The Not So Wicked Witch
By:Arsenic
Rating: R for violence
Classification: Romance
Characters: C, DM, M, Rachel MacLeod (cameo), Arica Skyler
(ofc)
Disclaimers: They're not mine, no matter how much I wish
otherwise.....
Summary: Cassandra comes to challenge Methos, Arica isn't happy
about the idea
.
This one is for Tianyu, thank you for starting me on this path, for
helping me down it, for standing by me when you probably
shouldn't. You're my best friend.
---
"You're not as intimidating now, you know," She said to the man
she held in her power, a chord of steeled hatred running through
each word. Methos looked up at her, a study of implacability. This
time however, she saw the fear behind the bluster. Pleased that
events were beginning to wear on the prisoner she brandished a
knife. "Shall I make this short?" She was silent for a moment
before shaking her head, "No, I don't think so." With that she began
carving. A gash on his pectoral muscles, a mere scratch to the upper
arm, she took her time, relishing his fight to stay silent against
burgeoning pain. When the prisoner's body resembled a twisted
work of art more than anything else the woman stepped back to
admire a job well done. "I could let you bleed to death........"
Shrugging, she decided against it and plunged the blade deep into
his stomach. The prisoner cried out in shock and agony. She smiled,
pleased with this reaction.
---
Cassandra lunged up, and ran to the bathroom. Leaning her cheek
up against the relative coolness of the sink she fought to subdue the
nausea that threatened to overwhelm her. Almost automatically,
Cassandra twisted the knob and listened to the fall of water from the
faucet. She interrupted the flow with her hands and splashed her
face, attempting to wash away the exhaustion and the dream. She
knew better. The dream...nightmare, came every night. The
methods of death she chose to inflict were different each time, but
they were always mirror images of ways he had killed her.
She wondered bitterly how she could prophesize and often interpret
other's dreams and yet have hers be a complete enigma. The
nightmares about him had been there since the beginning. They had
come in cycles, lasting a few days, usually depicting her own First
Death, or one of the many that had followed at his hands. Never
had she been the killer. Revenge was one thing, becoming him to
achieve it...Cassandra closed her eyes and shook her head no.
Whatever the significance of the vision, it was obvious things
between her and Methos were far from finished. Rubbing her
temples, she decided she needed someone to verbalize to outside of
herself. The idea came to her, the same one that came after every
nightmare. The doubts did not follow far after. What if he would
not listen to her? Just didn't want to see her? Their last meeting had
been far from a rousing success. No, she couldn't- Cassandra caught
a glimpse of her trembling hands. Only her eyes didn't register the
normal creamy tan complexion, instead staring in shock at dripping
crimson. Closing her eyes she reopened them, dispelling the illusion.
*Enough is enough Cassandra*. It was with those words in mind
that she searched out the yellow pages and flipped to the air travel
section.
---
It felt odd doing his kata without Arica beside him. It had been over
a year since he'd had only himself for company during the morning
sessions. He laughed remembering the apprehensive look on Arica's
face when she'd told him morning was the only time the veterinarian
had room to see the rather overwhelming "puppy" of which she was
so possessive. She had reminded him of a child caught stealing from
its parent's secret candy stash. When he had told her that it wasn't a
problem he had been afraid she would fall over from the relief.
Secretly, he had been a bit afraid to say anything else, he had a
notion she would fight him to the death over the Dragon. The dog
was like her child. Immortals and their ways of dealing with
barrenness... Letting go of his amusement he returned full attention
to each movement, each exercise as it came together.
He was close to finishing when his body went taut and eyes snapped
open in wary expectation. He relaxed a little as he heard a loud
rapping on the door. Most enemies didn't knock. Still holding his
weapon he advanced tot he doorway and jerked open the entrance.
What he saw relieved him of fear for his life at the same time that it
awoke every panic instinct he had ever cultivated. He searched
himself for a smile. Finding one he pushed it forcefully to his lips
and said,
"Cassandra. This is um, well, this is something of a surprise, come
on in." He /was/ glad to see her. She was an old friend and he had
worried all too often that their bond had been destroyed by five
words: I want him to live. Which brought him back to the dilemma
at hand. He found himself offering up a prayer of thanks to Arica's
busy physician for scheduling her that morning.
"Duncan." She let a small smile warm her face but her eyes were
worried.
"Would you like something to drink? I- I'll make some coffee."
