Title: Methos Plays With Poison
Rating: Adult - Romance/Action
Characters: Duncan, Joe, Methos, OFC, OMC
Summary: X-over Cold Squad. Methos meets a pre-Immmortal who
is being hunted by an old acquaintance of his.
"Aw, c'mon," the voice was exasperated, "you could at least act like
you're enjoying yourself."
Simon Ross resisted the urge to roll his eyes at his partner.
"The most fun I've had in say, oh, a thousand years." His partner
heard the sarcasm and shook his head, "Well, should you decide to
make an attempt at an enjoyable afternoon, I will be at that stage
over there." He pointed and took off. Simon sighed and surveyed
his surroundings for the hundredth time that day,
" I WISH the medieval era had smelled this good," he muttered so
nobody could hear. The yearly Renaissance Fest was a phenomenon
Simon had long ago accepted and vowed never to go to. After all,
he hadn't liked the middle ages when they had happened, why go
someplace to reenact them? But Eddie and the rest of the squad had
bullied him into joining them this afternoon. As it was, he was fast
discovering why people did frequent the fairs. They were nothing
close to the original product. The rank odor of human waste rotting
with yesterdays (and last months) garbage was decidedly lacking.
The "knights" roaming around were considerably more chivalrous
and the "gypsies" quite a bit more honest. Good food was far more
readily available and far more trustworthy in the age of the FDA.
Simon silently thanked whatever god was listening for that particular
institution. No, he decided, had everyone been this healthy and
prosperous then he might have thought about making a yearly
pilgrimage to the "renfest." Shaking his head, he went off to enjoy
bothering Eddie, his enthusiastic teammate, some more.
"Explain to me again what I am doing here instead of at home with a
Guinness and Ovid."
"You ARE kidding, right?" was the only response.
Simon neglected to mention that it was his umpteenth time through
"The Erotic Poems." What Eddie didn't know probably made him a
happier man. In his experience, and five thousand years was a fair
amount of experience, mortals were far better off being blissfully
unaware of the fact that immortality existed in any form. Gradually,
Simon noticed that Eddie hadn't even blinked in response to his
query. Amused, Simon turned to find out what could possibly be so
enthralling.
---
Arica finished the dance and let the crowd's rowdy, appreciative
applause envelope her senses. Today was the kind of day she never
got greedy enough to ask for. The air was crisp but not cold and the
trees had just acquired their gold-hued leaves. Arica waited all year
long for that gold to come. It was a Saturday, which meant large
crowds of relaxed patrons. She was indulging in her yearly hobby,
dancing and performing at Vancouver's RenFest. Come Monday it
would be back to the art museum, procuring new pieces. For now,
though, the applause was spectacular. Arica curtsied with a flourish
and left the stage.
---
She curtsied perfectly. He'd been watching the massacre of
medieval etiquette all day long, but this girl had it down. He
shrugged mentally.
"Wanna beer?" Simon asked. Eddie nodded and they headed off to
the nearest concession stand.
Eddie carried the beers over to the table. Simon took a sip and
grimaced. Budweiser. Ah well. Simon narrowed his eyes as he felt
a slight disorientation. He looked up to see Jeff offering the dancer
a drink. So, she was pre-immortal. He sighed, the boyscout's ethics
once again intruding on his once perfectly happy, if somewhat
lonely, existence. He'd have to keep an eye on this one.
"Well, milord, I'd be a fool to turn down a free drink, would I not?"
she said with a slight laugh. Simon looked up and decided that
keeping an eye on this particular pre-immie might not be so bad.
She was decidedly stunning. Her smile made the deep violet blue of
her eyes brilliant and accentuated the high cheekbones in her
perfectly oval face. Rich, curly brown hair fell to her shoulder
blades. Simon had to look down at her in all her five foot glory. She
had the tiny, muscular body he had come to reconcile with dancers.
Simon shook his head inwardly and resolved to pay attention.
---
"Pleasure to have you join us, milady.....?" he said, the last part
slightly ironic and very much an inquiry as to her name. He worked
not to kick himself, torn between being amazed and nauseous at his
puppy-like behavior. She liked his voice. It was smooth and had a
hint of...English? Welsh? Arica wasn't sure. DAAM but he was
good looking. Tall with patrician features and aristocratic nose. It
was the eyes she was intrigued with though. They were hazel and
the eyes of a young, if perpetual, bachelor. However, underneath
lied....well, she wasn't quite sure, but it promised to be interesting.
They reminded her of her adoptive father's eyes...odd. She smiled,
"Skyler, Arica Skyler." She raised her eyebrows and waited for him
to reciprocate. He did,
"Ross, Simon Ross."
"So, milord Ross, what brings you to us on this fine day?"
---
Three hours, countless beers and several literary conversations later
Simon watched himself wrap his trenchcoat around the shivering
girl. She drowned in it causing him to smile. What the hell are you
doing, Methos? He addressed himself by his true name, the one only
a select few were privy to. He prayed devoutly she wouldn't feel the
Ivanhoe hiding in the linings or he could have some explaining to do.
He was never chivalrous, NEVER. And yet, there was something
about the girl...he couldn't sit there and watch her freeze any longer.
Great, I make it five thousand years and then lose it, just wonderful.
The squad had long since left the grounds and people all over were
starting to pack up their respective wares. He had stayed to enjoy
this girl's sharp sense of humor, appreciation of historical
significance and insightfulness.
"I must flee milord...." Methos thought he saw a look of regret.
Maybe he was just being hopeful. He didn't pause to consider the
implications of that. She was still speaking,
"Meet with me again."
---
Even to her it sounded impulsive. She smiled, "If you're wondering,
I'm not I'm not planning on stuttering or taking it back."
"OK." Hell, honesty like that deserved some reward.
"Fantastic, I'm going riding next weekend, do you ride?" Horses,
Methos thought, it would have to be horses. After he had given up
being Death on a horse, he had attempted to give up the "on a
horse" part altogether. There was a reason he had traveled Europe
on foot for the better part of the last millennium.
"Riding it is." What was it Ovid had called lust? A wild
handful....She gave another curtsy. In a rare moment, lacking his
customary cynicism, he took her hand and briefly pressed his lips to
it. Her eyes widened slightly and he forgot to be mad at himself.
---
"So," Eddie started and Simon knew something was up, "How was
the date?" Simon lifted his eyebrows and acquired that innocent
post grad student look he had perfected in his years as Adam
Pierson,
"Date?"
"Uh huh Ross, did you really think that after your staying for
THREE HOURS with the girl on Saturday that a squad of
investigators wouldn't bother to find out what your next move was?"
"The squad Eddie, or you?"
"You're avoiding the question."
"So are you." Simon won the silence-battle that ensued. He wasn't
surprised, Eddie had yet to develop the virtue referred to as
'patience.'
"OK, fine, but I WILL find out. She's the first thing that has made
you show any interest, besides beer, since the day you showed up."
Simon smirked at the kid as he left, but when alone he let a look of
bemusement cover his face. Was that what he was doing? Showing
interest? It was hardly his intent. Arica was nice enough, sure.
When she laughed she made you believe that the world wasn't so
bad after all. And she laughed a lot. He could carry on intelligent
conversations with him for hours, which was definitely a plus. The
best part was, though, that when he had come to the stables, she had
somehow intuitively known that horses weren't his thing. She had
pretended her horse was lame (Methos knew enough about horses
to know the horse was anything but lame) and they had gone out for
a drink. Thoughtfulness like that was few and far between to his
knowledge. Nonetheless, the fact that she was all these things
mattered not. He had asked her to dinner after the horse fiasco in
order to keep an eye on her and her impending immortality. Mac
would be so proud, he grimaced. He would have to call and yell at
the Highlander about something, anything to let his displeasure be
known. It wasn't bad enough that he was stuck looking after some
baby girl because of the conscience Mac seemed to have found in
him, now he had Eddie all over him in Richie-like curiosity. Simon
sighed and turned back to the case he had been working on before
the interruption.
