Title: Arica Strikes Back
Rating: Adult - Romance
Characters: Duncan, Joe, Methos, OFC, Rachel MacLeod (cameo)
Summary: X-over Cold Squad. Arica learns the ropes of The Game.

Methos finished cleaning the kitchen counter for the umpteenth time that day and went to check on the sleeping form in his bedroom yet again. It had taken hours and not a few scotches to get her to sleep but once the deed had been accomplished she had stayed that way for what was now fourteen hours. He had been systematically cleaning the dojo in an attempt to keep from thinking about the events of the last thirty- six hours. Or where to go from here.

"What are you staring at?" The groggy voice interrupted Methos' train of thought. He smiled down at the slightly disoriented girl.

"I was beginning to think you were going to sleep your life away." She gnawed her lower lip at this comment and Methos had to keep from physically rolling his eyes at himself. *Intelligent, the girl gets thrust into a world with a different set of rules in a not-particularly-pleasant way and you make bad jokes.* He was silent for a moment gathering up the nerve to say what he had known he was going to have to say from the moment he had felt her Presence the night before.

"Arica, listen," he sat down on the bed beside her, "I didn't sleep much last night, I was up thinking." She nodded for him to go on, worried at the strain in his voice that he was working so hard to conceal. "I think it might be safest if you disappeared for awhile. You wouldn't be doing nothing," the words were coming out much faster than he was giving them permission to, "You'd be preparing for The Game, among other things." She stared at him trying to reconcile the man who had kissed her no longer than a day ago with the person whose lips were moving in front of her. How could he even think to ask something like that of her? His kiss had communicated far more than lust, but his comment left her wondering if he had any respect for her beyond her ability to incite passion. She took a deep breath and steeled her voice so there would be no trace of a waver.

"How old are you Simon?" The question caught him off guard and Arica had to stop herself from being charmed by the befuddled expression that clouded his features. "I'm betting on really-fucking-old. Because I have to believe it would take centuries to develop the conceit that comes with honestly believing you know what is best for another human being."

"Old enough to watch immortals far older than you die from the conceit of thinking they always know what is best for themselves." Methos didn't have to look into the blue-violet eyes to regret the comment, he did the moment it slipped past his lips. She nodded.

"Well, in that case, I'll just have to enjoy my very limited amount of time procuring art and dancing and talking with Kennedy and playing with Pendragon. It will be my stupid decision, I free you from any burden of responsibility you feel you might have to bear." Methos muttered some choice Greek swear words.

"I'm going to the station. We'll talk about this when I get back. Stay here, just for today, that's all I ask." Without bothering to hear the response he walked to the lift and sunk down out of her line of sight. For awhile Arica just let herself seethe. Arrogant bastard. *Oh yes, just forget you have a life outside of swordfighting and decapitating others. Sure, sounds great.* Deliberately ignoring Methos' last request she ran a quick shower, dressed in the clothes he had laid out for her, briefly wondering where he had gotten women's clothes that were only slightly too long for her. She supposed eternity was a long time not to have a few flings. With a final tug of her shoelaces she stood up and headed towards the lift.

___

Joe's was practically empty, unsurprisingly, since most people were at work or had the sense not to start getting drunk quite this early. Arica was unnerved by the way just seeing the silver-haired man bent over fiddling with his guitar reassured her. They had barely even met just four days ago (she thought that was when it was, the passage of time had been a little fuzzy in light of current events.) Even then, it had only been to exchange pleasantries. Still, at the warm smile that spread over his face and the, "Glad to see you took my offer seriously," Arica knew she had come to the right place.

"What can I do for you?" He walked toward a two-seat table and motioned for her to join him.

"I have a crazy story to tell you," she confessed after they were both sitting, "You'll probably want to commit me when I'm done."

"You'd be surprised at some of the things I've heard over the years." She nodded and let the words come in whatever order they seemed to form. An hour later Joe had the beginnings of a chronicle, from the moment her and Methos had met to the fight earlier that day.

"Pretty insane, huh?"

"Do you really think he is so wrong, asking what he asked you to do, or was that just the initial surge of irrational anger?" Arica was silent while she considered the fact that he had not even paused to question her sanity.

"Would you give up everything, just because some man you met barely two weeks ago told you it was the smart thing to do?"

"A man you love." Arica opened her mouth to protest the presumption of the man sitting across from her. But she wasn't a liar, to herself or anyone else.

"Just because I love him does not make him right, nor does it mean that I must follow every command he lays out."

"No, but it does mean you have formed a healthy respect for him. Can you respect that he may have his reasons for asking this of you? And that he loves you enough to bother asking?" The last question was said quietly but with emphasis.

"Does that happen very often? Him caring?"

"Not in the time that I've known him." Arica brought her hands up to the back of her neck and rubbed firmly.

"You think I should listen to him."

"If what he says is true, and you have forever, is a couple of weeks, hell, a couple of months, that terribly long to stay out of the public eye?" Arica sighed and glared at him.

"I hate when the counter-argument makes more sense than the one I'm throwing out." The glare melted into a smile to match the grin spilling over Joe's face.

___

Methos couldn't remember the last time he had actually looked forward to feeling another immortal's Presence. All he knew was that by the time he got to the second floor and he still had not felt the slight heady whirl, he was ready to kill her himself. Was it so much to ask that she stay somewhere safe? A small part of his brain reminded him that he had not asked in the nicest way, but the tiny voice was pushed away as full-blown panic took hold.

Hoping that Joe had had the foresight to assign her a Watcher, Methos turned around and headed towards the still-warm car.

___

Joe saw the look of unease that passed across Arica's face as she looked towards the door and knew Methos would soon be joining them. It was mere seconds later when he heard footsteps stop next to him and looked up. He watch the ancient one struggle between strangling the small figure seated next to him or ravishing her. Joe briefly argued with himself about which he'd rather see happen in front of the customers and came to the decision that neither would be good for business. Methos took a deep, if somewhat unsteady, breath and did his best to present an aura of calm.

"Did I forget to pay the heating bill? Was there nothing to eat? Tell me, what made the loft so uncomfortable that you were /forced/ to leave without so much as a note saying something like 'I'm sorry Simon, I just don't care if I walk right into a sword-wielding immortal completely unarmed and unprepared.'" Joe glanced up to fix Methos with his best whoa-you-are-an-idiot look. Arica, attempting to keep her temper down in light of Joe's recent advice, rose fluidly,

"I need to use the ladies room, try to enjoy yourself even if I'm not around to scream at." As soon as she was out of earshot Methos collapsed into a nearby chair.

"I'm sorry to see my behavior disappoints you. Would you prefer her dead?" His voice was positively biting. Joe ignored it, he saw the way Methos seemed almost too weary to maintain a sitting position. He wasn't sure he had ever seen the old man react so protectively.

"She's going to need a teacher." The voice was resigned.

"Conflict of interest on your part?" Joe was slightly confused.

"I don't take students. I have no wish to endanger her merely because I feel the need to experiment."

"Ah."

"This presents an obvious problem. Saying I haven't got the plethora of connections the Highlander has cultivated is a gross understatement. A fact that is usually rather reassuring." Joe raised an eyebrow but decided he was above giving that a verbal response. "I wouldn't mind knowing Connor a little better at the moment, he didn't do a half bad job with our boy." Methos let a sardonic smile slip. He closed his eyes. "With Alexa, from the first, I knew time was limited. And, to the degree that anyone accepts the fact of the person they love slowly and painfully dying, I accepted." He turned tired eyes to Joe. "So it is that I should accept," the word came out bitterly, "with Arica. The Game has been accelerating for years. Young ones rarely survive the first few years anymore." His fists were clenched, fingers digging into the tender skin of his palms. "Unfortunately," he spat, "I find that every bone in my body rebels against acceptance. I want her to live, I want to celebrate MORE anniversaries than Robert and Gina." Joe was taken aback, a feeling he hadn't experienced in quite awhile. The outburst was wildly out of character. When Methos started to speak again, the voice came out small and embarrassed. "Anyway, so as I was originally saying, she needs a teacher." Methos ran his hands over his eyes and forehead, "Mind getting me a drink?" Without looking up he knew when Joe let and returned. He reached out to grab the imported beer that Joe would have known to bring him and found himself groping for a non-existent bottleneck. He turned his gaze to identify a shot glass where the bottle should have been.

"What, precisely, is this?"

"Glenmorangie Scotch." A third voice came into he conversation.

"Happen to have another shot?" Brown curls settled into place as she flopped down onto the chair next to Methos. Methos winced as she stiffened when their legs accidentally brushed in the cramped quarters. " I love that stuff." Methos looked at Joe with understanding. There was only a slight hesitation as he downed the shot.

___

"I'm impressed, two phone calls in one week."

