[Fiction] Back Home [Complete]

[z-The Morrigan]

"You're a hard woman to find."

The heavily accented voice drew the Morrigan upright, and she twisted at her hips to see a dark-haired man cautiously approaching. His caution was well-advised; the half-conscious thug still clenched in her fist was a testiment to her mood tonight. "What... do you want?" she asked, quietly pleased that she'd picked the right words out, and probably even in the right order.

"I have information for you," he answered, his eyes leveling on hers. "Can we talk?"

The thug moaned, and the Morrigan returned her attention to him. Dropping him, she stalked around to the other side of him and drew out some restraints. Flipping him over with zero gentleness, the red-eyed nova pulled hims arms behind him and began to lace the zip-ties around his wrists. "Talk," she grunted as she started to check his pockets.

"You were in Amsterdam, and that is where my interest in you developed," the man said. Suddenly he blushed, and clearing his throat, he added, "My name is Hans Braun. I am also known as Nachtlöwe. And I have been researching you."

"You here to beat up? Beat me up?" she asked flatly, too busy preparing for battle to worry about perfect grammar.

"No, not at all," Nachtlöwe answered, frowning. "I would be transformed if that were the case."

The Morrigan shrugged, which was her default answer when she didn't want to admit that she didn't understand what someone was saying. "Then what?"

"I have found your history for you," he said, his eyes starting to shine with eagerness. "You erupted in 2012, as Madeline Wilson. You went to work for Jan Vyse in 2013, as an elite for a small mercenary company. In August of that year, he declared you dead, and a Dr. Kutra validated the certificate. But you weren't dead... obviously," he said in response to her continuing silence. "Instead, Vyse had drugged you and held you captive, bringing you out only to mercilessly kill anything in your path.

"But you had a life before all of this," Nachtlöwe continued. "Don't you remember?"

Madeline Wilson. The name should have been familiar, she could feel that it should be, but it wasn't. Closing her eyes, she focused harder-

-dark arms wrapped around her, giggling like kids in the dark-

-tender passion in a sunlit bedroom, her lover - husband smiling over her-

-the terrible pain fading as she held the tiny life her arms, Richard smiling-

-"Let's call him Marcus Martin Wilson, Mad. After our fathers."-

Madeline was on one knee, gasping, tears welling in those inhuman eyes. "Richard," she whispered. "Marcus." The memories wers still hazy and fragmented- How could she forget them? How could they be lost for so long to her, so lost it took a foriegn stranger to bring her back to them? "He called me Mad. His mad little wife."

"I'm sorry," Hans said.

"Don't be sorry," the Morrigan snarled, climbing to her feet. She grabbed the goon by the collar and dragged him out of the narrow ally, dropping him on the street corner. "Phone?"

Nachtlöwe stared at her for a moment before he said, "Oh!" and dug his phone out, handing it to her. She quickly dialed a number and gave her position. Closing the phone, she handed it back to him and said, "Take me." At the slightly-panicked confusion on his face, she added, "To my husband. To my son. Take me to them."

[z-The Morrigan]

Twenty minutes later, they were hundreds of miles away - the benefits of knowing a warper who was willing to allow others to inconvenience him. And the Morrigan was in a rather comfortable position; she was hidden behind a bush and a bench, watching her target intently.

The boy ran in circles with his friends, laughing and clearly having fun. The Morrigan watched him, awash in faded memories. But for all their incompleteness, she knew that they were true, and that this child was her own.

Nachtlöwe had graciously allowed her to approach the playground alone, so when something cold and wet touched her shoulder, the Morrigan gasped and spun. A massive dog was standing behind her, all gray, curly fur and deep, soulful eyes. He was also vaguely familiar. "Llew?" the Morrigan whispered, and the hesitant wagging of his tail burst into activity. He pushed forward against her, pushing her to the ground in his enthuasism to greet her with a wet dog tongue. For her part, Madeline hugged the Irish Wolfhound as tightly as she dared, a broad smile on her face.

"My dog!" a small voice said, and the Morrigan glanced up, peering at Marcus through her shades. Her distraction gave the dog the upper hand, and the shades were cast off as the eager dog licked them away.

