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All Lovers in the Night

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All Lovers in the Night
Look up and see the Dawn
Reach out into the Light
Before you travel on
All you have to do is smile for me
Lonely Days will disappear

All Lovers of the World
We though we had it all
Reach out and touch someone
Across the great Unknown

All you have to do is smile for me
Lonely Nights will disappear.

Promises are soon forgotten
Watch them falling one by one
Nothing stays the same forever
See the Years go on and on they fly

We'll wait for the Days
Changing our Ways
All over the World
Reach out for someone
All over the World

All you have to do is smile for me
Lonely Nights will disappear
All of my Life.

'The Great Unknown" by Barclay James Harvest
(Words and Music by Les Holroyd; from the Album 'Caught in the Light')



Atlanta, 22.04 p.m.

Smiling softly, Sam Waters crept on tip-toes out of her young daughter's room. Chloe was sleeping soundly, the disturbing news of the day already forgotten. A few more steps over the corridor, silently closing the door behind her, the blond woman couldn't help herself any longer. A brilliant, radiant smile escaped her. Finally, finally all their sorrows were behind them. No more fear. No more guilt. No more pain. The days and nights she had to have been constantly on guard, in fear of her nemesis, were no more. JaCk was gone. Gone for good. Only the wish to let her daughter sleep prevented her from laughing out loud.

The dark-haired man in the bed grinned back at her, his own expression of joy overshadowed by a far more intense feeling. His love for her.

After all those years, she still almost couldn't believe it. Finally, she was free to love again. Loving without the fear to lose her beloved to a cruel death. Love. The word still tasted so new to her, so fresh and radiant. Love.

She undressed slowly, feeling Bailey's eyes on her the whole time. The intense brown gaze warmed and excited her at the same time. His desire for her was palpable on her skin; even without being a profiler, she would have recognized his overwhelming need to feel her, to hold her close, to keep her safe.

"Sam." A soft whisper. Nothing more.

She smiled again. Brushing back her hair, she knelt on the bed and, slipping into his embrace, laid down next to him. His gentle touch set her nerves on fire.

The rest of the night was nothing more but soft moans, whispered endearments and sound of flesh touching flesh.

Love. Nothing else.

And the night laid its blanket over their overheated bodies, safeguarding their love.



New York, 22.25 p.m.

Leo McCarthy wandered somewhat aimlessly around the warehouse, looking at the gadgets and techno-junk his best friend liked to collect in all forms, being careful not to step on Bluey. The robot was following his every movement with its 'head' and barking from time to time until a laughing voice ordered it to keep quiet.

Toweling his hair dry, Rollie stepped out of the bathroom. He was wearing nothing but a towel around his waist. Licking his suddenly dry lips, Leo carefully set his just opened bottle of beer somewhere among the special-effects-junk lying around. His friend and lover's eyes held a note of amusement, challenge and tenderness.

"Hey, lover."

Moving almost without his own volition, Leo stepped forward. Everything else forgotten, the case, their close brush with death, their date with Angie and Lucinda at the bar... He didn't care, couldn't feel anything besides Rollie's naked, warm skin, his heat, the firm touch...

The men embraced, first tenderly, then eagerly to feel the other's body close and hard against the own.

Leo's clothes and a wet red towel marked the steps to the bedroom. Kisses, touches. Mouth drinking breathlessly from mouth, hands touching warm skin, trailing caresses over shivering flesh...

Bluey whined in the kitchen as the phone rang and answered it, the lovers not even hearing it.

They had forgotten to close the curtains. So the bedroom was dark, lighted only by the silver light of moon as they surrendered to their love.



Seacouver, 22.37 p.m.

"Damn!" Duncan MacLeod swore softly, sure that his heart had stopped beating for a second. Roughly shoving his lover's blade from his throat, he glared at the other Immortal. "Isn't it bad enough already that I ruined my best silk shirt in an absolutely unnecessary challenge? No, of course not! Having escaped barely being beheaded in a garbage-littered alley, I creep home only to find your sword at my throat. It's me, okay? Calm down!"

The other man chuckled imperturbably. "Hey, Mac, it's not my fault you took that fight. I'm not the boy-scout who has to respond to every honorable challenge. I told you to ignore it and to accompany me to the theater. Your own fault. My evening was far more fun, believe me." Methos grinned.

MacLeod just snorted and switched on the light, shrugging out of his coat.

Suddenly, the older immortal's laugh changed from dry amusement to a sensual caress. MacLeod turned around slowly, his eyes widening.

Methos' eyes seemed to be glued onto the wide rip in his lover's former white silk shirt. The tear almost went from shoulder to navel and exposed several inches of bronzed flesh. Slowly, the green-golden eyes raised, the heat in them flaring, setting the younger man on fire, too.