"Try not to let it go to your head," was Methos' gruff reply to the Scot's good-natured mockery. This was not a phone call he wanted to be making. He had hung up twice before during the dialing process. It was only when he thought of another immortal haplessly stumbling across Arica...he had simply speed-dialed after that.

"How is she?" Methos was thrown for a second by the way the MacLeod seemed to read his mind. Then, returning to semi-logical thought, he reminded himself that she had been their last topic of conversation. At this point he decided that waiting to introduce the subject on his mind would gain him nothing.

"In a need of a teacher." The silence was razor-blade sharp. MacLeod forced a laugh,

"What, no experience on your part?"

"None that I'd care to relive."

"Me neither." Methos had been expecting this. It by no means meant that he was done asking.

"She is twenty-four years old. She doesn't need a father, she needs someone to teach her proficiency with a sword. I am not asking for an emotional involvement on your part." Methos knew what he was asking was ridiculous, if not impossible, but if he could get MacLeod to say yes now, he could deal with the other issues involved later.

"No."

"You would let her die from lack of training, experience? Because you know DAAM well I can't ask anyone else."

"Amanda."

"She wouldn't put up with having me around that long, besides she is not as good as you, which you well know. And I don't trust her as I do you." *I don't trust anyone in that way*, he added silently, but refused to voice the sentiment. MacLeod snorted.

"Will you feel that way when I go after her head?"

"You won't."

"Won't I?" Methos tried not to wince at the desolation beneath the other man's harsh tones. He cursed himself for forcing the younger immortal into this when the wounds were still so raw. He thought of Arica waking up in his bed that morning, newly immortal, and steeled himself for the next part of the conversation.

"Oh MacLeod, really, I want to spell something out to you. A-H-R-I-M-A-N. Do you know what Webster's definition for that is? It was not your fault."

"Fault or no, he's dead." It was a whisper, but a vehement one.

"And now I ask you to insure the survival of another." He added, more softly this time, "You were right Mac, she IS the woman I love." Methos was glad he could hear the breathing at the other end of the line or he would have thought the other immortal had simply put the receiver down, the silence was so drawn out.

"I'll call you back in twenty-four hours. Don't expect the answer to change though." Methos sat and listened to the abrupt start of the dial tone. Methos prayed devoutly to the patron saint of lost causes that the answer would change.

___

Joe smiled as he finally got the chance to sit down and run his fingers over the taut guitars strings. Between the two immortals and his regular customers, this was the first time he'd had the chance all day. Joe gently tuned the instrument in the now-empty bar. He decided to ignore the phone when it spoke up to alert him of someone calling. After it began ringing for a sixth time, however, Joe sighed and laid down the guitar.

"Dawson here." It was practically a growl.

"Sorry to bother you Joe, but its important." Joe had to sit down at the sound of the Scottish burr.

"It's ok buddy, been kinda awhile."

"I know Joe, I'm sorry."

"Well, I'm sure you've been busy." Joe hoped his voice didn't let any of the doubt leak through. He could get angry at the neglect later, at the moment the Highlander sounded like he and life had had a boxing match and life had won. "What's on your mind?"

"Have you met Arica?" Joe was careful to catch the low whistle before it snuck past his teeth. Methos hadn't wasted any time, and Mac was not even bothering with subtleties.

"Yes." Joe was going to let Mac do the work.

"Methos asked me to teach her, but I'm sure you knew that already. I'm very happy here, alone."

"You're gonna refuse?"

"Rather than say yes and risk killing her at some point? Starting a war between Methos and I? It seems the rational thing to do."

"Or is it because you don't have enough faith in yourself as a teacher? You're afraid that you could've taught Richie something that would've kept him alive and are afraid you will omit the same vital lesson while with her? She's no Richie MacLeod, she doesn't need someone to show her affection and earn her trust. If she does she can run to Methos. She just needs the raw physical training, the instinct for survival, the understanding of how it all works. You have proven yourself able to give that. Richie was very good for one so young and if you would stop giving in to your overdeveloped sense of guilt you would recognize that fact along with everyone else."

"What is she like?" Joe could feel the reluctant surrender happening.

"Well, she works at an art museum, procures the paintings. She majored in medieval history. Very smart. She's got a great sense of humor. Pretty tough-"

"And she managed to make Methos fall in love with her, an immortal, his first, as far as we know, in five thousand years. No small feat that."

"No."

"You want me to do this don't you?"

"Not the right question MacLeod." That prompted a silence.

"I'm not ready."

"How long are you going to tell yourself that?"

"I just want to see this girl make Methos happy for a long time."

"The only way that is going to happen is for her to survive The Game. We both know what must happen for that to be achieved."

"You win."

___

Less than an hour later the phone rang in the dojo. Methos had hardly gotten the receiver to his ear when the instructions began.

"Meet me in Glenfinnan in two days, if you don't know where to go I'm sure Joe can tell you." There was a click and the dial tone started up.

"Well, well, we're mister conversation this evening." Methos sighed and tried to figure out how he was going to convince Arica to get on a plane to Western Europe with less than twenty-four hours notice. He could just imagine saying to her, *oh, and by the way, we could be staying for awhile, like a couple of years...* He grabbed the car keys, some things were best done in person.

___

Arica rubbed the magic spot behind Pendragon's front left leg and laughed as the sheepdog's eyelids slid shut in satisfaction. A moment later they popped back open and the animal gave a yip of excitement.

"What is it girl?" Then she knew. Simon tingled and danced through every cell in her body for mere moments before the doorbell rang. Arica let him in and flashed him an evil grin as she let the large, furry dog jump all over him and dole out huge slobbery kisses. Methos released a rather loud gasp of surprise and groaned at the weight of the dog being hoisted on him. Revenge, at least in its small forms, could be very sweet.

Willing to let her win this battle, Methos let the dog attack until he was able to calm her down. Fondly he ruffled the dog's fur and talked to her in smooth tones. When the dog was panting happily beneath his hands he looked up at its owner.

"I have found you a teacher."

"Oh jolly good." Her eyes widened in sarcastic exasperation but quickly narrowed back to a glare.

"That's the good news." Arica practically groaned at the indication of more. She was willing to put up with a teacher, much as she hated giving in, Joe was right on this one, it was evidence of Simon's concern. "The bad news is that we have to do a bit of relocating to get to him."

"What, exactly, qualifies as 'a bit' in your book?"

"Scotland." Had Methos been willing to show any sign of weakness at this point he probably would have chosen the nearest sturdy structure to hide behind. He watched as she clenched and unclenched every muscle in her frame several times over. When she had calmed down enough to respond her voice was only slightly higher than its usual pitch.

"Oh, okay." She threw her hands up in a casual gesture. "No problem, let me just tell my boss that I am quitting the job I worked my ass off to attain, sell the dog I consider a family member, not to mention my house...shouldn't take long, and I don't mind at all."

"The dog can come with." He knew it was a stupid thing to say but it seemed like a starting point.

"How very magnanimous of you." Methos pretended she hadn't said anything and continued, "As for the other things, you'll keep the house, it's not like we're moving to Scotland forever. As for the job, I am sorry about that, I know you love what you do, I do wish I could make things different-"

"Shut up." She threw him a bitter smile. "What would you do if I said no, hmm? Shoot me and board me on the plane? Leave me and never bother with me again?"

"If it was between those options, and watching you become another Andrew, or any of the other countless bodies lacking heads I've seen, yes." Bile rose up in his throat as he watched her face at the mention of her father. She slowly sank to the floor and started to pet Pendragon.

"You supreme being asshole." Her voice was trembling almost as wildly as her lower lip, but she refused to give into tears. "What gives you the right to speak of my father like that? Have you ever once in your entire life cared enough about someone to care whether they lived or died? No, don't answer, I don't want to know. Understand that I go with you only because my father would have wanted me to do everything in my power to survive." He understood her surrender. It brought no satisfaction, only more shame.

___

Duncan was staring at the large broadsword with somewhat hazy vision. Rachel MacLeod watched him for about five minutes and then tried to remember just how much she'd given him to drink over the past hour and a half. She stopped counting at shot number ten, deciding that was enough to be concerned over.

"The sword's not going to talk to you." He needed to talk about what was bothering him, and she would admit to being more than a little curious. "Then again, at the rate you're going," she motioned to the empty glasses strewn about the bar's surface, "It may be playing the bagpipes and doing a jig in a bit." Duncan turned confused eyes towards his cousin and it took all of her willpower not to roll her eyes at him. "Coffee?" If anything, the eyes just got more confused. "C'mon Duncan, you might as well spill, I won't quit asking until you do." She sat down on the stool next to him.

"I should have known to go somewhere else."

"Where else were you planning on? Who else would still be serving you drinks?"

"I concede your point." Rachel held back her amazement at the fact that he could still say 'concede.' She leaned back and gave him her best "I'm waiting" look. It took less than three minutes for him to throw up his hands in the international gesture of defeat.

