Nick snapped awake from the sleep that had overtaken him during the night and instinctively felt around for the bar that had fallen from his hand. He found it laying on the floor next to his thigh. The feel of the cold hard metal against his flesh brought him back to his present reality and to his impending future. Groggy and weak from lack of decent sleep and food, he looked around, saw that the room was still empty but for him and the other prisoner. The man's head was resting forward on his chest, his snores half muffled. He was asleep.

Nick stood up, his focus uneven, his head swimming. There were no windows in the room; the only illumination came from the torches positioned along the wall. Adding to his lassitude was the odor of his sweaty body mixed with that of the unwashed prisoner's. For a second, as he leaned his head against the cold bars, it occurred to him that dying wouldn't be such a bad thing. It was after all the only way home. And he was so tired, his mind muddled with exhaustion, his wounds blistering.

But what about Alex? The thought of her, of her nearness extinguished any remnant of self-pitying defeat. He had to stay alive, at least long enough to bring her home. He half smiled at the image of the two of them back home again, safe, relaxed, talking about nothing and everything, taking up where they had left off. It would be hard for him not to just hold her forever, keep her sheltered in his arms and away from danger. But he knew Alex would have none of that. She hated being smothered, wasn't looking for a father or a mother...just a friend, a colleague...a lover.

The door to the chamber room opened at that moment. The other prisoner stirred and slowly awakened as the guards entered. Nick stood still, his head up, the bar tight in his grip behind him. There was someone else with the guards...Moctezuma. He stood a head taller, wearing those ridiculous feathers that somehow made him look not ridiculous but regal. He paused as someone else came through the door....

She was so beautiful, Nick could only stare at her as they all approached his cage. She was dressed like the women he had seen in the streets, but only more colorful, the long skirt, the blouse that exposed her shoulders, her long hair braided to the side, a flower in it.... He saw the smooth turn of her legs, the shape of her breasts in the shallow cotton of the blouse, the lovely shape of her lips. Then he locked eyes with her. Everything seemed to move in slow motion from the point when his eyes finally found hers. She seemed nervous, her tongue at one point running across her bottom lip. Her lips were so soft, he remembered.

In a few seconds, the guards were on either side of the cage, and the king and Alex stood before it. No sounds came from the other prisoner, who stood transfixed, staring at the entourage with his one good eye.

Moctezuma looked at Nick, disdain shaping his features. He put a finger to his nose to ward off the smell as he turned to Alex.

"Here he is, Cihuatl. The one who is to go to the gods tomorrow. As I told you, aside from his paleness, he is really nothing to see. He is only a man."

Alex took two steps towards the cage, her eyes never wavering from Nick's face.

She doesn't know me, Nick realized as he saw the blank but curious look in her eyes. He was to die tomorrow...and Alex didn't know him. Kev had said that might be a possibility, but he had hoped. How was he to get close to her, close enough to.... "Alex, it's me, Nick," he pleaded as he stepped near the bars. Her closeness made him want to reach through the bars, touch her. If he could only touch her skin, feel its warmth, know that she was really here.

"Back away!" one of the guards barked. Nick obediently took a step back. If they were to enter now and find the bar, his only means of any kind of offense....

"Alex, try to remember...you know me. Remember, you're Alex Moreau and I'm Nick Boyle. We work for the Legacy. Alex, remember Derek, Derek Rayne and...and...and Rachel...remember Rachel and Kat Corrigan. Please Alex try to remember...."

"Silence!" This time the command came from Moctezuma. His face was reddened with anger, his black eyes piercing. No one, let alone a lowly infidel, should even dare to speak to any of the royal wives or concubines! And in some guttural language that only an animal could understand. It was an insult!

He turned to one of his guards. "I want this man whipped now!"

Alex had stood almost paralyzed as the strange man from her dreams called out that name that she had only heard uttered in her sleep. She saw the plea in his eyes, understood the words he was saying...yet did not know who these names belonged to. But he seemed to know her.... She didn't know how long she would have stood there. It was as though she were in a trance, not quite here and yet so very much so that all of her senses were filled with the moment. The smell did not bother her, nor did the dirtied appearance of the man. For all the rumors and whispers about him, he did not seem frightening at all. He seemed familiar and safe. She could have stood there for a while, but Moctezuma's order shook her out of her near reverie.

"No!" The word flew from her mouth before she knew that it had formed in her mind, in her soul. Moctezuma turned to her and the guard, about to open the cage, froze, not knowing which order to respond to. To defy either Moctezuma or one of his women could mean immediate punishment. He waited for Moctezuma's yea or nay to follow the woman's plea.

Alex turned to her liege, and with a calmer voice restated her "No." "Please do not do this. He is just frightened. He meant no harm."

Moctezuma's fury raged and abated in the same moments. He saw the fear in her eyes, knew that he had put it there.

"If that is what you want," he said at last. "Come, I wish to be quit of this place and it is time for your lessons. We've kept the priest waiting long enough."

This order did not allow any protest. The guards moved forward, ready to escort the royal pair from the room. Moctezuma fell into step behind them, and she, reluctantly beside him, not ready to leave.

As they walked to the door, she tried to shut out the sound of the stranger's voice as he yelled that name over and over, pleading with her: "Alex, Alex, come back!"

For some reason she felt like crying. Maybe because this strange, familiar man was to die tomorrow. And that saddened her.

His pleas followed her out of the room and only ceased once the cedar door had shut behind them.