"Sounds nice" Duncan let a silence that was uneasy and
companionable all at once settle between them. He poured two cups
of the strong black liquid and watched her full lips close around the
cup's rim and take a sip. "Mmm." She smiled, more broadly this
time, "As tempting as it may have been, your coffee...nor your
hospitality was not my reason for this visit." Duncan said nothing,
merely raised his eyebrows. Listening was easiest to do when one
was silent. Her fingers rimmed the top of the mug and though her
voice came out steady, the words were halting, uncertain. "When
we left Bordeaux I foolishly let myself believe it was over. Or at
least on its way to being." Duncan bit back a sigh at the emerging
topic and told himself that at least things had hit rock bottom. There
was nowhere worse to go. She took another sip before continuing,
he decided to ignore the slight betrayal of nervousness in her
trembling voice. "I began having these nightmares...different than
before. The usual ones are more like memories. These...these are
like visions." Duncan took in the circles hanging around the deep
brown eyes and the aura of exhaustion she carried. "I kill him... not
permanently. The way he killed me. Over...and over...and over."
Her hand clutched impossibly tight around the mug's handle.
Duncan reached across the counter and gently disengaged the
fingers. Massaging the palm, he made eye contact,
"What would you have me do Cassandra? You are still my friend.
A friend I value. But then again, so is he." His eyes refused to
apologize for the admission. He swallowed and listened to his
breathing clash with hers. The next argument was one he would
fight out beyond completion to protect the woman who made it
necessary. Searching, he plotted the words as one would stage
directions, precise and with a point in mind. "Even if that weren't
reason enough to defend him, there is another consideration now."
"Another consideration?" came the echo. Duncan squeezed her
fingers.
"I took a new student." Confused, she waited for him to continue in
the thought. "Arica is very good. Great instincts, nice sense of
morality, all the things you want in a student."
"I am glad that you have been able to take a student, I didn't think
enough time had gone by, but-"
"He and Joe convinced me to take her. She is his lover."
Momentarily startled by the blunt exclamation, Cassandra searched
for an appropriate response. Duncan didn't wait,
"If you won't give him a chance, give her one. She deserves this.
The Methos of now," she did not miss the emphasis on the last
word, "makes her the happiest woman alive. Would your Methos
have done that for anyone?" They had been over this ground before.
Duncan was stronger than ever. She was not ready to weaken yet.
"I thought I loved him as well." She disengaged her fingers.
"Maybe I did, as much as I knew what the word-no, concept, meant
back then. I was a baby. As is this student of yours."
"There is a difference between being young, and being a baby, as
you put it. Arica may be the former, but her life has seen to it that
she is most certainly not the latter." She stared into the
determination she recognized as an aged emotion in the boy she had
known. It was an emotion that had seen this boy...man, through the
deepest and nastiest of internal conflicts. He had taken another
student. The significance strummed through every nerve of her
brain. But the determination was his own, to be used in whichever
manner best pleased him. She fought her desire to give him back her
hand, let him soothe and kiss away the fears, if only for moments at
a time. She was too old, however, to be accepting physical comfort
when she needed far more. Turning from him, she set the cup at the
edge of the sink. "Thank you for the coffee, Duncan." With that
she turned and regally saw herself out.
---
Cassandra probably would have laughed at the situation that
unfolded mere minutes later had it happened to someone else. As it
was, she saw nothing amusing in practically crashing into the man
she had rather recently been discussing killing over coffee.
Cassandra cursed herself for not recognizing the familiar Presence as
his before having to deal with him. Sensing her mood, Methos
decided any effort at tact would probably be wasted,
"You have GOT to be kidding me."
"As much as I hate to agree with anything you say..." As one, they
both put on glares that would have given any mortal a heart attack.
They knew each other's glares though. Even after millennia, they
knew. The familiarity didn't ease the tension, but it would not allow
it to heighten either. It was that glare that had Methos planning.
The obvious way to handle this situation was to get the hell out of
Glenfinnan. He let himself dream up the possibilities for a mere
instant before slapping himself back to face reality. Even if Arica
had been truly ready to just pick up and go someplace small and
hidden, he seriously doubted it would put a smile on her face. And
it was harder to disappear as two than alone. Which meant he
would have to find an alternate route to running. One that did not
involve crossing swords. Even if he had felt truly confident in his
physical ability to beat her....well, a person didn't just kill someone
he regretted hurting. Methos decided to ignore the insanity of this
argument. Him or her, that was all it came down to. He would
have to figure out a plan wherein it was him.
Cassandra saw the flight instinct work its way through her nemesis'
body and was somewhat surprised when it disappeared. Not that
any desire to take her to a private arena seemed to replace it. She,
however, was done with the plan making stages. She savagely
squashed the guilt at using Duncan's information, and a person he
quite plainly cared about, to gain her own ends. If the ends....It
wasn't necessarily true, but at the moment, she was beyond caring.
She needed sleep.