"I took on a new student." It was barely a mumble. Rachel reminded herself to inhale. She wasn't sure what she had expected, but it wasn't this. Granted, she knew very little about her clansman's true existence, what little he had told her had been out of sheer necessity. She had learned the whole story of Richie rather slowly and more by putting two and two together than by any effort on Duncan's part.

"Someone needed your help?" He laughed, but the sound was sour.

"Adam."

"The perpetual grad student? He's immortal?"

"No, not him, he fell in love with one of us."

"Why did you accept if you did not want to?"

"Because I'm an idiot."

"Oh stop it, Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod." He turned to her in surprise at her tone. "Yes...you're so proud of that mantra aren't you? Have kept it for four-hundred years. What does it mean?" She raised her eyebrows. "I run from what I most fear? I believe that one mistake is a life-long condemnation? Why bother to carry the name if you can't be bothered to carry the strength that goes with it?" She shook her head and went to go clean up the landfill of scotch glasses left in his wake.

Duncan rose slowly and walked to the sword on the wall. He ran his fingers down its length once, then turned to leave the bar.

___

There were few things Duncan had been pretty sure he would never see in his lifetime. Methos walking next to a large English sheepdog with a tendency to attack anything moving through a busy airport was one of them. That was why it took a couple of minutes for him to even look at his new student. When he did manage to look up he had an inkling of why the oldest immortal had fallen for the newest one. She was gorgeous, of that there was no question. She was the kind of girl talent agencies discovered in super markets. He was shaken out of his rather rude perusal by the fact that they were close enough to shout to each other.

"Hello." He felt himself smiling for her sake, she looked like she could use a smile. Methos sure as hell wasn't providing one. Mac decided he didn't want to know what that was all about. She smiled in turn and held out a hand,

"You must be Duncan MacLeod. I'm Arica, but I'm sure Simon must have mentioned that at same point."

"Aye, Simon did mention that." The stress on Simon's name was not lost on Arica but the significance was. "Do you have all your baggage?"

"He's right here." She motioned to the man standing beside her. Against his better judgment Duncan was somewhat charmed by this brazen pixie. *Don't be fool MacLeod, she is here to learn, nothing more. Lord knows you don't need to be getting attached.*

"The car is this way." Methos and Arica followed as Duncan set off in the indicated direction.

Methos opened the car door for Arica and went back to help MacLeod with the bags. The Scot shook his head,

"You haven't told her your real name have you? You had better pray we don't run into Rachel, because if we do, you get to chose who we explain what to, ADAM."

"I plan on telling her, there just hasn't really been time."

"Why is she mad at you?" Methos started at the question. Mac rolled his eyes, "Do I look like an idiot?" Mac was surprised when Methos merely cocked his head, biting sarcasm completely absent.

"She's not thrilled about having had to give up her life."

"Ah." Duncan nodded slowly.

"Do you need some help back there?" Methos assumed a slightly wistful look at the girl's impatient shouting.

"No, we're coming." He reached over to slam the trunk in sync with the Highlander. They walked to their respective sides of the car. Just before opening his door Methos looked over the hood, "Duncan?" The other man looked up. "Thank you." Doe-brown eyes widened in surprise. Almost unwillingly, lips curled into a half-smile, "Well, you know, even I have my moments weakness."

___

Arica woke up in shock to hands shaking her none-too-gently. Taking in the pre-dawn darkness and the swirling inside her head she attempted to focus on the blurred figure above her.

"Duncan? You don't sleep? Simon left that out of his synopsis."

"Get up." Watching Simon and this man at dinner last night had been one of the more intriguing experience of Arica's life. While it was obvious that both men respected each other, it was equally obvious that they would prefer losing their heads to admitting that singular fact. Mad as she might be with Simon though, she understood why the man standing above her had been his choice. With that basic comprehension had come a decision. The decision had been that she would earn the respect of this man, her teacher, in any way possible. With a twist of her lips Arica decided that she was not pleased this meant getting up at the buttcrack of dawn, nonetheless she threw her legs over the side and said,

"So where are we going?"

"Favorite spot of mine, get some clothes on, I'll be at the door, don't take long."

She was at the door in two minutes. Silently, she followed him as he started into a jog. Arica kept her body in prime shape with dancing but the run was long and not always over even terrain. She began to feel it about a third of the way through. By the time they made it to their destination she was busy being disgusted by the way she sounded like Pendragon in the summer. She stopped thinking about it the minute she was able to look up from her knees though, into the most magnificent sunrise ever.

"Caught your breath? Good, let's start."

"Do sunrises get old after, how old are you, a thousand years, two thousand years?" It caught him off-guard. He turned to look at where she was staring. It was like nature's own kaleidoscope. Deep crimson red bled into rich citrus orange against the silhouetting of the cliffs. Arica watched the colors slowly shift with the motion of the fiery mass allowing soft pinks and burning yellows to join the chorus of colors. She was pretty sure that she could live millions of years and never see anything quite like it again. It reminded her of the way she felt when Simon smiled at her.

"Four-hundred. And, no, they don't. You just forget to look sometimes."

"I'm going to have to keep a journal: 'things I don't want to forget,'" she laughed, "The term senility has taken on a new meaning for me..." She was tough, Duncan had to give her that. Methos had filled him in on the details late last night once she had fallen asleep. No easy childhood hers, nor was her death an easy way of coming into immortality. Then her reaction to him this morning, the silent acceptance of his demands, the quiet confidence with which she had rebuked his last orders, he had to respect those qualities. Not that he would let her see that. Distance was what was needed. He took awhile to let that thought run through his mind. Turning he saw that the sun had reached a respectable height.

"We will start now." This time, Arica did not object.

She didn't object to anything at all until later that day, when Duncan chose to echo the actions of his own teacher. Grabbing the long, potentially lethal bokken, he turned and handed it to her.

"Come at me, try to hit me in any way you can. As hard as you can." Her eyes narrowed and she unconsciously took a step back,

"Call me crazy, but this isn't one of the better ideas you've come up with today."

"I didn't ask for an assessment of either your or my mental status, just do it." She did. Subsequently she found that even with a large stick, it was her who was making intimate friends with the mat, not the man she was attempting to beat. She got up for the third time, readying herself once again for what she was now perceiving as the impossible task,

"So, let me guess, my talent lies not with the stick?" Try as he might, Duncan couldn't suppress a smile at that one.

___

An hour later Duncan called a halt to activities and walked into the weapons closet. He emerged carrying an object that was fast becoming familiar to her. The sword was long and graceful and the way MacLeod held it made it seem merely a part of his arm. Duncan took the blade in his hand and extended the delicately carved handle towards her. Hesitantly, her hand curved around the coolness of the katana. It felt odd beneath her fingers, as if it knew she was not its owner.

"Same routine, different weapon."

"No." It wasn't a question, it was a statement. "No." Even more firm that time. Duncan shrugged and attacked. Seeing the far larger man coming at her Arica fell back on the instinct to defend herself and drew up the deadly blade.

Seconds later she was back on the floor.

"Oh look, my favorite position."

"Get up." She did. The next three times were a repeat of the first. On the fourth time, though, he did not stop when she fell. Arica was pissed, according to her code of chivalry, you didn't kick a person while they were down, figuratively or literally. And, putting all machoness aside, she was more than a little bit frightened. Duncan was BIG. Seething, she just wanted to cause damage, mindless of how permanent it was. She attacked with the blade, seeing red, there was no art or method in the attack, just pure, driving fury. Until she saw true red, fluid, not her own, leaking down onto her. She feared to breath, afraid to let the skin come in contact with the blade he had taken from her and now held at her throat. He held it there for mere seconds before putting it aside. The seconds were enough. She drew back, and closed her eyes counting out breaths to herself. Then she opened them, in time to watch the wound seal over in a perfect union of skin.

"I'm so sorry, I'm so...I just wanted, I was so mad and then I wanted to hurt, kill...I was insane."

"There may be hope for you yet."

___

Arica was surprised to find herself in chains again. If this was some part of the training, well, she was going to have to object to this. She heard foot steps and was about to voice her displeasure when she saw who the feet belonged to.

"Dad?"

"Shhh, prima," Arica smiled at the nickname he had adopted after her first dancing lesson, "We have to get you out of here."

"Won't argue there." He started to walk towards her when she saw the red line appear at his throat. Wanting to look away, she found herself transfixed at the sight, even knowing what would come next. As the head fell, she saw a familiar face behind it. Finding herself summarily free of the chains she walked towards the man who had first shown her death. She was surprised to see Simon hand her a sword. Taking it, she felt as though it were an extension of herself, like MacLeod had said it should be.

The fight began and Arica felt herself fight, felt the flow of the motion, the violent grace of the moment. Finally, with a sudden surge of strength, Arica gained the advantage, pressing it until she was able to make the concluding stroke. She was surprised at how it felt, the resistance...that was her last thought before seeing the blood. She watched the head fall, surprised to find out it was not the German's. Instead she was staring at lips she had once kissed.... Her screams came, dissonant against the sound of steel clattering from her numb hand to the cement floor.