Moaning almost inaudibly, Duncan crushed the other man to his chest and kissed him hungrily, only being allowed to do so for a second before the older man took control of the kiss. They devoured each other, the sword having clattered harmlessly to the floor moments ago.

It was just a few steps to the bedroom. Two bodies, one golden, the other pale as ivory, wrapped around each other on a mass of green satin sheets. Their love present in their actions, but never confirmed aloud in other than passionate outcries during their love-making.

From a cloudless sky, starlight drew a path over the bed and caressed their intertwined bodies, blue electricity dancing across their touching limbs.



Berlin, 22.48 p.m.

The girl had her eyes closed, the stress of her day finally catching up to her. The sudden burst of rain drowning out the voices coming from the television set.

She knew the episode by heart now -- 'Reflections on the Water'... She smiled dreamily and, unnoticed, slipped into a slight slumber. In her head, the actions of characters of the show morphed with her dreams and took a life of their own. A wish, a dream...

Commander Edward Straker stared out of the window, into the rain falling down outside of his bureau, the drops almost invisible in front of the dark sky. S.H.A.D.O. Headquarters, Earth. A night like all others. He was glad that the cloudy sky hid the stars. Sometimes, he hated the sight of the sky. Each small spot of light either a star or a danger to earth -- an UFO.

Sometimes, he also hated his job. The responsibility he had once craved now weighted him down on occasion. The position he had in the organization allowed him to do his duty. But it also made him a lonely man.

The soft sound of the door opening and closing startled him out of his somber musings. The hand touching him lightly on the shoulder made him smile suddenly, radiantly.

No. He was not alone. No longer.

The light of love banished sorrow and regret out of his eyes. He turned around and smiled at his lover.

Alec Freeman, his second-in-command, smiled back and kissed him slowly, tenderly.

Straker closed his eyes and sighed in pleasure. The soft caresses on his face, ghosting over his eyelids, reached the vulnerable hollow of his throat and stroked there gently. Alec's touch made him whole. With this love, he would always be ready to face the world.

The rain outside stopped and the full moon blinked through the clouds. The little lights on the sky thankfully didn't move. Just stars, shining down on the two men locked in an embrace, reality forgotten for one sacred moment.



London, 23.23 p.m.

The young actress fought to stay awake. She had vowed to herself to that she wouldn't sleep through the flight back to the States, but she felt so tired...

The Convention in London had been interesting, but also exhausting. Thousands of fans from all over the world, all of them having come there for just one reason -- their beloved TV series 'Babylon 5'. It had been a challenge to meet their questions, although some of them had been quite... interesting. She smiled slowly, sleepily. Too bad her colleagues Michael and Jerry weren't the good friends they had played in the series... But just imagining -- she almost burst out laughing...

"Computer, lights at twenty percent.", Commander Sinclair ordered quietly. His quarters were dark and quiet. But he couldn't mistake the faint traces of aftershave in the air, achingly familiar. Michael. Sleeping in his bed, getting up with him in the morning, sharing breakfast, sharing everything.

Garibaldi didn't awake when his lover crawled in bed to join him. The day had been exhausting -- security being responsible for the safety of over 20 delegates and ambassadors from various races... He grimaced even in sleep.

Jeffrey Sinclair watched his lover's sleeping face and touched his cheek tenderly, stroking the beloved features relaxed in slumber. Soon, the blue eyes would open again, lightened with mischief and, yes, love.

Love for him.

He still found it hard to believe that his old friend returned his feelings. All those days on Mars, they had both hidden their feelings, had kept their emotions in check, not trusting each other to feel the same. That all had changed, B 5 being their central point, the axis their lives now revolved around. A beacon in the night. A place to rest. A place they could call home.

Soon, morning would come...

The Commander smiled and planted a kiss on Michael's brow before drawing the other man close to his chest and falling into a dreamless sleep himself, the darkness around them warm and comforting...



Sunnydale, 00.11 a.m.

Buffy Summers made one last round over the graveyard and, sighing loudly, decided that her patrol was over for tonight. Not one single vampire had as much as raised its head that night. She grinned self satisfactorily. Perhaps the stupid things finally learned.

"Bad, Buffy, baaaad. Don't call them 'things'. After all, your boyfriend's no 'thing', isn't he?," she murmured to herself, chuckled a little and put her stakes back into her sleeves. Giles would be so proud of her -- despite the strong temptation to let evil be evil, she had none the less made her daily -- no, rather nightly -- rounds through Sunnyhell. Snyder, the little troll, would be more the contrary when he found her sleeping in class again. She grimaced. Too bad for him.

The rest of the night belonged to Buffy the girl and not Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Her boyfriend was waiting for her. Angel was waiting for her at the mansion.

She rather danced than walked back to the mansion, her steps overflowing with happiness.