"I actually didn't come here to end this, I came to see my friend." It
was not lost on Methos that she claimed MacLeod as hers. Had he
been able to relax a bit more he probably would have stored away a
smart-ass remark about the definition of 'pussy-whipped' to use on
the Highlander later. As it was he had to concentrate on his retort
for the moment,
"The one who asked you to spare my life?" The "in other words"
was just as loud as his voice; the one who chose me, not you. It was
unfair. Duncan hadn't really chosen, but war was rarely a thing of
beauty or truth.
"But since you are here," Methos almost smiled as she glibly ignored
his dig, continuing on without a word or look to indicate she had
heard him at all, "well, it just makes things infinitely more
convenient." She paused to fix him with another glare, slightly
altered, "Whatever excuse you plan on making, don't. You WILL
fight. If not for yourself, or me, then for this newest slave Duncan
claims you love." She spit the last word out as if its number of
letters made it dirty. Methos stiffened at the obvious significance
behind her words.
"Leave Arica out of this." The pronunciation of his lover's name
was cold-air crisp. It was not a request.
"That would make you happy, would it?" She tilted her head, "Give
me a little credit. She may be your complacent, blind lap dog, but I
graduated from that school. You walk away this time and we will
see just how developed her relatively new fighting skills are." Even
as the words formed and became sonic energy Cassandra knew they
weren't true. She couldn't allow more innocents to suffer because of
him, let alone perpetrate the suffering. She also knew that the bluff
was working. His next words brought a sensation she rarely felt
standing next to this man, victory.
"Let's go." He pulled the broadsword from his coat. Cassandra
almost objected before remembering that MacLeod lived somewhat
separated from civilization here. With an elegance that spoke both
of practice and the instinct for the hunt she drew her weapon and
placed herself in a readied position. She allowed herself the luxury
of taking the offensive. After all, she had worked hard for this.
---
Duncan began to worry when, twenty minutes after feeling the
dizziness he associated with Methos, the body accompanying the
Presence wasn't sprawled on his couch drinking his beer. Especially
after this morning's visitor had disappeared right around the time he
had felt the other man. Ugly premonitions danced up Duncan's
spine and he forced himself to his front window, not knowing if he
wanted to see what was outside the glass pane. Upon opening the
curtain he decided his heart would have thanked him for leaving it
shut. He made record time to his front door, roughly brushing aside
any concern that he might not make it in time, not a little upset that
breaking one of the rules was the only way out of this situation.
Reaching the fight, he only waited a moment, feeling out the rhythm
of the fight before fluidly interposing the katana between the two
older weapons and shouting,
"For heaven's sake, not on my lawn!" The comment, loud and
rather enraged sounding, shocked both opponents into heeding the
katana's not-so-gentle backwards propelling motion. The two
fighters stood, regulating their breaths, staring at Duncan as if he
had just suggested they all take a swim in the Antarctic.
"You may have forgotten this Highlander...but our kind does not
interfere with another's challenge. I'll see if I can find you a copy of
the guide booklet." Duncan turned his head to gape at Methos' icy
tone.
"Spare me the effort, I won't have two of my friends attempting to
kill each other in front of my house."
"Fine, we'll go somewhere else." Duncan turned to acknowledge
the other speaker and allowed himself a small laugh. He shook his
head no and looked at her with apologetic eyes. She returned the
expression, knowing that look in his eyes. It begged without losing
a drop of pride. She had never once been able to refuse his requests
when accompanied by that look. Now was no different.
"This time." Upon finishing those two words she removed herself
from the scene, leaving Methos to deal with a seething MacLeod. It
was revenge enough, for the moment.
---
Methos opened his mouth and MacLeod held up a hand to dissuade
him from whatever he was going to say.
"Get in the house. The new carpeting will make me pause if I get
aggravated enough to kill you myself." Methos glared at the
Highlander but consented to going in nonetheless. They were barely
past the screen door when Methos started talking, determined to
gain headway on MacLeod.
"You can't do this forever MacLeod."
"I don't know, it seems to me that I have that long." Duncan's chest
heaved with barely controlled fury.
"As much as you like to believe that Cassandra and I are merely
members of the improvisational Clan MacLeod, with none other
than the great Duncan MacLeod at its head, we are not. You can't
merely tap your heels three times and wish for life's problems and
complications to be solved and then watch it happen."
"You may not be clan members, but you are both friends, valued
ones at that. I have lost enough mortals..." MacLeod's eyes filled
with barely leashed desolation, "I have lost enough immortals." The
last word came out syllable by syllable. He was silent for a bit,
calculating his wording of the familiar request to come, "Please...."