___

In that second before he was fully awake, Methos heard the scream and thought it was him having the nightmare. The next second, he knew the truth.

It took him less than those first two seconds to reach her.

"Arica! Arica!" He attempted to grab hold of one of her arms as she thrashed against the bed and headboard. Soon he was holding both arms in his hands and shaking. She tensed against his hold as her eyes flew open. Methos waited for some of the calm to be restored in those eyes. Slowly, he lowered himself onto the bed, twisting her around so that she was curled up against his body. He stroked her arm and rocked gently, waiting for the stiffness to leave every muscle. A small voice worked it's way into his ears,

"He had me use a sword today." Methos assumed the "he" in question was MacLeod. Knowing she couldn't see him he allowed a bemused expression to cloud his face. The first day was a little early for that kind of thing, particularly with what MacLeod knew about her past. He didn't have time to think about it, she was talking again. "I killed you. I didn't think it was you, but then it was your head and I had done it, there was so much blood, like that day, when I came home-"

"Shhh, shh, it's ok, it's ok," he interrupted on the increasingly unsteady stream of rambling. "Everyone is scared when they first start training." Methos had no idea if this was true, most of the immortals he knew were old enough that they were used to the ideal of swords and fighting long before first death.

"I'm sorry I woke you up."

"Well, yes, I was going to get around to telling you how mad I am at you for that." The small body in his arms twisted, trying to see his face. When she achieved her aims, the face was smiling at her. "Arica, /cariad/, I've been alive for five thousand years, and I still have nightmares sometimes. He kept his eyes fixed on hers, watching for a reaction to the words.

"Five THOUSAND years? I'm not sure, but I think you may be older than some of the stars..." Their laughs mingled at that one, hers like the tingling of champagne glasses, his decidedly rougher. "Do you really?" He nodded his head at the question. His hand had moved from her hand to her face. Slowly, his fingers massaged her jaw. He took her hand in his free one and brought it slowly to his mouth. He smiled at her and took the thumb between his lips. He waited for the brown eyes to widen in pleasure. Knowing exactly what he wanted, Arica smiled mischievously, determined to hold out quite a bit longer. Methos rose to the challenge, lightly running his tongue up the length of her thumb and releasing almost immediately. Abruptly he took both hands and grabbed her arms, pulling her over onto him as he laid down on the sheets for the first time since their arrival in Scotland.

"I'd forgotten how nice a bed feels...." he snickered.

"Simon, you called me something a minute ago....cariad..." Her eyes asked the question for her.

"It's Welsh, it means love." His smile was triumphant as he watched her eyes go wide.

___

Placing his hands around her waist, he pulled her down and leaned in until they could feel each other breathing.

"I love it when you do that," he whispered into her right ear with a slight twist of his head. He placed the emphasis on the word 'love.' Arica shuddered.

"I know, I'm talented. Mind telling me what I did? I forget." Methos wasn't interested in responding verbally. He traced her earlobe with his tongue and felt her breathing go erratic. He nipped at her earlobe while brushing the hair off her neck where he subsequently began to trail kisses. He paused in his downward path to explore the hollow of her neck. His hands, still resting on her waist, began an upward ascent. Rushing nothing, Methos took time to massage every rib. Momentarily he lifted his mouth in order to sweep the T-shirt above her head. Laying her back down, he smiled at the hazy-violet eyes.

Just the beginning, /cariad/." With that, he lowered his lips to her right breast and playfully teased the nipple, pulling at it with his teeth only to flick his tongue back and forth across the taut surface. Feeling her squirm, he moved on, repeating the procedure on its twin. She moaned when he moved further downward, his mouth and hands roaming in a leisurely exploration of her ribs...then navel....Suddenly he nipped at he inside of her upper thigh and Arica sobbed,

"Simon!"

"Patience, /cariad/, patience." For all his fine words though, Methos was feeling far from patient at the moment. She was like the heat and flavor of a hot chocolate rushing through his veins on a snowy day. No, no, it was definitely more powerful than that. Calling on every inch of will-power cultivated in 5000 years, he continued his worship of her legs.

___

*You, my dear, are acting like a schoolgirl. An unnacomplished one at that.* Arica was proud of the thought. It was the first complete one she had managed to construct since Simon's tongue had made contact with her ear. It was her last complete one as well, for just as she was finishing it the tongue in question was making a circle around her most sensitive of pleasure-spots. The sunrise from that morning exploded in her head. Without any awareness of what she was doing, her fingers entwined themselves in the short brown hair of her lover and held on with all the desperation of someone falling off a cliff. Heedless of her fingers, he pulled away.

"No, no, no, no, no....." His mouth on hers stopped the stream of incoherent pleas. He drank from her, swallowing the words, digesting her pleasure. Then, with a single thrust, he poured all of it back into her.

She screamed. Instinctively, her legs wrapped around his waist in a dance far older and more primitive than any she had previously performed. With each movement the colors flooding her brain and rushing through her nerves splintered and intensified, until, with a final, most intimate joining, the colors flew apart leaving behind only the intense blue/white of a daytime sky.

It took several minutes to recover any semblance of thought, let alone form words. Moving back slightly from the embrace she raised her head to look into his eyes. Her's darkened in response to what she saw. There was none of the usual indifference, or wide-eyed innocence, or even humor. All she saw was a deep vulnerability. Pain and fear so old that no amount of smiles would ever erode the impressions they had left. Somehow, she found the ability to raise her hand and cup his cheek. Closing his eyes, he turned into the hand feeling nothing but her warmth and the patterns in her skin for moments on end. When his eyes opened again they contained the old nonchalance with something else Arica was unable to identify.

"Simon?" He smiled slightly and pulled her into a tight embrace.

"Go back to sleep, /aingeal/."

"I love you." Still unable to answer in turn, Methos responded by tightening the already suffocating embrace.

___

Arica decided, after spending very little time with Mac and Simon, that in a parallel universe, the way things started to settle down might have been termed 'normality.' Nonetheless, if 'normal' was missing from the picture, at least a routine began to set in. The days, from indecently early to early evening were Mac's. Everything in between was Simon's. So it was with some shock that she discovered herself waking up of her own volition near to three months after their arrival. She took a moment to savor the all-too-rare feeling of safety that she experienced when being held in Simon's arms. Turning into him, she lightly pecked his nose and smiled as his eyelids opened lazily.

"Simon," she whispered, the moment too perfect to ruin with noise, "I think something is wrong with MacLeod, we should go check."

"What leads you to this conclusion?"

"He hasn't slept in once in three months, I'm telling you he has to be lying somewhere, hopefully not headless, but I don't know, this is not good." Simon's stomach began to shake and it took less than a minute for Arica to realize he was laughing. "What's so funny?" She didn't even bother resisting the urge to slap him playfully.

"That my memory is so much better than yours."

"I'm obviously missing something."

"What day is it?"

"If you tell me you've kept track of time while we were out here, our relationship is over."

"April 18th." Arica started to speak and then shut her mouth as the implication of the date hit her. Simon took the moment of silence to kiss her until the choice was death by asphyxiation or breaking the embrace. It hadn't been an easy choice. "Happy birthday, /cariad/."

"Indeed," replied Arica, with a hazy grin, still suffering from the after-effects of oxygen-deprivation.

"I convinced the militant Scot to give you a gift- a morning's sleep."

"Did you have to promise centuries of hard bondage in return?" Smiling ruefully, Simon ruffled her hair. He had a sneaking suspicion that Duncan rather liked Arica, but he was not going to interfere in the teacher-student relationship. Besides, Arica respected Duncan even if she wasn't nominating him for Mr. Personality. "Even if you didn't promise, watch out, he's tricky. He tells me every day I'm going to beat him the following one. I'm starting to think either I am a big disappointment, or he is very delusional." Amused, Simon merely shook his head at her.

"I'm going to take a shower."

"I see you are delusional as well."

"How is that?"

"The shower is mine."

"Well, seeing as how I am bigger and stronger than you, I am willing to offer a compromise."

"And what is that, your buffness?" Arica raised her eyebrows in a challenge.

"We share."

"Ohh, brains and buff, I find that attractive in a man."

___

Methos was long finished preparing breakfast when Arica emerged from the bathroom.

