was hope.

Meg leaned forward. This time she took the initiative, drawing John's head down until their lips touched. She kissed him deeply.

She did love him. She knew that now.

She would worry about what to do about that later.

For all his bravado, and several attempts at walking unaided, John was still unsteady on his feet.

The toll that stubbornness was taking on his energy had Meg and the Lee women at wits end.

It took the combined efforts of the three of them to get John to sit down and relax, preparatory to the evening meal.

"I must go out," John announced by way of quiet rebellion.

"I don't know about that. You're rushing things too much. Sitting in a chair is fine, but I don't think you're ready to run any marathons." Meg commented reasonably. Lee Ma and Liu Shen said nothing, but shook their heads in frustration over his recalcitrance.

"I had made plans, before leaving China. I must tend to them before any more time has passed." John looked at her, his dark eyes hooded.

Meg returned his gaze forthrightly, knowing an argument would be futile, if rather enjoyable. So she kept her voice equable and carefully modulated. "Is whatever you need to do something I can take care of for you?"

John gave her a small smile, "No. There are some financial matters... And other things. I must do them myself."

"Alone I suppose," Meg challenged.

"That would be preferable." John admitted.

"Well, I'll tell you right now that that isn't going to happen. If the last couple of hours haven't proved to you that you aren't ready to do anything or go anywhere by yourself, you ARE delusional. And apparently you don't trust me to help handle your affairs."

"Meg," John was exasperated and stricken by turns, "you are the one I do trust. Never doubt that. These are things that require my presence to be done."

"I hope whatever you are doing, you don't need to sign any papers--its going to be a while before your right hand can hold a pen. I know you can shoot guns with both hands--but can you write with both?" Meg kept up her battle of logic

"No," John admitted, "I still need to be present. You cannot go alone."

"And neither can you. So where does that leave us? Look John, I know how frustrated you must be feeling right now. But trust me when I say that you are in no shape to go anywhere today. And possibly not tomorrow. Maybe the day after that. You HAVE to give yourself time to recuperate. Your mother and sister and I have not gone through what we have to keep you alive just to watch you push yourself back to the point of collapse."

John sighed. "I can wait no longer than tomorrow to begin. If I rest tonight will my beautiful ladies allow me to make the attempt tomorrow?" Logic having failed him, John was now switching on his not inconsiderable charm.

Meg suppressed a smile of triumph. They had reached a compromise.

"Only if you take all three of us along." Meg countered.

"Only you. My mother and sister do not have to be plagued by the business. They should be able to relax and enjoy themselves, not run errands with me."

"Don't even go there, John. And I'm not leaving without reinforcements. When--and I say when, not if--you fall flat on your ass again because you aren't ready to be up and gallivanting around, I'm going to need someone to help me throw you back in the car and bring you home. We all go, or none of us do."

"You have a car?" John asked, eyes brightening. His next question would be to ask where she kept the keys, Meg was sure.

"Don't even think about it! Yes, I have a car. I used some of that money you sent to buy a good used one. I'm trying not to flagrantly break the law by boosting rides whenever I need to go anywhere. Zeedo's patience can only stretch so far." Meg paused, "And don't even think about trying to find out where I hide the keys and going off by yourself. You'd never find it."

John appeared to ponder her words for a moment, then nodded. "I agree. We all go. Tomorrow."

Meg watched as Chinese male pride yielded to the inevitable, "Great! Now, you're going to eat a good meal, and then it is back to bed for you."

John gave a slight grimace, then agreed.

Meg traded looks of quiet triumph with Liu Shen and Lee Ma, then they all set about preparing a meal.

John was no sooner settled down in bed than he fell asleep, his overexertion of the last few hours catching up with him.

Meg spent several hours in discussion with his mother and sister, during which the Lee women complimented her--Liu Shen directly and Lee Ma via translation--on her masterful handling of the situation with John.

Meg took no pleasure in her victory, but accepted the compliments sincerely and steered the conversation to a discussion of John as he had been as a child and young man. She was entranced by the picture that formed before her as she saw the man she loved through his family's eyes.