Methos took advantage of the pause to intrude,
"I would laugh at the fact that you argue YOU have lost too many
people, but I find I don't have the energy to waste." Disgust was
evident in everything from his posture to the sneer he threw
MacLeod. "SHE came after ME, MacLeod, not the other way
around, so if you want to have a screaming fit, go find her and
indulge. If you are at all successful at convincing here, well then, all
the better for all of us. If not, I suggest you-"
"Hey guys." The voice, barely above a whisper, pierced the violence
of Methos' speech all the more because of the confusion it conveyed.
"I leave you two for less than two hours and you manage to find
something to fight over?" she shook her head in an exaggerated
motion and consulted with Pendragon, "What am I gonna do with
them?"
"Arica, can you-" The words 'give us a moment' were poised to
come out of Methos' mouth when she looked up from the dog to
listen to him. Beneath the dry sparkle of sarcasm that resided in her
eyes there was concealed worry and fear, springing from her
perceptions of the argument she'd interrupted. Much as he knew he
should discuss this issue to its finish with MacLeod, he found
himself unable to finish the request he had so blithely begun. He
was about to try and figure out an alternative way of ending the
question he had rushed into when he found himself being rescued by
the man he had so recently been laying into.
"Everything all right with the dog, Arica?" The Scot asked
smoothly.
"Fine, thank you for asking, but don't treat me like I have the same
intelligence level as my pet merely because I am the youngest one in
the room." Both men opened their mouths to defend themselves.
After a few minutes of sucking air, it was Methos who finally found
his voice.
"Someone showed up this morning. Someone both MacLeod and I
know."
"Oh, well, that clears up everything, thanks." Methos glared at her
but he had caught the unease in her voice. She was all too cognizant
that "someone showing up" was far from a good thing. Especially if
Duncan and Methos were fighting about this someone. She let her
stare wander to Mac for a moment and then fixed it back at it's
originating point of Methos' face. It was his posture that made her
take pity on them. He stood stiffly, but the weariness was there all
the same, even without the slump. "Ok, ok, fine, you want to keep
this a secret, I can deal. Just fill me in on one thing...is this person a
threat?"
*Bright girl.* Methos had to give it to her, if you were gonna pick
one question, that was the one to pick. Was Cassandra a threat?
Oh yes. Could he tell her that? That was a little more complicated.
Cassandra was his problem. Not Duncan's and certainly not hers.
She wouldn't have a snowball's chance in hell of beating the ancient.
Even were there fighting skills equal, Cassandra was privy to the
Voice. Of course, to make her understand the personal nature of the
debt he would have to explain quite a bit more about himself than he
was willing to at the moment. *And why is that, old man?* Methos
ignored the mental interrogation, she was waiting for an answer.
"Quite possibly." He said, ending what was becoming a rather
interminable pause.
"Ah." She nodded her head. "Look, on account of the huge hairball
here I am late for my practice with the glowering Scot over there, so
if you could take Dragon home for me, I'll be there when we're
finished." Methos would have been impressed at the fact that her
voice was waver free, but he was starting to accept that she could be
tougher than old leather when the situation demanded. He walked
over to where she still knelt, stroking the dog's fur in the same
direction repeatedly, numbly. He dropped down to sit on his thighs
and placed his hand over hers so that fingers from both hands gently
ran down the length of Dragon's back.
"I'll see you at home." It was an apology, they both knew it. She
smiled, a slight twist in the right corner of her mouth. "What are
we having for dinner?" *I won't ask for a verbal apology but you
will make this up to me.* He laughed, but squeezed her fingers.
*Fair enough.*
"Pasta ok?" She squeezed back.
"I suppose." She gave him an indulgent look as she leaned over
Pendragon. The kiss she gave him when their lips met was anything
but merely indulgent. "I'll see you this evening." Methos left trying
to decide whether it was a threat or a promise. He would have
been glad to know Arica was having the same dilemma herself.
---
"Stop."
Arica halted her less-than-fluid motions in acquiescence with the
demand and turned her head to face the man who had voiced it. She
thought about playing innocent and asking what she was doing
wrong for all of about a nanosecond. Throwing her one free hand
up in the air, she let just a touch of chagrin creep into her
expression.
"I know, I know, I'm sorry. I just..." she shrugged and ran a hand
through her hair at the same time, "It's his and your decision whether
to let me in on what that little spat back there was about." She
walked to the bench and then spun to sit facing MacLeod. "As the
rational, intelligent human being I used to pride myself on being, I
know I can and should accept that. It's just that, when I get worried
about him, my rationality is the most fair-weathered friend I've ever
had."
MacLeod watched her dig the big toe on her right foot into the
wooden floor. He was suddenly very glad she wasn't his first
student. It was never entertaining watching a student go through
uncertainty or anguish, but the first time was always the hardest.