The dark-haired vampire had just returned from Los Angeles and tonight, they would finally talk it all through. No more heartaches. No more hurt feelings. No more heartwrenching pain. No more distance to lessen the agony of being able to see, but not to touch. Her smile lightened the night.

The curse was lifted. Angel had kept his soul, but the 'no-happiness-or-bad-things-will-happen' clause had been erased. Buffy's face once more split into a grin. She would always love Willow and the reluctant Ethan Rayne for the miracle they had worked. Altering the curse. Allowing the guilt-ridden vampire happiness.

Allowing them to love each other.

Like a whirlwind, she burst into the mansion. Her beloved was waiting for her, his dark eyes no longer pained but overflowing with joy. Angel swept her into his arms and carried her to the bedroom, kissing her as if trying to fuse their mouths together.

And the night saw it all and smiled down on them.



L.A., 00.41 a.m.

The author rubbed his eyes and groaned. Writing a script for the TV-series 'Star Trek -- Voyager' -- a honor, for sure, but a rather terror-inducing one when you didn't have the faintest idea... He didn't want any 'the alien of the week', 'let's kill all the security members on an away party' or 'let's lose another one of our unending supply of shuttles'-story. Hard, really hard. He muttered another curse and suddenly grinned evilly. Perhaps he couldn't, for the life of him, think of a 'Voyager'-story theme... but sure as hell he had an idea for the 'Classic'-series... The pen flew over the paper.

James T. Kirk paced from one wall of the room to the other, regardless of the heat of the Vulcan night. When, when would T'Lar and the others finally allow him to see Spock? The ritual of Fal-tor-pan, the re-merging of body and katra, was over for several hours by now.

'But what if he doesn't remember our love?' his mind nagged him, 'what if he doesn't remember?'

As one of the Vulcan priests stepped into the room, Jim was ready to throttle him to -- finally -- get some answers. Spock had recognized him hours ago, on Mount Seleya, yes, but as for the rest of his first officer's memory...

He bit his lips hard enough to draw blood.

The priest motioned him to follow. Eagerly, Kirk complied.

An irrational fear clenched his heart as he finally was allowed to see his friend. Carefully, he stepped into the quiet room. The shadow by the window was so achingly familiar he held his breath for a painstaking moment.

The Vulcan turned around and, unbelievably, his lips formed the half-smile Jim loved so much. He just stared at his friend with wide eyes, tears running down his cheek, as Spock slowly stepped closer and a velvety voice said: "Jim. Your name is Jim. We were ... T'hyla, weren't we?"

Kirk almost couldn't get the words out but murmured them none the less. "Yes, Spock. T'hyla."

Their fingers touched, the world did a shake, then a rumble around them, and once more the mental link between them bloomed to sudden life.

Love, pure love, overshadowing everything else.

And T'Kuht, Vulcan's sister planet, threw her light across the desert into the window, caressing their figures, almost not touching physically, but once again linked mentally.

Linked in love.



Gotham City, 00.58 a.m.

Bruce Wayne stretched his protesting muscles and tried to peel himself out of the rubber suit. His fingers were too stiff to undo the fastenings. Batman had taken quite a close brush with death tonight, and such things always left him trembling on the inside, his control not allowing his body to shake, but the tension none the less taking its toll.

Sure, capable hands helped him to open the suit and step out of it.

Robin. That was, Richard Grayson.

His ward. His sidekick, then his partner in fighting crime.

And, finally, his lover.

Dick grinned at him, the green eyes crinkling at the corners in barely shadowed amusement. "I bet you will have quite an impressive collection of bruises tomorrow, wouldn't you say so, Batman?" Bruce was far too much occupied with not crying out loud as he moved his left arm. The shoulder had almost dislocated and was still hurting like hell.

Dick's face changed from amusement to concern. "It hurts, doesn't it? What do you say -- a patented Richard-Grayson-massage for you to make it better? Mmmh? Isn't that an offer?"

Bruce smiled slightly and nodded. Dick's hands really could work magic on sore muscles.

Upstairs in the big room, he stretched out gratefully on the bed and relaxed at his lover's sure and tender touch.

The agile hands worked oil into skin over his aching muscles and started a firm but gentle massage. He felt ready to purr and melted into the covers. Long minutes later, the touch changed from relaxing to arousing. He moaned, already knowing the game. His lover's body stretched out over his, blanketing him, and a mouth started trailing kisses along his jaw.

Smiling, he relaxed back into the blankets and pressed Dick's hand to his cheek for a moment before continuing their lovemaking.

Dick made him whole, just as Robin completed the Bat.

And the night closed comfortingly around its dark knight and the bird which had chosen it because of him.



New York (again), 01.44 a.m.