Her head buzzed with new knowledge as she prepared herself for sleep, having seen Lee Ma and Liu Shen settled down in their bed. She felt even more close to him now, knowing what his favorite food had been as a child. That he'd been a good student as a teenager and planned to go to college before the Cultural Revolution had started and he had been given the choice of reeducation deep in the countryside, or induction into the army. The beginning of his destruction, she now saw, the events leading eventually to servitude to Wei.

Meg eased herself under the covers beside John, and careful not to wake him, cuddled close, reveling once again in mere proximity to this mysterious man who had entered her life and transformed it.

Meg woke the next morning to find John up, dressed and moving around her apartment. He seemed, when she rose, dressed and sat studying him, to be tolerating movement better and was steadier on his feet than the day before. How much of that was through sheer force of will and how much real improvement she did not know.

She would watch him carefully.

When finally everyone was up and ready to go, Meg took a deep breath and forced herself to be calmly supportive of John's wishes, at the same time attuning herself to every nuance of his physical presence and condition.

She guided John, Liu Shen and Lee Ma to the freight elevator once more, than dashed down the staircase of the building and into the street. She strode purposefully the block and a half to the parking structure she had a permanent space in, slid behind the wheel of her car and made the quick dash to back to her apartment building. John, Liu Shen and Lee Ma were just making their way to the curb when she pulled up in front of them. She hopped out of the car and joined them for the last few yards.

Meg watched John carefully, putting her arm around his waist and sticking to his side like glue. Liu Shen bookended Meg on his other side, while Lee Ma trailed behind after surrendering her place to Meg, shooting her son disapproving looks that she knew he could not see.

Walking was a somewhat slow process, but John proved steady on his legs.

Still, when Meg eased him into the passenger seat of her four door sedan, he gave a small grunt and expelled a lungful of air.

"Let that be a lesson to you." Meg warned, clicking the seat belt around him, positioning the webbing so that it did not rub against the wounded shoulder.

Meg watched as Liu Shen and Lee Ma climbed into the car, glad that she had opted for a four door car instead of a two door. Four doors were easier to heft computers in and out of when necessary, which had been her original reason for wanting one. She could never have dreamed she'd be thankful for the reason she was.

Meg could not know that their progress was being watched by interested eyes, stationed atop a nearby building.

She pulled the car onto the street and into traffic before she spoke again.

"I'm making a stop at the drugstore to get proper sling for your arm--it is just up here a ways. Where do we head after that?"

John rattled off an address noted for its upscale condominiums. Meg's eyebrows rose.

"I thought you had financial business? We aren't going to a bank?" she asked.

"Later," John explained. "There is something I must pick up first."

Meg mulled over that information for a moment, then pulled the car over to the curb in front of the drug store, the same one she'd gotten medical supplies from just two days before.

She'd made a mental note to pick up more dressing material. She'd insisted, as part of conditions of his leaving her apartment, that John allow her to change his dressings again and swallow a dose of antibiotics and ibuprofen. She'd been relieved to note that the wound was draining properly, the infection appearing to be well on its way to abating, and that his exertions had not resulted in any new bleeding.

Meg was in and out of the store in less than ten minutes. She returned to the car, which was parked with the passenger side to the curb, and took the few minutes necessary to remove the bath towel and place the newly purchased sling to cradle John's wounded arm. She also used the activity as an opportunity to study him closely, to make sure that he was holding up well under the increased activity.

So far so good.

She didn't see the nondescript car which pulled away from the curb as she did and followed at a discreet distance.

CHAPTER 7: TENACIOUS SPIRIT

Meg swung her legs off the bed, sitting on the edge of the mattress. She leaned forward. As much as she loved this man, there were times when she could cheerfully strangle him!

The thought brought her up short. Had she just admitted to herself that she loved John Lee?

"Nothing, Meg. Please, enlighten me. What is a mickey'?" John asked ingenuously. He was a past master at changing the subject.