---
Arica whistled as she walked to the mailbox. She had long ago
accepted her complete lack of a voice and settled on her incredible
ability to whistle even the most complex of symphonies. Her father
used to tell her she had been a bird in her past life. She had always
laughed at that, but it was one of the first nice things anyone had
ever said to her. The first was when she was thirteen. She had just
met him at the time. He had thought she was sleeping at the time
and he had said, "You're very strong little one, very strong." That
night the nightmares that had always come were held at bay.
She reached the mailbox and saw that it was quite full. There was a
package sticking out of the small box. Arica furrowed her brows,
she wasn't expecting anything.... It was probably from Kennedy, her
best friend in college. There was no return address but the postage
was for a package from the United States and Kennedy had moved
out there after graduation the year before. Arica managed rather
gracefully to maneuver herself into the house, mail and all without
dropping a thing. She placed everything on the kitchen counter and
returned with a knife, slitting open the package with rapt curiosity.
What she saw almost made her scream.
"Calm down Arica," she commanded herself out loud. When the
shaking in her hands had calmed down to a tremor she carefully
lifted out the sharp silver piece in the envelope. The carvings on it
were burned into her mind. They were those of the carvings that
had graced her father's most prized possession, a centuries old
sword. He used to tell her it had belonged to the family so long that
nobody knew whom the original owner had been. In the six years
since his death she had wondered where the sword had gone. At
first she had been too distraught to think of anything. Some men
she had never seen before had shown up at the house and told her
that it had been his wish to be cremated, they showed her some
papers and Arica could do nothing but nod her head and let them
take the body. He had told her where his will was should anything
happen to him so she had called up the number he had left with the
will, Arica assumed it was for a lawyer and the man who she
contacted came and took care of the rest for her. After the initial
shock and depression, Arica had gone back to school and worked
day and night to make up for the semester she had lost in grieving.
Everything she did was to make her father proud, she felt him
everywhere. By the time she had gotten around to thinking about
things outside of thesis papers and a diploma she had to assume the
sword had been missing for a long time. She had searched the house
to no avail. Finally she put it in the back of her mind and hoped it
would show up one day.
Not like this, though. Arica sat with the cold steel held tightly in her
hands and tried to think of her next move. What did this mean?
Why send the sword to her at all? for that matter, why send only a
piece of it? How had the person gotten the sword? The only logical
answer to the last question that came to mind was that the same
person who had murdered her father was the one sending this to her
now.
Arica placed the sword fragment back in its envelope, grabbed her
keys and ran out the back door.
---
The sergeant was looking at her like she was crazy.
"You mean to tell me that you want us to open up a case that was
closed five years ago because someone sent you part of one of your
father's possessions."
"That pretty much covers it...yep." Arica could have bit herself.
She knew that being sarcastic never helped anything but she was
tired of being treated like an idiot. The man had been doing it for
roughly two hours now, three, if you counted all the time he had
made her wait.
"Look ma'am," the ma'am was sarcastic, "The only thing I can tell
you is that I'll refer the case down to the Cold Squad, they'll contact
you if they find anything." He didn't bother to hide the doubt in his
voice. Arica put on her most gracious smile,
"Thank you so much sir, you've been such an immense help," her
voice dripped honey. She didn't need to look back to see the
sergeant's frustrated glare.
---
Methos closed his eyes and told himself to focus. When he
reopened them he attempted for the third time in the last hour to
actually concentrate on the file in front of him. After a minute he let
out a frustrated breath and set the folder aside with the last four into
the "to be looked at later" pile.
It was Tuesday. Arica had disappeared last Monday without so
much as leaving a voice mail message. You couldn't have kept track
of one girl? She's fine. She's a big girl. Well, at least in mortal
terms. She had probably left for a business trip. After all, there
would be no reason to tell him something like that. They weren't
close. They had only met twice, for chrissake's.
Having come to this conclusion he grabbed the next folder and
began to read. A minute later he had moved onto the next file,
every bit as distracted as before. He skimmed the top, not really
expecting to find this file any more interesting than the last five.
Wait a minute....Methos read the name of the victim again. Andrew
Skyler. Skyler?? He flipped the cover closed to look at the date on
which the case was sent up to be reopened. The date corresponded
with the day Arica had vanished. Not sure if he had been expecting
that or not, Methos started to read the details of the case.
It was two hours later when he closed the folder. Andrew Skyler
had been decapitated. At first Methos had been amazed that the
watchers had gotten sloppy enough to allow this to leak to the
police. Then he had read something that left him feeling vaguely
sick. Arica had found the body. Methos sat back and set up the
scene in his mind. He attempted to leave a little bit of his finely
honed cynicism behind. To him a headless body was an everyday
occurrence, or had been for a long long time. Not for her it
wouldn't be. She must have been horrified beyond what he could
possibly conjure. To come home one day and find a loved one in
that state... She must have arrived at the house immediately after
the other immortal had left. They might have even passed each
other on the way. He was beginning to understand the wistfulness
and silent grief he had heard in her tones whenever she spoke of the
man. Surely he had begun to teach her the things a mentor would
teach. He wondered if many immortals were attracted to these
pre-immortals, being deprived of children. He turned back and
shuffled through the papers. Had he seen this file five years ago he
would have dismissed it as a consequence of The Game. However,
The Game said nothing about sending relatives of the deceased,
pre-immortal or no, fragments of the deceased's weapon. There was
a contact number on the file. It was an American zip code, but it
said that Arica could be reached there, so he picked up the phone
and started dialing.
---
"Hello?"
"Hello, I was told that Arica Skyler could be reached at this
number."
"May I ask who is calling?"
"Simon Ross."
Kennedy placed her hand over the receiver. "Ar, sweetheart, there's
a guy on the line says his name is Simon Ross, you wanna talk?"
Arica looked up in confusion. How the hell had Ross found her
here? After a minute she decided that she was glad he had.
"Sure." She walked over to where Kennedy stood and picked up the
phone. "How did you find me?"
"Hello, Simon, nice to hear from you too...." Methos didn't bother
to disguise the sarcasm.
"The pleasantries can wait."
"In that case, I work for the cold squad division of the Vancouver
PD, I was reading some files...."
"You have got to be shitting me. The world is suddenly feeling
almost claustrophobic. You're serious?" He could hear the hopeful
doubt.
"Absolutely. I need to talk to you about your father. Tell me
everything you know, the file doesn't say much."
"I...I didn't think I'd be talking to you about this...I don't think I
CAN talk about it...it's just not..." she broke off and he thought he
heard a small sob wrenched from her. Suddenly he was wondering
how he managed to avoid being crowned asshole of the year.
"I'm sorry, Arica. I didn't mean to be so abrupt. It's just...this is my
job, and I can help you, but I need to talk to you about your father.
Where are you?
"I'll come to you. Where do you want to meet?"
"Do you know where Joe's is? It's a blue's bar."
"Yeah, I've been. I'll see you there at seven o' clock. Bye." She
hung up without giving him time to respond.
"I've never seen you this upset." Kennedy's voice penetrated the
hurricane in Arica's mind. "Who is this guy who managed to get
you to meet with him?"
"I met him a couple of weeks ago at the renfest, evidently he works
for the police. He says he knows something about dad's case."
"Why didn't you mention him before? Do you trust him?" Arica
shrugged in response to both questions.