"I'd forgotten how nice dry hair and taking your time feels. When I get done here, I'm going to do that a lot. Take my time. I mean what the hell else is being a freak of nature for?" Methos smiled at the insight. Arica gasped as she saw what was being dished out, "You remembered that my favorite food was strawberry waffles?" Her tone of voice indicated that she thought he had way too much time on his hands, but her eyes were positively glowing. "Andrew once asked me what my favorite food was, he wanted to make me a special dinner. I felt like an idiot, because I'd never really stopped to think about that, you know, I mean, food was food, you were lucky if you got enough of it, who cared what it tasted like. So I told him it was stupid to get attached to a thing like a certain food." Methos reminded himself that oxygen was a necessary component of life. She so rarely talked about the past. With her life was for the present, it was part of what made her perfect. That, and that everything she said had a purpose. He kept listening, "He just nodded his head and preceded to have us eat different foods at every meal until I admitted to a preference. He was so stubborn." She laughed and looked up at Methos. "You're the first person since him to really pay attention to the little details about me. I was so lucky in him. I'm so lucky in you." Methos was quite sure at this point that there had never been anyone who deserved more than he could give so much as she did. Not just because she was willing to settle for it either. "I know you don't want to tell me you love me." He tried valiantly not to flinch. "After five-thousand years I'm not sure I'd be as decadent to commit to something this permanent either. But I love you. When you called me /princesse/ the other night....I'm no princess, but I could have been at that moment. You remembered my birthday for me, which I think is pretty fantastic. Here's the thing, though. It wouldn't have mattered. Because you make every day special. Just seeing you at night when I am so sure that life is going to be an endless round of Duncan beating the shit out of me makes everything worth it. And don't get me started on when we touch-"

"/Princesse/." He couldn't hear anymore. The words were there, all prepared and he'd say them, jump headlong into irrationality if she said another word.

"Yes?"

"Open your gift." Methos pushed the exquisite wooden case across the table to her. "Read the card first." Thoroughly curious, Arica broke the wax seal, smiling at the tradition conveyed in that singular piece of wax. It read:

/A/ toaitear /(guardian), for /m'aingeal/, Methos

"What does Methos mean?"

"It's my name." Arica felt numb inside. How could you care about someone and not tell them something as simple as your name? *Great, you tell a guy you lie awake at nights thinking about him, and he tells you that he is a habitual liar, good trade off.* No way was she letting the uncertainty show, she had done enough sharing for one morning.

"Would you care to explain then, why I have been calling you Simon all this time?"

"Five thousand years is a long time, wouldn't you say?" Arica shrugged,

"I guess."

"To immortals, the mere idea of five thousand years brings to mind a legend, if you will, the oldest among them, a man called Methos. His quickening would be quite a prize for anyone able to take his head." He was silent as he watched the implication sink in. Arica, for her part, could have cried for sheer joy at the significance of this gift. Not for the first time in her life, she was glad to have been proven completely wrong. He may not have said the three magic words, but he had just handed his head to her, sword and blue lightning included.

"You should have had me open the gift first, that card is going to be a tough act to follow." Methos watched her slender fingers reverently lift the top of the intricate box. What she saw inside made her gasp.

"It's French," he explained, "1590, Renaissance period. I thought that was rather apropos to the circumstances of our first meeting. Gorgeous and unique." *Much like its owner*, he added silently. Barely breathing, Arica lifted the French rapier with its curving hilt and long, graceful blade into the air. Soon after followed the companion dagger. It reminded her of the first pair of toe shoes Andrew had bought her. She had put them on and before even finishing the lacing she knew the pink satin was far more than footwear, it was a physical representation of her soul in flight. So it was with the sword. She didn't have to tighten her grip, the pommel seemed to meld with her fingers. It was the essence of art, just like dancing. Just like making love.

"And to think, some girls would have wanted jewelry." The comment may have been flippant, the voice told a story of awe.

___

Arica sometimes made the joke that Methos may have been her lover, but the sword was her soulmate from that day on. The training evolved into something more fierce at that point. Wooden sticks were replaced by the far more lethal steel. While Duncan's control was as finely honed as his blade, the blade was nonetheless a constant reminder of vulnerability. Open confrontation between teacher and student was now rare as MacLeod resorted to a guerrilla warfare style of teaching. Leaping from dense parts of the rich Scottish forests or creeping from behind mountains after hours of downtime, he would hand Arica a lesson in defeat and how to avoid it. Trust your instincts. Be acutely aware of your surroundings. The sword is a part of you, not a foreign object. She began to think he had one for everyday he had been living. This made her immensely grateful that he was not as old as Methos.

He continued in his mantra at the end of each day, firm that she would overpower him the next. She had finally informed him to his face that she was worried about the delusions he seemed to be having. The comment had earned her a rare, genuine smile. She had had to squelch the instinct to gape. Instead she had deadpanned,

"Wow, who knew your jaw muscles could work like that?" Then, more seriously, "You have a beautiful smile." It was to her fierce pleasure that neither comment extinguished the expression.

It was four months after her birthday and one month after that comment, that what she was later to term "first incident" occurred.

___

The fight was gelling in her mind, the moves guiding her body with startling clarity. She had a sense that this was how things were supposed to feel. Nonetheless, she was surprised to feel herself exerting a slight pressure with the rapier to a certain vulnerable area of Mac's upper body upon the fight's completion. Instinct told her this victory was planned on her teacher's part. Glancing down, she was surprised to see a look of unreasoning fear spread across the other immortal's face.

"Please don't kill me, please. Please." Arica drew back her blade in shock at the words. She backed up, unaware if it was to give herself space or the man still kneeling on the floor. She resorted to her customary sarcasm to tamp down on the unease roiling through her chest.

"I'm glad you have such a high opinion-" She stopped, seeing the barrel of a gun pointed at her. She paled at the remembered sensation of steel balls ripping through her lungs and crushing her pelvic bone. Trying her best to keep her voice, and for that matter, everything else about her, steady, she spoke up, "This is probably not the best time to bring this up, but I thought this kind of thing was against the rules." Duncan watched the sickly change of color in her skin and practically threw up. *Grow up Highlander, better she learn this now with you than later with someone else.* With that thought he let his eyes grow even colder and jawbones harden.

"Not everyone plays by the rules. When your opponent is down, you kill him. I don't care if he starts sobbing about the children you will be condemning to the streets or tells you he is on to the cure for cancer. Take his head. Trust no one." On the last syllable of the warning he pulled the trigger. The sound of the hammer falling on an empty chamber seemed louder than any bullet could have possibly been. Struggling to remain standing, Arica forced her larynx into motion.

"No one?" Arica was well aware of just how forlorn sounding the question came out.

"Least of all me."

___

"Ari?" Methos saw the tiny figure standing with her back to him and stepped into the thick silence and heat of the mid-August night.

"Did I wake you? I'm sorry." Concern became even more prevalent upon hearing the complete lack of voice intonation in her response.

"It's two in the morning." When there was only silence in return he decided he was going to have to be more obvious. "You have to get some sleep, tiny dancer." The nickname, so close to the one her father had called her, got a response.

"At this point, closing my eyes might do more harm than good. Besides, sleep seems to be a little on the elusive side this evening."

"Pound for your thoughts?"

"I'm an expensive woman, then, am I?" She sighed and gave in, walking to where he sat and curling up against the broad chest. "Even the playing field for me, eh, love? I know Mac is your friend, that you trust and respect him. And I trust you. Implicitly. But there is some major shit going on behind those lady-killer eyes of his. I wanna know why I was staring down the barrel of a .45 today. Why, according to his philosophy I should live out the rest of my life, and that could be awhile, as a hermit. I'm kinda willing to bet you know all that stuff." She left the question open ended and Methos could feel his loyalty to Mac keeping his lips firmly sealed. Then he felt her expel her breath in a huge rush and let her head fall into cupped hands. He expelled a breath too, letting the words follow it out of his mouth,

"There was a young pre-immortal, named Richie Ryan..." Methos went through every detail that his nearly-perfect immortal memory had retained, either through hearsay or first hand knowledge. She listened as he talked about Mac's First Death, his love for Tessa, the trouble that his boyscout nature got him into with Felicia and Kristen, the practically father/son nature of his relationship with Richie, his escapades with Amanda, and the Dark Quickening. Finally, she watched the weariness in his eyes and the slight trembling of his lips as he told of Ahriman. It was with some shock that she noted the tears that began to fall as he talked of finding Mac with the dead boy. Tenderly she kissed the tears from his cheeks. When the echoes of Methos' voice finally died in the early hours of the morning Arica took a few minutes to let details and the significance of it all sink in. When she raised her eyes to Methos he saw moisture streaked down both sides of her face. Tenderly, he leaned down and, repeating her actions of the moment past, kissed the tears away. "What were those for?"

"For a kid who didn't get as lucky as I did. For an ancient human who still, after death upon death, is able to hurt for a single lost friend For a man who has to hide away the good inside because after four-hundred years of betrayal and pain he has found that the world considers it an unacceptable virtue...." She shrugged.

"When Mac found me I was ready to die, I offered him my head. He said no and for the first time in centuries I felt an incentive to live. The Highlander...well, he was something the rest of us weren't. He had built his own clan, one of mortals and immortals, and immortals DO NOT have friends. I yell at him for inflicting me with a conscience, but I think I'd rather have the conscience and him than go back to the way it was before." Arica was silent for a minute, aware of the meaning of the story he had just laid out for her.