Had she been his first, he was quite certain he would already be
halfway done telling her what the argument was about. It was
definitely tempting to tell her the barest of details and see if she
could stop the fight. After all if there was a single person Methos
was going to listen to at this point, MacLeod had to believe it was
Arica. *No.* It was Methos story to tell, and her right to hear it
from him. Which left them back where they has started. He tried
for a smile, not knowing if he was all that successful, he spoke up
anyway.
"I'll tell you what, I'll give you your options at this point, and you
tell me which one you think best. The first is this, we go back to
training and see if you can pay a little more respect to the exercises.
Option two is, we give up for the day, you promise to be a little
more alert than you are showing the potential for right now, and I
let you go do whatever you may to try and get this out of your
system." MacLeod practically winced as the offer came out of his
mouth, but the logical part of him knew that this session was a lost
cause anyway. Besides, the last "day off" he had given her had been
two months beforehand and had ended in her first beheading.
Satisfied that he wasn't being overly indulgent, the Scot
concentrated on releasing some of the tension in his muscles while
waiting for her decision.
Arica hesitated. Far from causing her to turn cocky, taking her first
head had just reinforced the seriousness and importance of listening
to and learning through MacLeod's guidance. But seven hours to
herself....she hadn't had that since meeting Methos over a year ago.
The closest thing she had were the moments she stole in the
morning, waking up fifteen minutes before her runs with MacLeod.
Rubbing the back of her neck she started to think up all the reasons
why it was alright for her to give into temptation. A minute later,
having armed herself with some of the weakest justifications she had
ever fabricated in her life, she was ready to answer.
"I've decided to take advantage of this strange brain fever you seem
to be suffering today and split." MacLeod's smile was natural this
time.
"I must say I'm absolutely shocked."
"Well, if not to keep you on your toes, then what am I here for?"
She piped, stuffing her paraphernalia into the black gym bag that had
accompanied her this morning. MacLeod opened his mouth to
respond with a smart comment of his own, but was cut off by the
sound of the screen door slamming shut. A muffled "bye" reached
his ears and he shook his head.
"Have fun," he called softly, not for her ears really at all. He sat for
a few minutes, staring at the katana he had never set down, the
weapon he had used to keep two friends from a fight-to-the-death
no more than two hours ago. He hoped his student could be more
successful in preventing the continuation of that fight than the sword
had been.
---
For awhile, Arica just drove. She didn't have a destination in mind,
but she figured something would catch her interest. It surprised her
that it was the shops in the center of town ended up being that
something. Outside of art, Arica wasn't much of a shopper. She
looked for shoes and clothes like she did potatoes and green beans
at the supermarket, having the precise item in mind before she ever
went searching for it. It seemed like such a normal thing to do,
though, walk into a store, answer the saleswoman with a polite "no
thank you...." Normal was what she needed, if only for a couple of
hours. Having made the decision to stop here for the day, Arica
squeezed the car into the minuscule parking spot and headed for the
closest shop.
It wasn't until four o'clock that she headed back to the car. Despite
the fact that she had spent nearly five hours browsing the stores she
tossed only one bag into the backseat before hopping into the
driver's seat and starting the ignition. Barely resisting the urge to
drive at the same speed as the average race car, she acknowledged
that she was not calm enough to face Methos yet. With this in mind
she drove towards the bar that Duncan sometimes took them to at
night. She liked the girl and she wouldn't mind people watching for
a couple of hours. The mindlessness of it would give her time to
think. She smiled grimly. *Be honest Ar, it gives you time to figure
out battle strategics.* Well, yes, that too.
She walked into the well-lit, tastefully decorated pub and took a seat
at the bar. Sparing a smile for the brunette behind it she asked for a
Guinness.
"Hey Arica, how's Adam?" Arica remembered her surprise at the
name the first time Rachel had greeted Methos. He had quickly
explained to her the reason behind it, and Rachel's connection to
Duncan, the minute they were safely seated at a table out of the
earshot of others.
"He's fine, and you?" The other girl shrugged,
"Business is good and life relatively uncomplicated. How much can
you ask for?" Arica gave a slight nod of agreement, but the smile
she dredged up only reached her lips. "I take it things aren't quite so
uncomplicated for you?"
"No, but they aren't my complications to talk about. In fact, at the
moment, I'm not quite sure what the complications are....I'm sorry,
that must have sounded absolutely brilliant." Rachel watched her for
a moment before reaching out to give the other woman's shoulder a
brief, sympathetic squeeze.
"If you should figure out what the complications are.....well, this is
my full-time job, I'm not terribly hard to find."
"Thanks, the offer does not go unappreciated." With that, Rachel
gave a parting nod of her head and swept off to go help other
customers.