"I don't know."
"I could go with you..." Arica smiled at her friend's offer. Crossing
the room she pulled Kennedy tight to her.
"Thanks for letting me stay here this week. Thank Will for me too. I
appreciate the offer, but I think I'm gonna pass." She paused, "Have
you ever met someone and known right away that no matter what
kind of person they were or might have been they weren't going to
hurt you?" Kennedy nodded, finding her friend's revelations
intriguing. As far as she knew, Arica had never been in a
relationship that extended beyond enjoying the other person's
companionship and "bedtime habits" as Arica was wont to phrase it.
Kennedy didn't want to read too much into this, after all they had
only met a couple of weeks ago, and yet....she nodded at Arica in an
indication for her to continue. "This guy is no eagle scout, that's for
sure. He reminds me in odd ways of my father. I think it has to do
with the knowledge I sense behind his eyes. I just feel safe when I'm
around him. Fuck, this thing with my dad is driving me crazy...."
"Or maybe it's bringing you to your senses for the first time ever."
Arica stared at Kennedy in open shock. "C'mon, you need to get
going if you're gonna make it by seven."
---
"Whoa, talk about long time no see pal." The bar tender opened the
bottle of imported beer and leaned on the bar next to where Methos
sat.
"Sorry Joe, life has been...interesting."
"Is that why you came here? I would like to think I know you
better." It was said rather pointedly.
"Try not to laugh too hard, I'm meeting someone. A girl." Joe
raised his eyebrows and Methos resigned himself to telling Joe at
least part of the story. He decided to take the easy path and tell Joe
about Arica's impending immortality.
"You want me to believe that you are watching over this girl strictly
because she will enter The Game at some point? Give me a little
credit, Pierson, Ross, whoever the hell you are."
"Ross and you can believe whatever you want. There is more, but
for the moment, I think I should keep you out of it." He had barely
finished his words when he felt Arica's faint but already-familiar
signature presence. He stood and waved. With a small nod of her
head, she advanced towards the bar.
---
The strain was apparent, Methos noted as she wove her way to the
bar. Nothing particularly telling, just a little bit more wariness in her
eyes, a kind of tenseness in her movement, that hadn't been there
before. Methos pushed aside his sudden urge to rub her shoulders
and take away some of the worry. You need to get more sleep...
When she had reached them at the bar he gave a small nod
acknowledging her presence and cocked his head towards where his
friend stood,
"Arica Skyler, Joe Dawson. Joe, Arica."
"Nice place you have here Mr. Dawson" Joe practically lit up. He
favored her with his best smile,
"It's Joe and you are welcome back anytime. Just tell me if you need
something." With that Methos stood and led them back to a small
table in the corner where they could speak.
She was no sooner seated than she asked,
"OK, what have you found? Why is it so important that I tell you
these things? She paused, let out a breath. "I'm sorry." She gave
him a wan smile. "My former personality seems to have taken some
time off without giving notice. Thank you for calling me, I've been
waiting to hear from someone-"
"For over a week, I know. Look, Arica, there's no tactful way to go
about this, I need to know a lot more about your father than that file
tells me...and a lot more about the day he died."
"Right." She nodded. Methos noticed the beer in her hand
trembling slightly. "Of course, could you ask a more specific
question, give me someplace to start?"
"Why don't we start with any friends or family that you knew of."
He was perfectly well aware there was no other family, but it would
have seemed odd not to ask.
"He was kind of a loner." Methos waited, he could be patient when
he wanted. "He used to say I was all he needed." She laughed a
little uneasily. "He did have some coworkers..." Methos could have
cared less, he doubted the man had worked with another immortal.
"That's great, tell me about that." He wanted to know about her
relationship to the dead immortal, but if she kept talking, they'd
eventually get to it.
---
Eventually came about two hours and four beers later. It had
occurred to Methos that he should have stopped her, or at least
slowed her down.
"Did you know that I was adopted?" Methos was glad she didn't
wait for an answer, he didn't really want to lie. "I don't remember
having biological parents, I must have, but he people at the
orphanage said I was just left there one day, 'a gift.'" She paused to
roll her eyes.
Vancouver, 1984
The small girl's hands trembled as the oh-so-perfect couple ran up
the stairs to greet her. They were so nice that first day. She wasn't
surprised when it didn't last though. The trip back to the orphanage
when the couple found out they could have "real" kids was almost a
relief. There at least the other kids didn't ignore her.
The second couple was not so perfect, which was fine by the girl.
They made it clear from the beginning that she was to be the
Band-Aid over their marriage wounds. She figured later that she
must have been the generic kind because the divorce occurred less
than a year after she came to live with them. She didn't pay
attention to the specifics, it didn't really matter where she ended up.
Or that was what she had thought.
After a couple of weeks with the man, she had learned to respond to
the mantra "stupid bitch." There were others, some more creative,
some less, but that was his favorite. Over and over again she told
herself it didn't matter. Deep inside she wondered if that was why
nobody wanted her. She tried to keep the house clean and do things
to please the man, but nothing was ever quite right. Or right at all,
for that matter. So she let him yell and lost herself in school and
books. One night, she was getting ready to turn the lights out when
he came back. It was early for him to be home, he usually stayed at
the bars until long after she was enveloped in nightmares. Not that
night. She could smell the liquor emanating from his entire body.
She wasn't prepared for the fist that came at her. She threw her
hands over her head and prayed frantically that he wouldn't kill her.
Pain exploded in her chest. She felt the buckle of his belt rip the
skin of her arms away and she struggled to stay conscious. It could
have been no more than ten minutes later when he fell to the floor in
a dead faint. She got on her feet and stumbled towards the door not
caring where she was going, just so it was far away from there.
She was small and it was easy to fold her body up in the small
crevices of alleyways and hide. She did this for almost a week. It
was late November, though, and Vancouver's temperatures had
dropped below comfort level. The girl's hunger had turned into a
dull throbbing in the center of her body. Constant and painful.
Breathing was difficult, she was pretty sure several ribs were
broken, and the gashes from the belt had become infected days
before. Desperate, she dragged herself to the biggest mall in the
surrounding area clutching her singular weapon, a swiss army knife.
She sat in the corner of the food court, easily pulling herself out of
sight of the shoppers and waited for a target to come into sight. He
did. He looked like a young Obi-Wan Kenobi. He had the beard
and that same aura of calm about him. He had been in the food court
for almost as long as the girl, reading and watching others. Mostly
children. He had on expensive and tasteful clothes. He could afford
to pay for a couple of her meals. She waited till he got up and
followed him out. Soon enough she found the two of them on a
secluded street.
She pulled the knife and in her best guise of confidence demanded
his money. He smiled ruefully and moved towards her. Three
seconds later she was being held firmly with a hand pressed against
her mouth. She didn't even remember losing the knife. She started
to struggle, desperate to stay out of the system, no matter what the
cost. Her struggles propelled her injured ribs further against the
man's arms. The world got a little fuzzy and then disappeared
completely. She woke up in a strange room and tried immediately
to sit up. Warm hands gently pushed her back against the bedding.
She noticed the IV needles in her arms and looked up at the man she
had tried to rob trying not to show fear and confusion. She knew
she was probably failing miserably.
"You're OK." He had a soft British accent and he spoke real
soothingly. "You had a couple of broken ribs, your gashes were
infected and you were malnourished, nothing too serious. What's
your name?" The fact that he was being nice was calming, but there
was no way in hell she was giving him her name and letting him take
her back to where she had run from. She heard her voice,
"Look, I appreciate you taking me here and getting me all fixed up.