"Llew, stop," the Morrigan said firmly, and the dog immediately backed off, dancing from paw to paw and wagging so hard his butt gyrated. "Down," she ordered as she clambered to her knees. Llew immediately lay down, and Marcus gaped at him.

"How'd you do that? He doesn't listen to anyone," Marcus said, peering up at her distrustfully.

"Maybe right per- the right person not speak- talking," the Morrigan said, feeling her face flush. This is why she hadn't meant to speak to Marcus; she sounded uneducated, a fool.

"Marcus! Who are you talking to?" a woman said, striding up. When she saw the nova's red eyes, she grabbed Marcus, pulling him tight against her. Then she saw the rest of the face, and she went pale.

"Mom, ow," Marcus complained. The Morrigan swayed with pain as he called another woman mom; no one, looking at them together, could believe that they were related. Marcus was pale, particularly in comparison to the woman holding him much more gently now.

"I the Mor- am Madeline," the Morrigan said, reached down to pet the dog. Just running her hands through his curls soothed her, and some of the tension fled.

"Madeline? Like my mom's name?" Marcus said, and the tension roared back between the two women.

"Marcus, get your father," the woman said. Marcus started to protest, but the woman pushed him gently. "I said get him. Now go!" Turning back to the Morrigan, she asked, "What do you want from us? You're supposed to be dead."

"Wanted to see son," the Morrigan said, stroking the dog. "See my family."

"Why are you talking like that?" the woman asked. "Do you like sounding like a moron?"

The Morrigan choked back anger. "Drugs," she said, struggling to form the words, "hurt my brain." Words that Ford had used to describe her condition melted from her mind, even as she tried to grasp them.

"I can see that," the woman said. "Richard hates drugs, and if you think you're getting any money from my husband to support your habit, then-"

"Isabel?" The familiar voice choked the Morrigan, locking any words she might have said in her throat. With her heart painted on her sleeves, she looked up at the man she had loved, married, given children to and had lost. He was looking at her, and she knew what he was feeling, thinking.

In all the ways that mattered, he was hers. In all the ways that actually were counted, he was not. "All want- all I wanted, was... to see Marcus," she told him. Isabel didn't exist at this moment.

"Where's Marcus?" Isabel asked, even as Richard knelt down in front of the Morrigan. "Richard, your son. Our son."

"With your mom," Richard answered, not looking at her.

"Richard, she's on drugs," Isabel tried again, her tone getting desperate as this piece of Richard's past threatened her present.

The Morrigan could feel the other woman's pain, her panic. That, above all else, told her what she needed to know. "Richard," she murmured, "I am sorry, just... wanted to see. See Marcus. See you. But... I should go."

"I... know." The answer was what he would say, what she knew he would say, but it still tore her heart out. She vaguely remembered insisting that he remarry if something happened to her. He had done exactly as she had asked.

The Morrigan stood up, nodding to Isabel. "Be good to them," she ordered the other woman. Isabel's stunned expression remained in place as she nodded affirmatively; she had received a reprieve she had never expected. And the Morrigan started to walk away.

A bump against her leg stopped her; Llew smiled up at her, his adoring eyes locked on his mistress. "No, Llew," she said softly, "stay." His tail dropped and his eyes dimmed. Two worlds were being shattered today.

"Mad," Richard said, moving to his wife and slipping his arms around her. "Take him. He's your dog. I'll explain it to Marcus. Somehow."

She should have asked him if he was sure; she couldn't give anymore than she already had today. Slapping her pants leg, she said, "Come on, Llew." The big, gray dog bounced eagerly back to her side. He never once looked back as they walked back to the waiting Nachtlöwe. She didn't look back either, but while Llew had everything he needed with him, she simply couldn't stand to see her beautiful past receding without her.

"Take me home, Nachtlöwe. Take back to East St. Louis." Back to her duty. Back to Ford, her former jailer. At least she wasn't going alone, and Llew slipped his head under her hand in companionable confirmation.

When the warp opened, he hesitated, but the Morrigan called, "Come on, Llew. Going home." And when the dog stepped through with her, she knew it was true. She was home.