---
It was no more than ten minutes and four sips later that Arica felt a
headiness that she wished was attributed to the alcohol. Body
tensing, she lifted her gaze to the doorway. A tall woman stood
there, staring back at her. The woman was stunning, long legs,
brown hair with golden highlights streaking from root to end falling
to her shoulder blades, and deep brown eyes that were screaming of
curiosity and a certain cautious hostility. The woman crossed to
where Arica sat and she couldn't shake the feeling that the brown
eyes were peering into something other than her violet ones.
Hoping this meeting would go better than her last run in with an
unknown immortal, Arica swiveled back to the bar and dragged in a
fortifying gulp.
"I have no more interest than you in fighting." Arica noted the
somewhat accentless, but all the same aged sound of the voice to her
left. She nodded in response to the statement. When the
condensation on her glass was no longer a source of fascination for
her, Arica began what she figured had to be said anyway.
"Someone showed up at a friend of mine's house this morning.
Someone with a certain aura...."She glanced up to make sure she
was being followed. "Anyway, since there aren't that many people
like this, I was thinking you might know something about it."
*Your turn.*
Cassandra smiled, half patronization, half unease. The girl had all
the signatures of youth, the impatience, the uneasiness when dealing
with the unknown, the brashness. She was hardly stupid though.
Not that she had expected her to be. Somewhere, in the small part
of her three thousand year old mind that still believed in miracles,
she had somewhat hoped the girl would be. But Duncan's praise
never came easy, and this one had earned it, which told her more
about the girl than she could probably learn on her own through
years of friendship.
"You're Arica." Cassandra breathed deep and reminded herself that
the girl had done no wrong, "Duncan speaks highly of you." The
ancient woman watched as the child struggled for control over the
euphoria those words brought on, barely winning the struggle.
*So....she understands the gift of his admiration.*
"I think my father, he was...well, you know," with one hand Arica
tucked a hair back behind her hair, making circular motions with the
other hand. Cassandra nodded, "Well, I think he would have taught
me. Wanted to. If I couldn't have him though," she cocked her
head and gave a self-conscious grin, "I couldn't have had better than
Duncan. He's a pain in the ass, but I think I owe him my life a
couple of times over." She waited a bit. "He's not a bad friend
either." At this she pegged her counterpart with a stare.
*Ah well, the game has to played out at some point anyway, I
suppose...* "The best one could ask for, if a bit too trusting at
times."
"In your case? It came to me through the grapevine that you are
'quite possibly' a threat." Arica knew DAAM well the threat was to
Methos, but she was curious to see where the insinuation would
lead.
"Only to Adam." Ok, now the conversation was going somewhere.
The woman, Arica decided she would have to ask for a name, even
if the woman wasn't willing to give her a real one, knew about her
and Methos. She also called Methos Adam, which could mean they
met while he was going by Adam, or she respected the use of others
pseudonyms.
"I believe you know that that is hardly a comfort to me."
"Yes," the word came out more a declaration of exhaustion than
anything else. "I realize that."
"His life has given him plenty of time to form enemies," each word
was carefully picked, concern being given to not betraying too much
information while searching to see what the other immortal knew, "I
am quite sure that you believe yourself to have a reasonable vendetta
against him-" She was cutoff by a bitter laugh by the woman besides
her. Cassandra shook her head.
"Reasonable vendetta? Duncan must have forgotten to mention
your incredible aptitude for understatement. You see at one time,
quite awhile ago, I was nothing more than a girl who loved the tribe
she had been adopted by, having known no true parents.
Unfortunately there was a group of four men, known to the modern
world as the Horsemen of Apocalypse. These four went from
village to village, raping, killing and looting for the sheer excitement.
They were invincible." Arica resisted the overwhelming instinct to
pull back at the sheer bitterness of these words. It only became
more intense. "These men were kind enough to drop by our camp.
They murdered everyone. EVERYONE. Including me. When I
woke up, the one we fondly called Death introduced himself as my
master and told me that I lived because he wished it so. He
continually told me this each time I woke up from being stabbed or
drown or beaten to death...by him." Arica fought for enough calm
to hear out the rest of the story as the feeling of a cold wall at her
back and poison tearing through her veins assaulted her. *Just a
memory, Ar, just like the one she is recounting now. Neither one
can hurt you. Listen up girl, she's going somewhere important.*
"When he wasn't busy killing me, he would rape me, or play with my
mind, or something equally fun." Arica didn't bother holding back
on the wince that came with Cassandra's last word. "Despite all this,
he was all I knew, and far preferable to any of the other three, so I
formed an attachment. At that time, I might have called it love."