I know you coulda just dumped me in the alley, hell, you probably
should have, but I'm not giving you my name so that you can give
me back to the shithole I escaped from." She was using the
profanity as a barrier and he didn't even blink.
"Get some more sleep, we'll talk about this when you're fully
rested."
After a week she was eating solid foods and more than ready to be
discharged. Right before she was about to sign out he showed up in
her room with her social worker. Her first instinct was to bolt. She
made myself take a deep breath and say calmly,
"I will kill myself before I go back there." The social worker
laughed,
"I hate to interrupt on the melodrama, but you don't have to go
back, Mr. Skyler has offered to foster you if you are willing to
accept." She had to sit down on the bed. She looked straight at
him.
"Forgive me for questioning your sanity." He politely asked the
social worker if he could be left alone with the girl. "How did you
find out who I was?" the girl blurted out.
"I checked state missing files, but that really isn't the issue here." It
wasn't, but she didn't want to face the issue. She made herself.
"Why do you want me? I tried to rob you, I treated you rudely after
you brought me to the hospital and made sure I was safe, you stayed
here this entire time and I'm still not being nice, what the hell do I
have that you want?" He sat down across from her.
"Call me crazy, but I think you had your reasons for your attempted
robbery, if the condition you were in is any indication. I'm not
asking you to live with me forever and take care of me in my old
age. I'm asking you to give this a try. If nothing else you'll get a
warm bed and regular meals out of the deal. In the best of
situations, we might actually come to like each other." It crossed
her mind that he hadn't really answered the question, but he had a
good point, and it was a better option than any other she seemed to
have at the moment.
Present Day
"We were together five years. He taught me how to ride horses,
burn marshmallows to perfection, introduced me to Shakespeare,
comforted me when I cut my hair too short, went shopping with me
for my first formal, gave me the puppy I have had for eight years,
went to every single tedious dance recital, and told me he loved me
every day." She looked up and he saw the moisture streaking down
her face. "I got into the local university on scholarship, and left the
fall after graduation. I came home almost every weekend. It wasn't
that I didn't have friends, just that he was the person I wanted to be
with more than anyone in the world." She took a deep breath. "I
came home one Friday afternoon, and things were so quiet, I
thought maybe he had run out to the market or something. I walked
into the living room....there was blood everywhere, I remember
thinking things were charred, but that must have been my
perception. I couldn't stop screaming. I don't even remember
calling the police, but they say that I did...." She looked at Methos,
"Have you ever seen someone decapitated? I couldn't sleep for
months, I lost an entire semester of my life." She clutched her
fingers tightly to the table.
"Simon?" Her voice sounded somewhat distant.
"Yes?"
"I think I'm gonna be sick." Luckily the bar was completely empty
at this point, having closed hours ago. Methos got up with
superhuman speed and practically flew her to the women's restroom.
They made it just in time and he waited for the sickness to pass.
When he sensed it being near he went and ran cool water in the sink.
He made a compress of paper towels and sat down beside her.
"I'm sorry," she mumbled, almost inaudibly as he put the paper
towels to her face.
"Shhh, it's ok, it's been a long night." She nodded her assent and
leaned into him. It was only seconds later that she was fast asleep.
Methos sighed. Great, one girl, out cold in his arms who, as far as
he knew could have lived in Alaska. You could write the handbook
on akward situations at this point. He readjusted her position and
picked her up in his arms. There wasn't really much he could do.
He couldn't stick her in some hotel to wake up by herself and he had
no clue where this friend was that she had stayed with, so that left
one option. The dojo. Methos said goodnight to Joe, blatantly
ignoring the girl sleeping in his arms, and headed for his temporary
home.
---
"MacLeod," came the greeting from the other side of the line.
"The next time we meet, only one of us walks away." Methos
wasn't sure whether he was kidding. He was sore and grumpy from
having slept on the couch all night and exhausted from waking up
every hour or so to check on Arica. He had decided while in the
shower that it would be far more amusing to yell at Mac than to
continually berate himself for being an idiot.
"I've missed you too," the soft burr grated on Methos' brain. "Tell
me, what could I have POSSIBLY done, having been halfway
around the world from you this past year."
"I don't claim to understand how you've managed it, but I seem to
have taken on guardianship of a pre-immortal. Or something like
that, anyway." Methos waited for the laughter. He wasn't
disappointed. "Before you I was relatively sane. And my priorities
were definitely a lot straighter."
"Oh?" The tone betrayed amusement.
"Yes, I wouldn't have given a shit whether this mystery immortal
wanted to kill her. Hell, he could have pimped her for all the
thought I'd have given it. After all, there can be only one. When
precisely did you get me to leave behind my very carefully cultivated
selfishness?"
"Whoa, slow down. Mystery immortal? Who is this girl? How did
you meet her? Does she know?" Methos collapsed onto the
disheveled couch and told the whole story, from the renfest to
"tucking her in" the night before. The minute he finished he had to
question his motives in doing so. Mac was gonna have a picnic with
the upheaval in his life. "You're in love with her," the awe in the
voice was no less clear than it would have been had the two men
been facing each other.
"And you're nuts."
"Methos, the last time you roused up the inertia to give a DAAM
about anything was to save me from Kronos. Maybe I'm flattering
myself, but I think the fact that you found the motivation to even
pursue the case had to be a sign of interest."
"Funny, I took it as a sign that I seem to have listened to your
insensate drivel about helping others."
"While I'm sure I'll feel very complimented by that later, I think that
this girl has found a way into that ice block we all fondly refer to as
your heart."
"Hardly. I don't argue that I wouldn't mind hopping into bed with
her. But it's been a long time, and, as I believe I've told you before,
I'm just a man." Duncan ignored the obvious reference and the
deliberate attempt to drive him off with words, after all, the ancient
one had called him.
"At times you've gone centuries without indulging your 'appetites.'
Don't tell me your willpower has so degraded that a few years is too
much for you now."
"Three." It was said so softly MacLeod had to ask for a repeat.
"It's been three years. Since Alexa." Duncan let that hang between
them for a minute.
"So after you had this Grand Love with Alexa all you want from this
girl is her body? Use 'em up, spit 'em out. That's what mortals are
all about, eh?" Duncan carefully nudged into the tender spots of
Methos' psyche. He would know in a second whether he had been
right about the oldest man in the world. Methos' voice took on the
tone of finely sharpened steel,
"Unless you want me to fulfill the threat I made, NEVER think what
you just thought...are we clear?" Duncan jumped in immediately,
"EXACTLY! You wouldn't threaten me for just ANY girl would
you? Think about it. Methos? Methos?"
Methos closed his eyes. He had just practically challenged his best
friend over the child in his bed. Child? Was that really what she
was to him? Was someone who had survived the brutality and
neglect that she had truly a child anymore? And if she lost that
mantra in his eyes who was she to him? A girl with a perfect
knowledge of everything from Marlowe to wine tasting? A girl who
cared about him and his feelings though she hardly knew him and
owed him nothing? A girl who made him laugh simply with her own
laughter? A girl he wanted to pull into his arms and protect from
the nightmares stalking her past and present? A girl he had fallen in
love with while he wasn't paying attention?
"Methos? Hello?"
"I'm here Mac. It was good talking to you."
"Methos, wait, I-"
"I won't wait so long between now and my next call, talk to you
then." He hung up on the spluttering Scot.
Methos set to straightening the sofa and was almost done when he
heard a soft groan emanate from the other room. He went into the
kitchen to grab some things and continued onto the bedroom. Once
there he gently sat Arica up and handed her the water glass and
some pain pills. She swallowed gratefully and he lowered her back
down against the pillow. He recovered her with the blanket and
walked into the kitchen to brew some coffee.
