Caine had relayed this excellent news to the Ancient, who had in turn delivered Mary Margaret's message canceling their date. He had looked forward to seeing her and sharing with her the joy of his son's recovery, as well as picking up where their previous evening had been interrupted, but he understood the importance of her work.
Then, instead of remaining home and meditating, he felt compelled to walk. Never one to argue with instinct, he allowed his footsteps to lead him where they would, beyond his usual range of Chinatown.
His equally wandering thoughts continued on to the work Mary Margaret did on his behalf. It was the job she had chosen. He knew that. She battled the forces of darkness on her own terms, as did Peter. His son had taught him that being a police detective could be more than a choice, it could be a way of life. He respected that.
Yet why did he feel so afraid?
He probed the emotion, recognized it as fear, and tried to accept it, but it resisted him. It simmered beneath his thoughts, refusing to evaporate. He could face demons and evil spirits without blinking, and simple musings reduced him to helpless anxiety?
What did he have to fear? His son had safely recovered from the attack. He was now forewarned that his life was in danger--though when had that last not been true?--and the police were handling the case nicely. In fact, Mary Margaret had taken it upon herself to give this case her personal attention, which brought a smile to his lips...
...and another twinge of apprehension. He found that his pace had increased along with his level of tension, so that he was now rushing down the lamplit sidewalk into unfamiliar territory. It dawned upon him that the feelings he sensed wound up tightly inside were no longer solely his own. They surged into him through an open psychic channel, a bond to someone who needed him, someone he loved deeply enough to share such a primal connection.
But he had left his son and the hospital far behind. Not Peter, then; even now he could sample his son's gentle slumber.
The sudden shock of total realization stopped him in his tracks. In that moment he saw her, gun in hand, staring down the man who would kill her if given the chance. Beautiful. Deadly. Terrified.
Caine broke into a run, heedless of startling those around him. Mary Margaret's need drew him to her location as sure as if she pulled him by the hand.
She turned and dashed down the hallway in pursuit of the retreating footsteps. Overhead, stark fluorescent ceiling panels lit her way. She berated herself for being so slow to react, for letting a man she knew to be extremely dangerous get past her. Now he was armed and prepared, and she didn't dare pause to call for backup for fear she would lose him entirely. And Caine would die.
She shook the depressing thought from her head and concentrated on the chase. She was close enough to keep him within earshot--which meant he could hear her, as well--but he managed to stay at least one turn ahead of her. He knew the layout of the building, knew where to go to force a standoff, or hide, or even escape. Her only hope was to do something unexpected, something to throw him into confusion.
She paused at an intersection to catch her breath and listened to the emptiness of the corridor. The footsteps had ceased. With a feeling of dread, she turned to look behind her.
Several yards away, a large set of double doors dominated the wall, a laboratory clearly marked "Authorized Personnel Only." She approached the doors cautiously. His best bet, if he wanted to take her out with the least amount of effort, would be to pick her off as she stepped through after him.
I may be many things, but a sitting duck I am not, she decided. Gritting her teeth, she backed up to the opposite wall and then made a running leap at the doors. She crashed through and immediately dropped to the floor, rolling to the right and scrambling behind the nearest obstruction.
Two bullets splintered the door at her head level.
The defaced door swung ponderously closed, cutting off the light from the hallway. Some seeped through the cracks beneath the entrance, and the glow from an exit sign helped cast illumination on the large area, but until her eyes adjusted she was effectively blind.
She crouched in the darkness of the lab, alone with her thoughts and the promise of swift termination. As her heart rate increased and her eyes scanned fruitlessly for any sign of movement, her mind recited an ingrained litany. Hail Mary, full of grace...
She made it all the way to the last few words before she even became conscious of it. Pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our...death. Amen. Huh, cheery. She rubbed the grip of her gun as though it were a polished rosary bead. At least someone up there should be pulling for me.
She changed position slightly to ease the cramping in her legs, wincing at the rustle of her clothing. I guess if I'm going to pray, I might as well talk to the Big Guy. She took a couple of calming breaths and peered around the pile of equipment behind which she had sought shelter. Still nothing.
I know he's out there, waiting to put a bullet through me. I really don't want that to happen. I think I have a lot more left to offer this life before I leave it. But if that's not possible--if that's not part of Your plan for me--at least let me take him out when I go.
Was that a click, over in the far corner? She dodged to the next shape hulking beside her, which turned out to be a stack of boxed printers. There's a man in Chinatown whose life depends on what happens here tonight. He's important to this city--I daresay to this world--and if anyone deserves to live, it is he.
She felt a twinge of conscience. Right. As though I care about the rest of the world. He's important to me. Sweat made her palms tingle and her breath rasped in her throat with the effort to keep silent. It may be selfish, but it's certainly honest. If I have to give my life for something, I want it to be something that has meaning for me. Her previous fatigue had melted away beneath the blowtorch of the present crisis. She had never seen so clearly. He means everything to me.
She fired once in the direction of the noise she had heard, using the shot to cover the sound of her movement as she left the printers and crawled beneath one of the lab benches. She rested her head against the cool, black surface of the underside of the bench. She had to wipe her hands on her pants, so slick with sweat had they become.
A breath of air against her cheek alerted her to another's presence. She brought up her gun with a gasp, only to see a familiar shape kneel next to her. "Caine!" she whispered, as quietly as possible. "How did you--? Never mind. We have trouble."
He nodded. She could barely distinguish the motion in the darkness, but his mannerisms were imprinted on her soul. "Yes...you have located the assassin."
She was dying to know how he had figured out that she needed help, much less actually found her, but they had no time for a question-and-answer session unless she wanted to be dying for real. "I could really use your unique talents," she said, thinking fast. "He doesn't expect you, and with the way you can sneak up on people, you could take him out without a struggle. I just need to distract him, make him drop his guard long enough for you to get to him."
"Is that not...dangerous?"
She thought about it. Her plan involved making herself a target. She might still be shot before Caine stopped the assassin.
She also thought about the flashing blade from her vision, the fear that kept her outside that protective boundary. A fear that, now, seemed somehow inconsequential.
She reached out and clasped his hand. "Promise me one thing, Caine."
"Yes?"
"If we get out of here alive..." He helped her climb out from beneath the table. She had to act fast, before the assassin fixed on their position and fired at them both. She leaned over and kissed the Shaolin. "Marry me," she said, and turned away to carry out her part of the plan.
Bracing herself against the carefully stacked printers, she shoved as hard as she could. The equipment was heavy, but the top of the pile was sufficiently distant from its center of gravity. Slowly, and with enough noise to satisfy her, the entire upper half toppled over onto the floor.
She dropped flat as bullets ripped the air above her, thundering in her ears like the rapid beating of her heart. This was the part over which she had no control. Fate, and perhaps God, would decide whether one of those hot shards of death would reach her before Caine could bring this nightmare to an end.
She held her breath, waiting, as silence followed the gunfire. She counted the seconds, almost expecting that any moment would bring a renewed barrage. Instead, just as ...twenty-one...twenty-two...twenty-three... ticked past in her mind, brilliant light flooded the room.
She pushed herself upright and walked over to where Caine stood at the lightswitch, her legs weak from the ordeal. The assassin lay at his feet, unconscious. She could dimly hear a commotion in the hallways on the other side of the door, probably backup called either by Adam or the security guard from the building's front desk.
"I'll...ah..." She didn't regret what she had said, but it certainly made the current situation awkward. If only she knew whether or not the blade would slice. "I'll go get someone to cart him away. Could you watch him for a minute?"
He nodded, his expression--as always--revealing nothing of his thoughts.