"Thank you." Grateful that she understood, he smiled,

"Welcome you."

___

"Take tomorrow off." Arica practically did a double take at her teacher's words.

"I'm sorry?"

"A day off, you know, a day where you do something other than trying to kill me?"

"That sounded suspiciously like a sense of humor there Mac."

"You know me better than that, Sky. I have some business to take care of tomorrow. I'll see you bright and early the day after that. Good night."

"Good night." She didn't bother to hide the overwhelming grin spreading across her features.

___

"So where are you going to take me tomorrow?" Methos turned to her with a decidedly confused look on his face and she laughed. "Mac gave me a WHOLE twenty-four hours off."

"Hmmm, I suppose I can think up some things to do with a major block of time like that." He let his eyes roam up and down her in obvious invitation.

"Forget it, we're not staying here all day."

"Can't blame me for trying."

"Who says?" In that instant Arica turned back to him and the two Cheshire grins met.

___

Methos let her sleep in. It was something she never got to do. Besides, the night before had been exhausting. Methos gave a self-satisfied stretch and leaned back to indulge in watching her sleep. What to do with the day? He was sometimes surprised to realize that five thousand years, sixty-eight wives and countless lovers had given him little more insight in to the female mind than the average eighteen year-old male. He started to list the things he knew about her. It took several minutes of sorting through the not-so-useful information to get to that which could be of some help. Finally he decided that they would spend the morning at the art museum and later he would take her out to the stables where Duncan kept several thoroughbreds. He would call Duncan to make sure that he didn't mind loaning out the animals for a couple of hours. He tried to ignore the fact that he was willing to ignore his own discomfort with the animals to please her. Of course he loved her. He wouldn't be here if he didn't. He might have dropped her at Mac's doorstep, he might not have bothered at all. *So why don't you tell her that, asshole?* He tried to convince himself it was force of habit. After all, the only people he'd ever told that had been mortals. It wasn't that they weren't as important. Just not as permanent. They were like the Watcher tattoo. It had been painful at first, but then the pain had faded, and, in time, the regenerative nature of immortality had faded the blue of the ink into nothingness as well. Not that the soul of an immortal was half so regenerative. He only wished. One accepted that mortals died. And if one was wise, one accepted that The Game killed most immortals. But Methos had never laid any claim to wisdom. If he said the words out loud, heard them bounce around in the air, watched her eyes widen in shock and excitement, it would be the best commitment he had ever made. And it would kill him if she was taken from him. He might make it if he didn't admit to it, just stayed silent. The words were for him only.

___

Arica had been in heaven all morning listening to Methos tell stories about the painters she had studied in books and by watching endless slide rolls. He made the oil and canvas that she had spent so much time finding meaning of her own in to life. She could have spent days in the museum with him, but at noon he insisted they get lunch before his next planned outing. She proceeded to interrogate him upon hearing there was more but began to find that Methos could be very quiet when it served his purposes.

Still, she was almost glad that he had kept the plans to himself when the stables came into her line of vision.

"Um, Methos?"

"Yes?"

"I think I'm going to have to lose a little of my customary cool now, because I haven't ridden in over a year."

"I know." Just as she was about to scream from excitement she figured out where the little thread that was pulling at the back of her brain came from.

"Methos?"

"Mmm?"

"You don't like horses." Methos missed a beat. He should have known she'd remember.

"It's a long story Ari, I'll tell you it some other time, for today, just promise me you won't worry about it. That's how you can thank me for the day."

"Considering that I am about to go into severe cardiac arrest from pure excitement, I think I can handle fulfilling my end of the bargain on that one." Without looking over to her, Methos reached out and briefly tucked her hair behind one ear.

"Fantastic." She did too. For pure excitement she beat out a kid on Christmas morning upon being introduced to Mac's steed. She had the difficult mount won over in a manner of minutes. They were saddled and riding barely fifteen minutes after walking into the barn. He forgot any discomfort he had felt when they reached the valley. Loosening the reigns, she let the mount free. For Methos it was like watching Van Gogh in motion, the master's understanding of color and beauty so deeply present in her. He wasn't aware of how long he had been watching her when he felt a slight disorientation. Before he could even turn around there was an intense flare of light that started at the back of his head and ate it's way to the front. Then things went black.

Arica felt the Presence barely a second after Methos. She turned to see the attacker bearing down, but no sooner had she filled her lungs to scream a warning than she saw him slide off the horse, unconscious. Pulling the horse to stop she hopped to the ground and let her fingers go strangle tight around the rapier, waiting as the assailant galloped ever closer.

___

Arica listened as her heartbeats melded with the pounding of the horses hooves. A single thought formulated in her mind- get him off the horse. Forcing herself to concentrate on that goal she brought up the rapier and waited for him to come close enough. Feeling the wind of the horses momentum grow stronger around her she paid attention to nothing outside of the position of her attacker's sword and the distance of the horse. When the distance was minimal she lowered her rapier to underneath the offensive position of her opponent's weapon. His reflexes were lightning quick but she managed to gain her ends in drawing a light gash from front to back on his right side. Quickly circling her on the destrier he dismounted in the moment that she used to turn around to him and ended up directly behind her. In less than a second she had executed a pirouette and steel shuddered in horrific rapture against steel.

___

Even through the dizziness and pain of a healing head injury Methos recognized the sound of steel mating. It struck him that if she was in trouble there wasn't a penalty in the world that could keep him from interfering. Getting up to draw his sword Methos looked up to actually take in the action. What he saw made him pause in his response to the situation.

___

Arica felt the calm that had been drilled into her for a year now flow through every muscle and nerve. Each part of her body served no purpose but to respond to the call of the sword. Feet moved in perfect grace and arms flashed up, back, down with a strength and speed that would have impressed the most flexible of athletes. She paid no attention to his superior skill, *confidence*, she said the word to herself over and over feeling it dance around her mind as she danced a more lethal dance in the valley. Then, between the repeats of the word it came to her that there was only one way of winning this fight.

It wasn't hard to make her opponent think she was losing ground. Slowly she began to move the fight to the forest several feet from where they stood. Once there she shifted the fight ever so slightly with a sudden, and surprising, move to the offensive. The immediacy of the change threw her enemy off a mere fraction of an inch and into the large roots of the tree she had maneuvered them towards. The half minute it took for him to regain his balance was enough, with a super-charged shove on her sword she pushed his to the side and fled past him into the denseness of the forest. She found what she was looking for seconds later, and, hearing her assailant follow slid into the small cove the large tree provided. Her opponent's movement was silent, regardless of the broken twigs and dead leaves littering the ground. Arica didn't listen to the noise, she focused on her instinct. It didn't fail her. She waited for him to pass her by no more than a foot. He caught on to her in that second but it was too late as she brought up the rapier, cutting deeply into the muscular back. Her adversary fell to his knees, debilitated by the pain. Arica brought the sharp edge of the blade to his neck and opened her mouth in the formulaic ritual of millennia.

___

The words that came out, however, were hardly traditional. "You had better have a DAAM good excuse for this, because I'm pissed and in a position of considerable power."

"Congratulations, I was beginning to wonder if you had it in you," was the Scot's unconcerned response.

"What did you do to Methos?"

"He MIGHT have a bump for, oh, a couple of seconds." No sooner had he said the words than the immortal in question appeared from out of the lush forest and advanced towards the two. "You mind letting me up now?" Through with the adrenaline rush and the initial anger Arica considered the request. Slowly, she nodded that she did mind. Their positions remained stagnant.

"What was the point of this? Why give me a day off and let me think I am going to get to enjoy myself and then change your mind?"

"There was no mind-changing involved. You needed to know that this can happen at anytime, any place. Just because you are having a good time does not preclude an immortal from hunting you. They will be there always, good days and bad, morning and night, at work, at home, ALWAYS. Until today, this fight you have never been willing to spill my blood. Understand that being something of a concern for me as your teacher." *If completely reassuring and a quality to very much respect in you as a friend.*

"And you never once considered the possibility that were I to be truly threatened I would respond?"

"Obviously I did, I just needed to test the theorem." Arica tried to reconcile the coldness in his voice with everything she knew about him. *Calm down, it is a way of alienating you, don't let it hurt.* But it did. Then, even knowing the cruelty of her next question, she matched her tone to the coldness of his and forged ahead,

"If we were the last two, would you fight me?" His answer came on the tail of her last word,

"There can be only one." Arica heard the words and felt something in her chest go icy. With practiced skill she lifted her blade and handed the pommel to the man still kneeling before her.