When the pot was full Methos took his time pouring a cup for both
of them and headed back to where she lay. The aroma hit her and
she smiled. Sitting up she slowly took the warm mug into her own
fingers.
"Mmm," she intoned after a sip, "Where'd you learn to make coffee
like this?"
"South America," he kept his voice low.
"I bet it was the monks in those coffee commercials who taught you
too." They were silent for a bit, enjoying their perspective drinks.
"I have to go rescue the neighbors form Pendragon, he's probably
wreaked havoc with hearth and home by now." She laughed at
Methos' confused expression. "My English Sheep dog."
"The one Andrew gave you?"
"Geez, did I tell you I wanted to start a hamster farm when I was
eleven, too? Just tell me there was no dancing naked on any tables,
Joe'd probably have to take back the open-ended hospitality offer."
"I managed to keep you clothed and you must have forgotten about
the hamster farm." She giggled.
"I didn't keep you up did I?" He looked tired. "Kennedy and I
roomed together one year, she said I talked rather loudly in my
sleep."
"Nightmares?" She looked down at her coffee cup and nodded.
"Not a sound all night, you could have climbed out the window for
all I knew."
"Thanks for watching out for me." She didn't smile.
"It wasn't a problem." He paused. "Do you need a ride?" She
grimaced and briefly wondered if she could cause this man any more
of an inconvenience. She nodded.
---
Arica jogged next to the dog that was about three-fourths her size.
He had knocked her over when she came to get him. It had taken
her several minutes to calm him down and convince him her face
was wet enough. She didn't mind. It was like she'd had enough
loyal friends in her life that she could afford to take one for granted.
Besides, Pendragon had been her very favorite gift from her father.
Even more so than the thoroughbred he had given her upon winning
the local dressage competition in her level. She and the dog both
slowed as they neared a street corner. She knelt down and ruffled
his fur, holding the big head between her hands.
"Hey Dragon. I missed you, boy." she leaned her head up against
his. "Why can't humans be as simple to understand as dogs, huh?"
She stared balefully and Pendragon let out a whimper of sympathy.
She smiled. "Who the hell is Simon?" She asked the animal once
again, "More importantly, what do I want from him?" The light
changed and they resumed their walk. One things was for sure, she
was quite sure if he proposed a union of the flesh she wasn't
refusing. "Great Ar, just what you need in your life right now, a
completely physical relationship." But would it be? She almost
groaned. It would help if she knew something about the man. She
silently catalogued what she did know about him. He worked for
the cold squad division of the Vancouver PD, she could still hear the
words on his lips....He had a mind like a library. He had good taste
in beer. He had cleaned up after she had gotten sick and not said a
single thing to her this morning about the incident last night, instead
choosing to help her rid herself of a hangover and get home. It
wasn't much all told. And yet this morning, upon waking up, she
had felt a security she hadn't felt since....her father's death. The
mere seconds in which her fingers had brushed his taking the coffee
cup had been something she couldn't describe, she had never felt it
before-
The thought was cut short as Pendragon barked wildly. She saw the
black BMW going too fast for the residential road. Something in
her subconscious had her running even before the handgun hanging
out the window registered in her mind. The shots were unbelievably
loud, battlefield explosions in her ears. Time seemed to creep by
way too slowly as she grabbed and hurled both of them into the
nearest alley, tucking both her and the dog behind a large dumpster.
Seconds later she could hear no car and she chanced a look around
the bin. Then she heard it. The sound of the car returning. Shaking,
she got to her feet. Pendragon barked at her and ran ahead. She
almost cried, he was trying to protect her.
"Come here boy, come here." Falling into a run, she at once noticed
the pain. Her leg was warm and wet but she forced herself not to
look at it, too afraid of fainting with her attacker in pursuit. Telling
him to come with her she headed towards the other side of the
block. Thanking every god whose name she could recall for the taxi
there, she slipped in and directed the driver to Simon's branch of the
VPD.
---
"Simon?" Methos didn't even bother to respond to Eddie, if the kid
wanted to say something, it would be said. "Um, that girl from the
renfest is here with her dog asking for you." Methos had been out
of his seat after the words "girl from the renfest." Trying to sound
nonchalant he said,
"She in the waiting area?"
"Yeah..." Eddie didn't bother to disguise the curiosity in his voice
and Methos didn't bother to assuage it as he passed the young
inspector. Something was wrong. Nevermind the fact that she had
brought the dog with her, which was odd in and of itself, she would
have called first if she was just dropping by to chat. He forced
himself to walk to the waiting area.
The first thing he saw was the blood staining her jeans. Taking a
deep breath he sat down beside her and said softly,
"Arica?" She looked up from the dog.
"Oh," her smile was wobbly at best, "Sorry, wasn't paying
attention."
"What happened? Are you all right?"
"Drive-by shooting, we were the only ones on the street. I'm fine,
it's superficial...the bleeding has stopped." Methos assumed it was
the dog she was including in the "we." He sat in silent wonder of
her strength and clarity of mind, trying to assess her injury like it
belonged to someone else. She had to be in a considerable amount
of pain by this time.
"We should get you to a hospital, you can tell me more on the way."
"Right, look, Simon...I'm really sorry about this, I mean, first the
incident at the bar and now I come to you bleeding..." She stopped
to breathe. Methos was silent for a bit, dumbstruck that she was
apologizing. If she had come in hysterical he would not have been
surprised. While some of the calm was definitely shock, another
part of it was inner strength such as he had rarely encountered in
five thousand years. What's more, as he was somewhat dismayed to
discover, Methos was glad that it was him she had run to. Pay
attention Methos, that wound needs to be cleaned out and you need
some answers so that the bullet doesn't do it's intended job next time
around. He took a deep breath and spoke,
"Excuse me if I find it a bit illogical that you are apologizing to me
for being shot at, did you hire the shooters?" That got a small, but
nonetheless real laugh. "C'mon, if you tell me where you live, I can
drop the dog off at your place while you are being sewn up and then
we can go to dinner and you can fill in details for me. I promise to
stop the alcohol intake before we have a full bottle cap collection
this time, deal?" She giggled.
"It seems to me I give some of the best details while working on my
bottle cap collection, you wouldn't want to put limits on a girl's
talent would you?" Methos shook his head and sighed,
"Heaven forbid..." he said and helped her to her feet.
---
By the time Methos got back from dropping Pendragon off at the
house Arica was self self-proclaimedly "good as new." He took it as
a good sign that she was once again focusing on him when she
talked instead of the wall or some other fascinating object.
"So, where are you taking me?" Imp, he'd probably be paying by the
end of the evening too. You knew you were going to be paying
from the moment you asked her. Well, yes, but that didn't mean he
had to admit it. It had been awhile since he had done the
"gentleman" thing.
"Italian ok?" She nodded. "How's your leg?"
"I'm just offering up a prayer for the poor souls who lived before the
modern age of chemical painkillers." Methos managed a pained
smile, he hoped she never understood the truth of her words. The
sun was setting outside her car window. It was making her hair
almost translucent . It was flying everywhere and Methos wanted
nothing more than to softly smooth it back with his fingers, and yet
to disturb a strand seemed the ultimate form of sacrilege. If he had
any decency left in him he would find this asshole who was after her,
kill him and let her live her life. After all, she deserved someone
who wouldn't let their cynicism overrule the love they held for her.
Or who would call her "milady" with out flinching. Someone who
wouldn't let her get drunk just so they could pry information that
was none of their business in the first place from her. Someone who
didn't pack danger in the two syllables of their true name. Someone
who didn't see blood running through their fingers every morning
upon waking. Do one thing right Methos, let her find someone who
will make her insanely happy and never expect a thing in return.