"One day, one of the other horsemen came to our tent. Having
decided that Death had grown a little too fond of me, he wanted a
chance with me. I begged and pleaded for Death not to let him have
me. I knelt on my knees in the dust and cried to him, trying to think
of things I could do to please him, anything that would have kept
him from just giving me over to his brother, Pestilence. Anything to
have him show that he cared about me as well, even if just the tiniest
bit." Cassandra's breathing came slightly harsher than it had when
she had begun. "He ignored me, of course. There was not even a
look exchanged between us in those last moments because he did
not bother to find the energy to look at me, just motioned with his
hand that I could be taken." Arica worked unsuccessfully at
defining the emotion in the woman's eyes. "It wasn't long after that
that I escaped to die over and over again crossing the desert. Thirst,
hunger, heat....they were all infinitely preferable to being in the
camp. Over the years, traveling throughout the world, I rebuilt my
life. I buried my memories and my hatred deep for three thousand
years until one afternoon I came to ask Duncan for help and was
there when Death strolled in, wary only because there were two
signatures instead of one. After he had left Duncan informed me
that Death had chosen a more mundane name....Adam."
Arica gripped the edge of her bar stool with both hands to keep
from falling off. Her intuition had warned her to expect this, after
all, why else would the woman tell her this story? *Do you believe
her?* Well, therein lied the problem. The delivery was sincere, but
then, if this woman had lived half as long as Arica was calculating,
she had probably learned a few delivery tricks from Clytaemestra
herself. Did she believe that Methos, the man who had given her the
rapier resting against her side, went riding for her even though he
hated it, moved to Scotland for her, told her he loved her and then
backed it up with actions, could be the man this woman was
describing? No, most definitely not. However, had Methos always
been the man she knew? Five thousand years was a long time. For
Arica, it was an inconceivable amount of time. The girl she had
been mere years ago was not the woman she was now. And the
mortal she had been such a short time ago was not the immortal she
was this evening.
Cassandra grabbed hold of the remorse she felt at the anguished,
slightly puce look that appeared on the younger woman's face and
threw it as far away as her mind would allow. She needed peace.
Sleep without nightmares. Methos couldn't possibly love the child
sitting next to her as much as the girl seemed to think he did. As for
Arica...well, hopefully she would have millennia to get over it.
Something in Cassandra screamed at the cold deliberation of all this,
of hurting someone she didn't even know and was well aware that
she could possibly end up liking, but she sent it to go keep the
remorse company. Sleep without nightmares, she told herself, sleep
without nightmares.
"I need to go." The voice of the young immortal sounded oddly like
that of a child who has lost its parents in a large theme park.
"I know." *This IS the right thing. It may hurt now....* Cassandra
wished she knew why her justifications seemed to be ringing false
this evening.
---
Arica fumbled with the keys eventually finding the one to the car.
She couldn't remember making it to the car, only that she had spilled
out some see-through excuse to the other immortal and gotten away
as quickly as her feet would allow. She had a singular clear thought;
get to Methos. She owed him the trust to listen to his version of
events. *It can't be as black and white as she made it.....it can't be
him, please, don't let me be wrong, just this once.* She hoped her
driving wasn't as frantic as her thought pattern, all fragmented
between mental orders to keep breathing. Pulling in to the driveway
she somehow remembered all the necessary steps to turning off and
getting out of the car. All sense of decorum gone, she ran inside to
the kitchen, where she could feel him waiting.
"Arica!" He crossed the room in three strides and took each arm
firmly pulling her into him. "What happened?" The girl was
breathing like she had just run the original marathon, her eyes stared
at him unblinking and open just a bit too wide, and her skin felt
clammy underneath his grip. Not relinquishing his hold, he steered
her toward a chair where he sat down and settled her on his lap.
"Shh, shh....." When he finally heard her voice, it was so quiet that
he wondered if she'd been talking for awhile and he just hadn't
heard.
"I met a woman today." Methos chose his favorite swear words
from several languages and pelted them violently against the walls of
his skull. He didn't need to guess who the woman had been. "Look,
I really wanted to be tactful about this and bring it up slowly, but I'm
too tired to bother. Just tell me you weren't doing what she said you
were doing three thousand years ago." He was tempted to take the
offer. Unspoken was the fact tat she would take his word, even if it
was a lie, and never inquire after this again. It was that fact, more
than anything else, that made him change the words into sounds,
instead of mere thoughts.
"Even if it is a lie?" There wasn't an immediate reaction, no shocked
reply, screaming or any hysterical behavior, just a slow withdrawal
from his arms. She didn't start talking again until after she had filled
the shot glass by the sink once, drained it and refilled it.