"Well then," her words were soft enough that Duncan had to lean in to her, "You go ahead and be that one Duncan MacLeod of the clan MacLeod, because that is one honor I sure as hell don't want." With that she brushed past him and out to the horses. Duncan just barely resisted the urge to call out to her. His eyes were burning and he closed them, unwilling to permit the weakness. From that first morning, he had known that she was someone to admire. He had instantaneously understood his friend's decision to hold onto her and not let go. She was more frightening than any natural disaster or insane horseman could ever have been. Attachments were for mortals, not for them, there could be only.....Opening eyes that were still suspiciously blurry, MacLeod turned around to face a man he was finding to be far more courageous than himself.

___

Methos concentrated on seeing past the infuriation threatening to incinerate every nerve and synapse in his body.

"I think I may be missing the objective you hope to accomplish here. Would you like her to be scared past the point of functioning every time she steps off of holy ground? If so, good technique, you really should publish." Mac tried apologizing with his eyes. Methos ignored him letting his voice rise a decibel with each syllable, "Richie is not dead because you failed somewhere in his training. Richie is dead because shit happens. Now, in all fairness, it seems to be unusually attracted to you...all the same, that is the end all be all of the Richie situation! I won't allow you to drive her to the point of cold-bloodedness because you feel it's the safest and most reliable way of surviving!" The physical sensation of being stabbed that Duncan had felt at each mention of his former student's name began to wear down on him.

"You don't care about her survival, you just care that she stays your 'innocent little girl' completely and utterly dependent on you for the rest of eternity. After all, she can't leave you then, no matter what you do. Who you are." Methos was hyper-aware of the stress placed on the last sentence and the significance of it. He shrugged, too busy controlling a barely-leashed temper at that moment for any physical response more demanding. The minute his shoulders had fallen he decided he didn't much care whether he held his temper or not and drew one fist back to start the fight.

MacLeod had been expecting it, had practically pursued it. A small part of his psyche tried to ask him why he was doing this but was overpowered by the anger-fueled adrenaline screaming through his mind. The fighter in him took over, analyzing the rough, reactionary moves that Methos was making and responding with lethal accuracy. He had to concentrate more as the emotions in Methos gave way to the physical reality of what was happening, but by that time the fight was well on its way to being a /fait accompli/.

___

Arica ran her fingers over the velvet of the steed's snout and reluctantly turned back to the forest to collect her sword and lover. The order she had thought of those in brought a smile to her face. It only lasted as far as the forest's perimeter. She broke into a run at hearing the grunts and curses of what could only be a fight. She almost fell to the ground with relief upon seeing the absence of swords when they came into her line of sight. Not bothering to yell she placed two fingers in her mouth and whistled.

Both men stopped in motion and looked at the origin of the shrill noise. Arica took the opportunity to catalogue the damage to Methos. If he had been mortal she might have worried, as it was, his body was already beginning to mend.

"This might have been amusing had it happened on a middle school playground." Giving them each an expression of disgust she stepped to where her sword lay and returned it to its former hiding place. "Now that I have this in my hands, I don't trust myself around you two." She glared at MacLeod and made the word 'trust' sound like it had one less letter in it. The two were left staring as she made her way silently back through the woods.

___

"I'm sorry." The words were so soft Methos thought maybe they were wishful thinking on his end. "Sometimes I forget what it was like being in love with Tess, the way I would have killed my own kin for her if it had been necessary." The words were slow, as if the man saying them was testing the truth of each separately. "I didn't want to care about her. I didn't want to like her. Just another young one, as like to die quickly as any other." Duncan looked at the other man's profile. Methos waited, there was more to be said.

"I knew why you loved her that first morning. My cause was a lost one then as well-"

"I'm shocked that you would be so stubborn as to wait this long to admit such a thing." Duncan snorted but recognized the comment as his friend's acceptance of the apology. "We should go to her before she takes all three horses and heads for town."

"I should just go home and call it a night, I'll see her in practice tomorrow.....maybe." Duncan muttered the last part. Methos mentally shook his head.

"Not a chance, not only are you coming to dinner, you are paying for it." It went unsaid that part of that payment would be an apology to the one who really deserved to hear it. The trees tapered off and finally cleared completely. In the instant that the last tree was bypassed both men flushed a sickly shade of white.

"I didn't know you were clairvoyant," came MacLeod's weak attempt at humor. Two horses milled, grazing and swatting flies with their tails. The third, and its rider, were nowhere to be seen.

___

Arica leaned into the horse's mane and let loose the reigns. The wind was sharp against her, the pain was almost soothing, it was something to concentrate on. There was no way to be scared when you couldn't think past the whistling of the air around you. Or angry. Confused. So it was that she let the horse run until it slowed of its own volition. Even then she would have been tempted to spur it further had she not been worried about the animal.

It was around the time that the scenery stopped blurring when Arica began to realize she was lost. As it was late dusk by the time of this realization the sun, and its directional values were lost to her. She turned the horse gently in the direction she believed they had originated from. It took her less than an hour to figure out that she was wrong. The fields she had been riding through gave way slowly to streets and Arica knew she had reached the town's outskirts. Arica nudged the horse into a standstill. For a minute she tried to remember the last time she had felt this idiotic. Deciding it didn't really matter she dismounted and led the mount through the streets looking for somewhere to ask for directions.

The pub was approximately a ten minute walk into town. Grimacing, Arica secured the horse to a bike rack with the bridle and spent several minutes calming him. When she felt assured of his staying in that spot she walked into the pub. It was early so things were still quiet inside. She made her way to the bar checking her pockets for money. Smiling when she found that she had had enough sense to keep some on her, she sat down and ordered a Glenmorangie Scotch. The choice of drink automatically brought a smile to the bartender's face. Arica congratulated herself on the correct calculation.

"I have nae seen y'around here before, lassie."

"Well, actually, you're probably going to think this is crazy," she took a sip and savored the inner fire it brought, "I was out riding, and I got a little lost-"

"Gin you ended op here, ye'll be more than a little lost." Arica smiled and looked at him out of the corner of her eyes,

"I wasn't precisely paying attention." The bar tender let out a laugh.

"Aye, thass a good one!" Arica tossed her head in an indignant manner but they both knew she was acting. "Can ye tell me where ye started out from?"

"Would you believe I actually do know that?"

___

A half-hour later Arica was armed with directions, an old but functional compass and a pen-light. She was threading her way through the growing crowd when the now familiar sensation of another's Presence caused her to stop in her progress. Less than a second later she regained her equilibrium and continued on her way. Her hand went instinctively to the weapon hidden at her side. The immortal waiting for her was not Methos, she knew the feeling of him crawling up her spine far too well. It didn't feel like Mac either. Reaching the door she stepped out into the night and looked around to locate the source of the sensation. Nothing appeared.

"I'm Arica Skyler and not all that terribly interested in fighting if that's all right with you."

"Fine by me, how 'bout we go have a drink?" He extended his hand, "I'm Kyle." She returned the handshake with the minimal amount of touch required. He was about 5'10'', shaggy brown hair, odd green eyes that somehow seem to fit. All in all, not bad looking. Not Methos either, she mused silently.

"Actually, I was just heading out, but it's a lovely establishment, go have one hell of a night." Arica knew she was being rude but her knowledge of immortals extended no further than Methos, Mac and Mac's paranoia.

"It won't be that exciting all by myself."

"I happened to notice plenty of girls in there, go try the routine on one of them." The tension of the afternoon, both Mac's surprise attack and his fight with her lover were starting to erode her usual tact. With those words she turned from him, nervous at his insistence. He lunged and caught her arm. Arica pivoted to face him. The distance between them decreased, she could smell the puffs of alcohol that wafted towards her each time he exhaled. "Listen, Kyle, its been a long day, I want to go home, you, on the other hand, seemed to have planned a night of partying, I'd say that makes us a bad pair."

"It's a shame that you think that. You know what it means when two immortals make a bad pair, don't you?" He drew his sword. He was quick but Arica had followed the bread crumb trail of his thoughts and drew her's simultaneously.

"Let's take this somewhere private." Arica breathed an inward sigh of relief at the steadiness in her voice. Kyle began to walk towards the back of the pub. It took awhile to reach there with each immortal keeping steady watch on his/her counterpart. Once in the alley Kyle wasted no time, making an offensive strike almost immediately. The part of Arica's mind that wasn't directly concerned with countering the hit deduced two things from this move. The first was that he did not have much experience. Mac had made it painfully clear that the good ones always waited, analyzed your strategy, picked you apart before even thinking about making an offensive move. It logically followed that her attacker wasn't very old. For the first time since the situation had erupted, Arica began to feel a little more confident.

Blades clashed in every which way for a good ten minutes. Arica was exhausted from the day's events and knew that she needed to close in on him soon or lose control of the fight. She started paying particular attention to the angle and width of his swings. By this time, the length of the fight was wearing on him as well. His style began to go sloppy. Arica noticed the increasing imbalance of each lunge. Using the last of her strength she caught him as she went into one and forced him to his knees. Standing over him it was ridiculously easy to position her sword at his neck. It was then that she made her first mistake and looked into bewildered eyes.