Just then she started whistling. He glanced over at her lips. He
sighed, being that selfless would be too out of character, eh, old
man?
"Am I bothering you?"
"No...." Methos' voice trailed off as he slowed the car. There was a
road block in the middle of the bridge. "What the...? Stay here," he
ordered as he got out of the car. His foot had barely made contact
with the pavement when he felt the slight swirling nauseau and
heady fuzziness of another immortal's approach. Fuck. The other
immortal showed up in his line of vision. Methos was not terribly
surprised to find the face familiar, even if only vaguely so. After
5000 years, the world got pretty DAAM small.
"Well, well, well, old one." Methos nearly winced at the hard
German accent that filled his tones. "I was merely interested in the
girl, but the addition of your quickening will hardly be a
disappointment."
---
Arica watched in disbelief as Simon drew out a huge broadsword
from seemingly nowhere. Images flashed through her mind, blood
everywhere, a head disowned by its body.....
"Please not again, please no, please no..." She tried to pay attention
to the dull throb in her leg, ignore the fight taking place just beyond
the glass pane of the driver's side. Metal hitting metal made sharp,
dissonant music and she wanted to scream to block out the sound.
She was frozen, the muscles in her body refusing to respond to
neural commands. She wanted to help desperately but observed the
concentration warring with the tension in Simon's eyes; somewhere
in her mind, intuition told her that distracting him would be the same
as murder.
Five minutes in hell passed and she noted that whatever else, the two
were equally matched. Cuts thrusts and parries flew frantically back
and forth between the two combatants. Both were bleeding from
countless cuts to the arms and upper torso. What happened then
was so fast Arica wasn't sure if it had happened or was the product
of her over anxious mind. The mystery attacker pulled out a small
knife from an unidentified place on his body and shoved it into
Simon's stomach, wrenching upwards. Arica couldn't stop the
scream as it hurtled out into the night air.
---
Air was rushing past Methos, pounding through his ears, but the
moment she screamed it became the only sound in the world. The
pain from the knife wound was excruciating, Methos would have
welcomed death for its healing properties, but he was well aware
that succumbing to its lure now would mean there would be no
more healing....ever. Arica...I'm so sorry, love. With that thought he
used the last of his strength to push himself back against the wall of
the bridge with enough force for his body to hurtle over into the
rushing water below.
---
Arica watched Simon's body fall. In the back of her mind she knew
there was something she should be paying attention to, something
that presented a danger but she couldn't quite summon the will to
care. As if from a great distance she heard harsh ugly curses.
German, perhaps? A hysteric laugh almost escaped her as she
wondered at her ability to pay attention to the language of the man
who had just killed Simon. She looked up to see him advancing on
the car. Desperately she fumbled with the lock on her side, but was
unable to undo it before he was sitting beside her. She turned and
attempted a kick to the groin area hoping to neutralize him long
enough to run. He was far quicker though and stabbed the knife
into the offending leg. Arica shrieked in pain and drew the leg into
herself. He took advantage of her shock to draw the knife along her
right arm. Arica bit her lip against the pain this time, refusing to
give him the satisfaction of a vocal response. He laughed,
"We are going to have fun you and I, no, little girl?" With that he
dig his fingers into the injured arm. Arica gasped and stiffened at
the pain. He used the opening to stab the dagger into her stomach.
He laughed again, "Just like your friend." Arica struggled to hold
onto what she perceived as her last breath, but pain and blood loss
overwhelmed her and she gave into the intensifying darkness.
---
The light was barely the soft orange-yellow indicating a new day
when the body washed onto the riverbank. It lay there, mottled blue
and sickly gray, on leg bowed out at an odd angle, for the better part
of fifteen minutes. The gasp that came from the body as it lurched
upwards in the throes of revitalization pain echoed through the early
morning air. Once again breathing, the body shivered furiously from
the aftereffects of the hypothermic state it had resided in for near to
ten hours. Eyes that could observe once again surveyed the
damage. Catching the odd bend to the lower left leg the face was
spurred into the action of a slight grimace. The man, now fully able
to control his motions, bent over to reset the fibula so that it could
heal properly. The man waited for the bursts of black and white
light to stop before attempting to stand on the thoroughly-healed
leg.
He had only one thought, he had to get to Arica.
---
The body hung limply from the chains in the large, damp building.
Ugly gashes were, for the most part, all healed over, just barely an
angry pink velvet marring the skin. Those would soon be gone as
well. The gasp that came as the eyes jerked open banged up against
the old walls and back against the person who had released it to
begin with, loud and harsh. Eyes slowly came into focus as the pain
faded into the background and searched the surroundings,
disoriented.
"I was dead." It wasn't a question it was a statement of fact, an
announcement made to the rats scurrying underneath. After
thinking about her own words, she heard her breath coming faster.
She spoke out loud to herself again., "Stay calm, I don't know what
the fuck is happening, but I don't think panic is a good option right
now." Slowly, she tried to remember exactly what had happened.
She didn't get very far. The picture of a tall, ghostly white figure
slamming up and over the side of the bridge, bleeding profusely
froze in her mind. She felt nauseau boil up in her intestines and a
strong pressure between her temples and was worried she would get
sick hanging there. It was over a minute later and she looked up to
see the man who had, killed her the other night. Well, she thought
he had killed her....now she didn't even notice any scars. Her arms
and leg, which should have been intensely painful, seemed not to
bother her at all.
"What is going on here?" She decided at the moment caution was
about the last thing she was going to practice. "You kill me, or
something like that, AND my friend, you bring me to this
SHITHOLE...who the FUCK are you? And while we're discussing
why don't you tell me what you want." Arica was happy that she
sounded decidedly more brave than she felt. She cursed under her
breath as the chain rattled in response to her shaking.
"I did kill you, child, rest assured." Arica wasn't positive she found
that fact at all reassuring. "You are mine now, to do with as I
please." Arica was sure she didn't like that sentiment.
"I see you are delusional as well." She was beginning to be
inordinately proud of the fact that she had maintained coherency
throughout this discussion. She wasn't particularly shocked, either,
by the fist that sent her head violently against the wall breaking the
jaw at the same time. Holding her head to the side she waited for
the buzzing to stop and slowly turned back around to face him. She
fixed him with her best "oh lord are you going to regret that" glare.
Unfortunately, they both knew it was an idle threat.
The man shrugged and pulled out a gun.
"I see," he echoed her words of a minute ago, "that I will have to
train you rather thoroughly." With that Arica jumped at the loud
noise that released itself upon the cavernous room. Something hit
her pelvic bone with immense force, driving her against the cement
wall. It took a minute for the pain to register and she let out a sharp
cry, then bit her lip to deny any others release. Not a minute later
she felt a second bullet hit and her and rip into her lungs. Coughing
up blood, her body opened the door and let death take a seat.
---
It had taken Methos two hours to reach the dojo but taking a taxi,
or some other form of public transportation, with his clothes
shredded and smelling of river sewage, was not particularly an
option. He had used those two hours to allow his near-perfect
memory, a trademark of immortality, do it's work. He now knew
precisely where he had seen the bastard from last night before.
Irish Monastery, 1353
Methos breathed a sigh of relief. Finally he could take some time
off. His last sword lay at the bottom of the Thames, as did his last
assailant (although not for long). But here, far from cities and
people, he could rest without fear of immortals. Even if they did
come, he was safe as a monk on holy ground. He had only been at
the monastery a week, but had seen no trace of an immortal and
already he felt isolated and safe enough, that he volunteered to make
trips to the village to purchase food, cloths, herbs, etc. "Too bad
the weather couldn't improve." Methos said to himself cheerily (as
cheerily as he ever got, anyway). The storm couldn't be helped, he
decided, as he nudged the old mare he was riding on forwards down
the muddy trail. His next sensation made him fall off his horse.