Dan Rydell yawned, stretched to relax his back and put down the glass carefully, silently, so as to not awake his friend. Casey McCall sat -- or rather lay, slumped -- in the seat next to him on the sofa. He didn't know what had possessed his old friend to insist upon watching that movie, 'Jeffrey'. The film had been funny -- okay, even exhilarating, but still... after doing the late transmission for Sports Night, he'd have rather preferred falling into bed at once. Well, admittedly, not only for sleep. His lips curled in a slight smile.

Gazing at his friend and lover, mouth open, breathing deeply, regularly, and drooling a little in sleep, he just couldn't help it. Couldn't fight that overpowering feeling of -- contentment. Happiness. Belonging.

Oh, just two months ago, he wouldn't have believed it. Wouldn't have believed they'd ever make the step from teasing each other over which verb to use, trying Dana's patience and bickering over football to -- loving each other. Yes. That was it. Loving. Not only liking. Liking as in spending a large part of their free time together. Time after work. Well, they still did spend their free time together, true. Just -- differently now. Yes. Differently. Mightily differently.

Because, just two months ago, he wouldn't have bend over to kiss Casey's soft, pliant mouth. Wouldn't have woken him to drag him to his bed. Wouldn't have spooned behind him, enjoyed the touch and smell of drowsy, half-asleep Casey. Wouldn't have snuggled against him and smiled before falling asleep.

Two months ago, life had sucked. He grinned. Yup, now, life was good.

"Danny? You still awake?"

"No, I'm not."

"But you're answering me."

"Okay. You win."

"You actually admit that I might, just might..."



"Shut up and go to sleep."

"Love you too, Danny."



Cascade, 02.21 a.m.

Jim Ellison stepped silently into the dark loft, moving like a panther, trying, despite his tiredness, not to wake his young partner. The stake-out had taken far too long, in his opinion. Instead of being able to cuddle with Blair on the couch, watching the Jags game, he had spent the last six hours in a cold truck, opening his senses as wide as he dared without his Guide next to him, trying in vain to catch a glimpse or sound of the suspected murderer they were looking for. Despite it all, his spirits had lifted immediately upon entering the loft.

Blair's scent and heartbeat grounded him, called out to him...

He shrugged out of his jacket, put the gun holster next to it and crept up the stairs to their bed.

A tousled curly head peeked out from between the sheets, Blair's rhythmic breathing a caress to his ears. Sighing in satisfaction, he undressed in the dark and snuggled close to his lover, for once just happy to hold him close, to feel his warm breath upon his sensitive skin...

Slowly, the blue eyes opened and radiated happiness.

"Jim." A sleepy murmur.

"I didn't want to wake you. You need your sleep for the test tomorrow, Chief."

"Don't worry. With you here, I will be able to sleep. I was worried."

Jim couldn't help himself and trailed a hand through the fragrant hair. Blair's eyes fluttered close again, a dreamy smile on his lips.

"Love you, Jim."

"I love you too, Chief. Go to sleep, baby."

Putting a chaste kiss to Blair's forehead, Jim pulled his lover closer and almost immediately drifted to sleep himself.

Sentinel and Guide. Lover and beloved.

The night was warm in the jungle, as panther and wolf laid down together in front of the temple.



Rotterdam, 03.56 a.m.

Sloan was instantly wide awake, her eyes flying open in panic. But the sleeping man beside her in the bed had already quieted, the nightmare over. For now. About six weeks ago, she would have calmly put forward the thesis that the Dominants, the new species, didn't, couldn't have nightmares. Were beyond that in evolution. But now... not only she did have a whole new wealth of nightmares to draw from, but also the man - the Dominant -- she loved. Tom.

She still hadn't contacted Attwood, not even Ed Tate. Didn't dare do so. Didn't trust them. And that still hurt, deep inside her. That she couldn't trust them, couldn't tell them that they were both alive. But Attwood's mysterious, attractive boss was still out there, somewhere. Just like Tom's people. And Lewis. The whole world seemed to have joined together against them. Hunted them. To kill her, to hurt Tom.

Looking back, Sloan Parker didn't wonder that she felt tired to her very bones. But she also couldn't help feeling a tiny spark of pride in herself. A young, brilliant and successful scientist she had been -- sure. But also a woman who always used to take the easiest way in life, who had preferred following the advice her mentors gave her, who wouldn't even dream about parking her car in a street where stopping wasn't allowed, back then. It was an absurd thing to be proud of the things she had done after the night Tom had been kidnapped right in front of her -- but still... she was. Lying to her friends. Stealing. Breaking and entering. Even... killing. Difficult and heartbreaking to discard a lifetime of beliefs.

But -- it had been worth it. She repeated it to herself again and again, as the first hint of dawn crept through the thin curtains of their cheap motel room. It had been worth it. For whatever had happened and might still happen tomorrow: Tom was alive. Tom was safe.

Here, by her side.

With an expression of indescribable tenderness, she bowed down, to his face, and caressed his brow, a silent tear running down her cheek like silver. He was alive. Nothing else mattered.


-- The end --