"Please, I didn't mean it..." The words continued. Arica considered them. He hadn't really done anything. Aggressive come-ons didn't exactly merit a death sentence. But they had fought, had followed the pattern of existence drawn by immortals millennia ago. Now came time to make a decision. The severing would take only a few seconds. But those few seconds could mean the end of the humanity she prided herself on. Not going through with it could mean the end of her entire existence in the same amount of time. Arica thought of that day in training, Mac pointing the gun at her. Mac. How many times over had he killed? And yet he had retained his honor, still held loyalty to Methos and others, if she was to believe the stories. If that was not humanity, she was not sure she understood the concept. Offering up a small prayer that she could be as strong as her teacher, she swallowed saliva that was suddenly hotter than scotch.

"There can be only one." The words weren't harsh, more of an apology than anything else, but the motion of the sword was. Though the beheading was over in less than a moment, Arica felt that that moment had defined her lifetime. Her body and mind went unresponsive, unwilling to accept what she had just done. It was then that the first lightning bolt hit. She screamed as the other immortal's life began to flash through her mind and fell to her knees on the hard gravely surface. Images flooded her mind, the ecstasy of reaching a mountain's summit, the rush of sexual tension at meeting a gorgeous woman, the heated adrenaline of the fight, the kill. Another bolt hit and she jerked back, the images fading to mere emotions, anger, excitement, fear. With each successive bolt that coursed through her Arica screamed, half due to the physical pain, half the overwhelming transfer of experience. Slowly the barrage of blue electricity stopped. Arica slumped onto her hands. It was there, after the strain of the fight and the revealing nature of the Quickening, that Arica allowed her tears free reign.

___

It had been decided while galloping back to the stables that the most efficient way to go about finding Arica was to search different areas. Methos was relegated to the fields and valleys on his horse, MacLeod took to the town in his car.

Duncan drove in strategic circles for close to two hours without feeling her familiar swirl of Presence. Frustrated and not sure where else to go he pulled over to the side of the road and considered his options. Just as he was coming to the conclusion that there weren't many his peripheral vision caught a weird flash in the rearview mirror.

"No." He said the word out loud, with as much authority as he could muster. Telling himself it was just a shorting of the telephone wires he turned to discover the source of the mysterious flash. Even having expected the sight, Duncan was powerless to prevent the terror that ran unbidden through his nervous system.

"No." This time the word was more of a moan as he drove recklessly towards the paranormal storm. *Not another one, please not another one.* An image of Methos falling onto his couch shortly after Alexa's death floated on the surface of his mind. Another image, one of strawberry blond curls and a handsome face rolling away from the owner's body threatened to rise up as well. Ruthlessly he pushed it back. *No*.

It could have been no longer than five minutes by the time he reached the origin of the blue bolts. Duncan would have sworn a lifetime had passed. Parking the car, he got and slammed the door. In the next second he fell against the still-reverberating door in relief. Arica's Presence tingled through his being and he couldn't remember Amanda's kisses ever feeling as good. Walking towards the muffled sound that reached his ears he discovered his student. Quietly he knelt down beside her and pulled her from all fours to cradle against him.

"The first time is always hard," he murmured as he rocked back and forth, supporting the sobbing girl. Calming her took a long time. In the end Duncan couldn't help feeling that she had stopped more out of a physical inability to go on than reaching a point of mental healing.

"There are some things that I should have told you long ago. I will understand if it is too late now."

"I just killed someone so that it wouldn't be too late." The words were emotionless. Duncan nodded his assent at the point knowing she couldn't see.

"I used to live with this woman, Tessa." The sadness in his tone moved Arica to feel beyond the ice that had been poured over her body when she had stopped crying. Roused, she listened as he slowly poured out the tale she had heard five months before. She waited patiently through pauses as he struggled through Tessa's death, and Sean's and finally Richie's. Arica turned to him and sank back onto her heels to make eye contact, both impressed and put off by the control in his voice. Not a single waver. His eyes told a far different story. She had never known anyone to need a codeine for the soul as much as he must have in that moment. The intensity of grief residing in the brown depths was unfathomable. She found herself speaking in attempt to lessen that suffering.

"He begged." She nodded to affirm her own statement. "And I was so scared that if I took that final step, that I wouldn't be the woman that Methos planned a perfect day for today. Or a woman who could fulfill the need she sees in his eyes after every kiss, every touch." Her avoidance of the four letter L word was not lost MacLeod. "But I remembered something he once told me. It was the story of the first time you met. You must have killed dozens of times over before that day, but you were still human enough to inspire him. And he has a bit of a cynical streak going."

"Stop, please. If you were going for revenge, this was well planned. First you scare me to the point of not being able to drive in a straight line I was so afraid I'd failed you and now you tell me that my teaching worked?"

"Not your teaching, your soul. You should trust it more, it probably has some neat things to say." He rolled his eyes at her but softened it by squeezing both her hands to the point of near-pain.

"I am sorry. About today, the things I have drilled into you, trying to mold you into something you weren't meant to be-" She cut him off by surreptitiously getting up and walking in the direction of the car. "Arica?"

"I know all that silly. I want to get back before Methos starts tearing the house apart." *Your story was all the apology I needed.*

___

MacLeod phoned Methos once they reached the car and they decided to meet back at the couple's place. Arica could think no further than the scalding bath she wanted waiting for her upon her return. She mentioned this to Methos, throwing out any thought of using the coy approach. He didn't even think to balk at the near-command.

Arica and MacLeod reached the house in what she had to believe was record time. She would have made fun of Mac's driving skills but she was too busy making a beeline for the door. Methos was on the porch before she was. MacLeod watched as the eternal skeptic lifted the tiny woman off the ground and practically broke bones in the embrace that followed. He pushed her back in the next second to get a look at her and his eyes caught on the rather disheveled state of her clothes.

"Where have you been? What happened? You do something like this again and I swear I won't wait for someone else to take your head."

"I love you too. I'm going to go take that bath, we can talk about this over dinner." Arica brushed past him, close to collapsing now that all the adrenaline had gone to sleep in her system. She hardly felt her feet leave the floor and suddenly she was being carried into the house and across the bedroom to the bath. Once there he stopped but refused to let her go.

"I can talk to Duncan about the specifics, you just relax." She nodded, accepting the roundabout apology.

___

Arica emerged a full half-hour later in her p.j.'s and slippers and padded silently towards the aroma of dinner. She noticed the two plate setting and looked up at Methos.

"I hope the fact that I didn't notice you getting electrocuted is based more on the fact that Duncan is still alive and well than me being too out of it to care."

"He went home." He stared at the patterned tile on the floor for several minutes.

"Methos," she crossed to him and took his face in her hands forcing him to study her. She winced at the look in his eyes. It was a familiar one, the look of abject terror that comes with the fear of desertion. "C'est fini, mon amour. J'ai gagn1." It seemed natural to slip back into her childhood language in order to comfort.

"Je sais. But it could so easily have gone the other way. When MacLeod was telling me how he found you-" He inhaled sharply. "You often times display more courage than any of the countless Roman legionarres I knew. I told myself it was naNvete, that you just didn't know any better. But I think you do. I think your foster parents and Andrew taught you all about what vulnerability and loss mean." He paused look for her reactions. The only emotion she let on to was patience. "I've had sixty-eight wives and far more lovers. All mortal. Very painful and very safe. There was no Game between us and death was an accepted factor upon entrance into each relationship." His voice had gone cold, a doctor's analysis of a patient's case. "I wake up at night convinced that I am insane to be doing this. I have picked up and disappeared time after time, so why not once more? And then I make the mistake of looking at you and I can't imagine going any further than walking distance. Thinking of you fighting or hurt throws five thousand years of perfectly good self-preservational instincts out the nearest window." He stopped, not sure of where to go next. His eyes wandered the room and settled on a point outside the kitchen window. Taking her shoulders he turned her to the window. "People have followed the stars as a guide for as long as I have lived. I see stars in your eyes. If you're not here, I won't know where to go, and I don't think I'll particularly care." The silence began to stretch and Arica decided it was her turn.

"Stars, like all other things, die. It is only that when they die, there are huge fiery explosions that oftentimes destroy everything in their path. Then, after years and years and years, the impact of the explosions causes new stars to form. I /could/ die Methos. You could, for that matter. Nothing is eternal, not even G-d. Only as long as people believe in Him. Triteness and all, we are forever because we will remember for that long. And I'm willing to risk the pain for the promise of that. Seeing the way you drink beer, and tease MacLeod to distraction, and get aggravated with other drivers, it's all worth venturing into the unknown." He hugged her back to his chest, drowning in the sound of her voice. Lowering his head to her ear he sat silent for several moments, letting his breath gently blow tufts of brown hair back and forth. His breathing pattern changed then as he opened his mouth and very softly whispered, "I love you Arica Skyler. Forever."