They were here. Two! He could feel two! Despite his first instinct
to jump on the horse and gallop away, he had some curiosity. The
sound of steel on steel told him the adversaries would not be
bothering him for a while. Methos walked silently through the rain
toward the clang of sword.
The first was a warrior, obviously Norse. He wore mail and
carried a large sword of the type that were just becoming popular.
The other immortal a monk! Or at least he wore a habit. The
old-looking bearded man was dwarfed by the huge Viking. His
blade was unlike anything Methos had ever seen, and he considered
himself as having seen everything. It was reminiscent
of some he had seen and used before he had ever come to Europe,
but the way it flashed through the air faster than his eye could
follow, the strange movements of its owner, these made the warrior
in Methos wonder. A white dragon snarled in the monk's hands, it's
tail a lethal razor steel that quickly opened rent after rent in the
Viking's unarmored legs. Soon, the Norse warrior could stand no
longer. Methos knew it was a good time to leave, but he rarely got
to observe this sight third-person. He stared as the monk drew
himself up, and with an impossibly light motion, drew the defeated
Norseman's head from his shoulders. The fallen immortal's gift
poured forth, the light blinding Methos. The old monk's body
stiffened, his mouth something between a grimace and a smile.
When it was over, his body fell limp to the ground. Yet, before
Methos could turn and leave, the monk's head snapped up and
stared straight at him.
"Shocking!" the old monk said.
As it turned out, Methos didn't have to give up his newfound home.
In the in the following year, he and Brother William of Baskerville
found each other excellent company. Brother William insisted that
Methos address him by his real name, Tak Ne, since they were at
least, bonded by a common homeland. Methos' first impression
upon meeting the man was that Tak Ne was that he acted much
younger than he looked. Tak Ne seemed to love life like a child. He
also had an incredible ardor for knowledge and science, and taught
to Methos many things that Methos had never felt to be worth
knowing. Philosophies of far Eastern lands, the latest chemistries,
and methods of healing; Methos never paid much attention to these
things before, but now he lost himself in them. He could leave the
Game behind and live more or less like everyone else. Finally he
became quite comfortable with himself, and forgot everything having
to do swordplay, war, and the science/art of removing heads from
bodies.
That was when the killings started.
The first body turned up one gray cold morning. A young monk,
poisoned to death. His forefinger and tongue stained a deep black.
The poor brother had fallen right upon his book. No other evidence
of foul play was found. Even the intellectual Tak Ne could not
make heads or tails of it. The other monks, especially the younger
ones, blanched in fear. One brother Adso, Tak Ne's pupil ran out
when he saw the body. Methos, had seen plenty of deaths, and
simply chalked the monk up to the great unexplained reaper. Until
another body turned up. And another and another and another.
Each one, slumped over their desks. Tongues and fingers
gruesomely black and rotting.
Methos, for the first time in centuries, found himself bothered by
death. "Tak Ne," he said to the monk one morning as they dragged
another body off, "What possible purpose could this serve? I have
seen mortals kill for wealth, for survival, for the enjoyment of watching an enemies'
eyes as they died."
The other monk took some time to think before replying. "The
poison is most unusual," he said in his strange accent. Brother Adso
and I are working on a solution, but it remains yet to be seen."
"That little runt? What could he know?"
Tak Ne merely smiled at Methos' harsh tone. "The boy has potential.
You will see."
Methos was not satisfied, and beginning to anger. "Cannot the
Abbot do something? Can the monks not even care for their own?
Their lives are at take here! I would fight this thing tooth and
claw!"
"Fear is a strange thing, Methos. These monks are not like us, they
are gentle. Fear does not instill caution and wisdom into them as it
does you. They are shaken, but not stirred into action.
That last rotting body drove Methos too far. He decided, after
parting with Tak Ne, that he would leave once and for all. He sat in
his cell simply staring at the walls and thinking of his time here. For
hours he reflected as he gathered the few things he wished to take.
Death began to disgust him. The random waste of lives was not
what he wanted to see. He firmed his resolve to go far away from
here. Perhaps he would sail back to the East again. Still there were
things that made him wish he could stay. Being in Ireland again was
refreshing. It had been almost a millennia since he had been to this
place but little had changed. Methos was used to change, but some
constancy was nice. Ireland almost convinced him to believe in G-d,
or at least some higher being. It was aesthetic perfection. Then
there was the monk, Brother "William of Baskerville" so everyone
called him. The first immortal he'd had contact with in a long time
that didn't involve a blade. An Egyptian, Tak Ne at birth in 400 BC,
he reminded Methos why the concept of being a monk was created.
Methos folded the rest of his belongings into his bag and headed out
to say goodbye to the man.
---
"I am glad you are getting out of here, friend." Tak Ne said as
Methos intruded upon his meditation. Methos didn't bother to ask
how he knew.
"Oh?"
"The killer is immortal."
"Impossible, I would have felt it."
"No, I didn't know until the other night. When Brother Michael was
killed. His cell was next to mine. He is one of us. He would have
challenged me but for the place. Some things in this place don't
react well to Quickenings." He spread his hands in indication of the
holy ground surrounding them.
"But why does he kill?" said Methos, "These monks must be as
nothing to him, and certainly, they are no match!"
Tak Ne sighed. Although the death merely disturbed Methos, the
other immortal was deeply grieving for his lost brethren. "Some of
us, given a larger measure of life then most, feel theirs is the only
one worth preserving. They see immortality as a License to Kill."
"Well, I'm not staying to find out how much my skills have
deteriorated. I will go no, and you must go too! We shall find
another abbey..."
Tak Ne shook his head. "No. I will fight him. He left his name and
a future challenge should I step out of these walls. Beware an
immortal named Klaus Niklaus, if I do not take his head. But I will
not run. A man like this should be stopped. You don't expect me to
cower, do you?"
"No, brother, I expect you to die!"
Tak Ne chuckled. "This is not your decision to make, though, is it?"
Methos nodded grimly.
"If things were different, I would stay, help you with this."
"Would you?" Methos grimaced at the monk's insight into his
character.
"Goodbye, my friend." With that, Methos left his friend to the
abandoned meditation he had been pursuing prior to the visit.
---
Methos was no more than an hour off holy ground when he felt the
buzz. He cursed fluently in a language so old scholars debated its
very existence.
"I have no interest in fighting you." Methos prayed fervently the
other immortal would respond in kind.
"Well you'd better develop one," the man called Klaus Niklaus
replied. He then drew his sword. Methos turned to run even though
he knew he didn't have a chance. But then, the buzz came to him.
Tak Ne seemed to vault off his horse and land directly between
Methos and his potential killer. Faster than the eye could follow,
Tak Ne's curving dragon blade came out of his robes.
"Take the horse, Methos, and don't look back." Methos, bent on
survival, did as he was told.
"Ah well," Klaus said jovially, "One's as good as the other. When I
take the head from the last immortal I face, and the Prize is mine, it
won't really matter."
"I AM the last one!" laughed Tak Ne, as their swords met in the
staccato song of combat. That was the last Methos ever heard of
Tak Ne.
An hour's worth of fighting later, Tak Ne stared into the flooded
torrential stream that Klaus had thrown himself into to escape.
"There is nothing like a challenge to bring out the worst in a man,"
he sighed.
Present Day
Methos settled down into the chair at his desk and waited
impatiently for the computer to warm up and respond to each
command he typed. Methodically he tried each of the passwords he
had stolen from the Watcher database in his Adam Pierson days.
The fourth one worked and Methos sighed in relief as he accessed
Niklaus' watcher's file. Jotting down the address where the watcher
had currently seem him residing Methos commented sardonically,
"Well, well, original aren't we? Couldn't be leaving the 'clich1ed
abandoned warehouse district' could we, now? Wouldn't want to
betray tradition in that way." With that he ran out, flagged down the
first available taxi and gave the driver an address just far away
enough from where he was really headed.
---
Methos waited until the cab drove away to turn and walk briskly in
the direction of the address he had found. It took him nearly twenty
minutes to find that looked like every other deserted and darkened
structure on the street. Methos hesitated for less than a second,
fearing the stronger buzz of a newly made immortal in place of the
soft, tingly one he had come to anticipate.
He stepped through the door. He decided the fact that there was
only one buzz was a good thing. Unfortunately, he also recognized
the buzz as a stronger version of the one with which he was so
familiar. He looked up from shutting the door and saw a blur of a
figure across the long room. He walked softly until she came into
focus. Methos was glad he was not one for queasiness. Her body
hung there like a grotesque version of a Raggedy-Ann doll. He
spied the small dart protruding from her upper arm. He took the
steps necessary to propel him across the room. Gently, he removed
the tip of the dart and put it to his nose. No scent that he could
determine, but he was fairly sure it hadn't been a pleasant way to die.
He surveyed her ravaged clothing and the blood pooling on the floor
and knew that he was going to kill the bastard for the past twelve
hours if nothing else. Her Presence was slowly gaining strength as
Methos dug in his pocket for his swiss army knife. He was
distracted by her gasp of waking-pain. He discovered it was a
sound he didn't much like. Forgetting all else for the moment he
reached out to her face and gently ran long fingers over stark
cheekbones and through thick hair.
"Simon?" The voice was confused. Relief washed over Arica's
countenance, "Then I'm dead." Methos winced. "But...if I'm dead,
why am I still here? Have I been dead this whole time? Is this Hell?
No, I wouldn't get to see you in Hell..."
"Arica." He interrupted, recognizing signs of shock. he held her
face in his hands, slowly stroking the temples, trying to focus her
and calm her down all at once. "I promise, I'm going to explain
everything, but I want to get you out of here, ok?" She nodded.
She was still nodding when a look of discomfort crossed her face
and she tried to curl in on herself against the chains. Methos had
forgotten the initial unpleasantness of the Buzz. He turned around
to face the room's newest inhabitant.
"The young ones always exhibit such spirit, wouldn't you agree?"
Methos held back a groan at the accompanying thought of
Cassandra. Instead he shrugged, practiced nonchalance conveyed in
his countenance, and pulled his sword from inside his coat. Niklaus
laughed, "What makes you think you can win this time?"
Far too infuriated to even formulate a witty riposte, Methos sprang
into action. The opposing immortal caught the Ivanhoe with ease
and the fight erupted.
---
Arica tried desperately to follow this second fight in twenty-four
hours, having no knowledge of sword-fighting. The German was
bulkier and quite probably stronger than Simon. Even in the midst
of the scene being played out before her, Arica couldn't help but
admire the precision with which Simon yielded the large weapon.
Now and then he would slash at the German's arms leaving thin red
ribbons in the pale skin. She could have sworn he was handling
himself better than the other evening. One look in his eyes told her
why. The hazel orbs that she had seen laugh and gaze thoughtfully
were the definition of focus. Narrowed to slits, they conveyed a
controlled hatred and coldness acquired over time. The German
finally landed a slash to Simon's left arm. He didn't even flinch. It
was as if he were no longer the physical being fighting his opponent,
but merely an avenging entity.
Minutes passed with no break in the choreography of the fight.
Arica saw the strain of countless cuts inflicted in the German's eyes.
Was Simon toying with him? Or could he not truly gain the
advantage of being able to finish things?
---
Methos was tiring. As much damage as his opponent had taken, he
was good, leaving no opening for the final move. Methos slashed
again, this time at the upper chest. Niklaus parried and thrust
towards him, he took the defensive for a bit, waiting.
It took some time, but Niklaus' slashes started going wide. Slowly,
ever so slowly, an opening formed. With a suddenness that threw
his enemy off balance, Methos once more sprang to the offensive.
In a series of short, precise thrusts he impaled the larger man on the
tip of his blade. Swiftly, he pulled it out. By rote the words spilled
out of his mouth,
"There can be only one." With one fluid movement, another
immortal tasted mortality.
---
Arica worked to breath evenly, tamping down on the nausea she had
felt at seeing the blades movement through he man's neck. Flashes
of another decapitation assaulted her and things came together.
Insight in the midst of mental chaos told her that this man had been
the one to perpetrate that crime as well.
The realization hit her as the first lightning bolt coursed through
Simon and she screamed his name. Bolt after bolt coursed virulent
blue-white electricity through the chest, arms and legs. The
electricity ran through the walls as well, popping and sizzling
through long-rusted metal.
It could have been no longer than five minutes when silence once
again filled the warehouse. Simon groaned and dragged himself to
his feet. He trudged painfully across the room. Fishing the knife
out, he picked the lock on the chains and lowered both of them
carefully to the floor. He shrugged his arms out of his coat and
wrapped her delicately in it.
"It's over." He managed to whisper.
"Maybe for you. I would like to know what the hell is going on.
We are both dead, you just had an all out swordfight that culminated
in a beheading and a fantastic, if somewhat localized, electric storm.
And you don't seem to think any of this is the least bit unusual." He
rocked her gently before responding.
"This is going to sound crazy." She let out a sarcastic bark of
laughter. "We're immortals. We stay the physical age that we were
at First Death, but live forever. The only way to die..." He spent
awhile slowly explaining everything and answering any questions.
Then came the ones he had hoped to avoid.
"Did my father know?" Methos nodded and affirmative as she
squirmed around to see his face. "And you? Did you know?"
Another nod, slower this time. "So I was just a project?" Her laugh
had an edge to it, "A newest pet?" She raised an eyebrow in inquiry.
"Never." He looked straight at her, hazel eyes covered by a hard
gold glint. "I am hardly the type to take on students, I haven't in
over a millennia, and if I wanted your head you would be long dead.
While your pre-immortal status may have made you stand out in the
beginning, it was your courage and perseverance and sense of humor
that made me stick around." Five thousand years and you still have
a phobia of three words, fantastic Methos. With that thought he
drew her into him and pressed warm lips to cold, quivering ones.
The kiss was softly insistent at first. As he felt the tautened muscles
in her arms relax and her body curve into his he deepened the
embrace. Playfully, he ran his tongue against her top teeth, eliciting
a small smile. At this, he pushed his tongue in to meld with her's
and swore that the Quickening a short time ago had been a mere
electric shock compared to what he felt with each meeting of
warmth and passion. She moaned into his mouth and Methos was
thankful he was sitting because he was positive there wasn't a
muscle in his body that would respond to mental commands. In
some distant corner of his mind he realized that tiny hands were
pushing against his chest. With more will power than he had exerted
in years he forced his mouth away from her's and said softly,
dazedly,
"I'm sorry." He paused, "Are you ready to get out of here?" He
couldn't meet her eyes.
"Whoa, you just committed arson on my entire body and that's all
you have to say for yourself? We're going to have to work on your
wooing abilities." Eyes widened and green infiltrated passion-glazed
gold. She waited patiently for her comments to register.
"So," he said casually, "Do you have plans for this evening Miss
Skyler?"
"Hmmm," she started, all the while shaking her head, "Let me check
my..." she never got to the words 'social calendar,' her mouth was
otherwise occupied.