"I want to ignore this, pretend that I'm not standing here listening to
you tell me you were a part of mass murder and rape and G-d only
knows what else. I want to beat the crap out of you and watch you
heal and then do it all over again. I want to understand why you did
this. I want...."She drained the glass again and looked at him,
radiating confusion and betrayal.
"I wish I could give you excuses /cariad/, I swear I do." He ran his
hands through his hair, giving himself time to steady them as well as
come. "I can tell you that I got caught up in Kronos' charisma."
Looking up at her face he added the side note, "Kronos was one of
the other horsemen...there were four." She nodded. "I can tell you
that things were so different three millennia ago that no writer could
hope to bridge that gap for any modern audience. I can tell you that
having blood on my hands got old and I left of my own will, at great
risk to myself, and became an entirely different man. I can tell you
that three thousand years later, when the opportunity was presented
to rejoin the horsemen, I instead did everything in my power to
destroy them." *Why are you bothering? You can't come out on
top here, or pull victory from the jaws of defeat, or any other overly
optimistic, overused clich1.* He practically shook his head. No, he
couldn't, but he also couldn't help trying. Still, there was only so
much he could honestly say in his defense. And it had been said.
"What I can't tell you is that I was justified in doing any of it. I
wasn't. Not what I did to Cassandra and not what I did to
thousands upon thousands of others." He shrugged at the futility of
trying to give her what she wanted.
"So that's her name, Cassandra. I forgot to ask." She looked at
him, knowing what she was saying was inane, but somehow, the fact
that Cassandra did have a name seemed of insurmountable
importance at that moment..
"You should eat." *And you should say something to let her know
you don't want her to leave. Explain why you never told her any of
this. Tell her you need her.*
"I'm not hungry." Neither was he. "Does Mac know?" *Of course
he does, what the hell do you think they were arguing about this
morning?*
"Yes."
"Cassandra is his friend." It was a statement.
"Yes." He answered anyway.
"I need to go." Methos wanted to will his heart to stop pounding
against his chest, it hurt like bullets and knives and fire only wanted
to hurt. *Beg her to stay, offer anything, tell her you regret your
actions, do something.*
"I know." *Breathe, it's ok, you've made it past other lovers, this
one will be no different. All told you can be on your way to the far
east by early morning.* Methos wondered at the last time he had
lied to himself quite that much. He looked up only after hearing the
screen door slam into place and marveled at how the house looked
no different than before she had come home that evening. Stiffly, he
made it to the sofa. Once there he gave up the pretense of having
any energy to expend and dropped into a signature sprawl, ignoring
the fact that something inside him was sending out pain to every
emotional nerve ending he possessed.
---
Duncan paused mid-swallow and let the scotch rest against the back
of his throat while trying to determine whose Presence he had just
felt. *Arica? What the hell is she doing back here?* Checking his
watch to confirm that it was as late as he thought, he crossed the
house to open the door right on cue.
"I think you may have your houses confused."
"Can I come in?" Duncan stepped back and held out an arm to
indicate safe passageway. He wondered at the faint scent of liquor
that wafted by him with her.
Sure enough, "Do you have another glass of that?"
"How much have you had already?" She stopped walking to
consider.
"Probably too much." He facial expression fell just short of a
bashful smile. She changed it to a grimace and fell onto the nearest
structure designed for sitting.
"Have you eaten?" She shook her head.
"Not hungry."
"Well, I am. Tell you what. I'll make dinner, we'll sit down. You
can tell me what's bothering you and I can indulge my hedonistic
tendencies." The comment won him the effort of a smile, even if the
goal wasn't precisely realized.
---
"Smells good." Duncan and Arica settle into chairs opposite each
other at the kitchen table and silently served themselves. Arica still
wasn't hungry, but common sense told her that starving herself
probably wasn't going to change the truth, or do anything productive
for her state of being.
"Thank you." They let each other work at their food while trying to
think of an angle to approach the impending conversation.
"You knew, about him, I mean. You must have, with both him and
Cassandra as friends," Duncan acknowledged the statement with a
nod, even knowing that his student was merely thinking out loud,
not starting a conversation. She fell silent and looked up at him.
"When I was first with Andrew, I used to do really nasty shit, just to
see how much he would take, you know? Like, I would steal stuff
from him, stuff that I knew he considered important, just to see if he
would consider me a failed experiment and send me on my merry
way. When I finally figured that he wasn't going to, I asked him
what the hell he had ever seen in me that was worth saving. His
answer consisted of one word, Life. That was the lesson he saw fit
to teach me most often, that above all, human life is....well, to use a
clich1, precious. And now I find that the man I have pledged my life
to saw no use for that fundamental truth for centuries. How do I
forgive that? And if I can't, how do I stop loving him?"
"The most infuriating thing about students, is that they are always
asking for the impossible from their teachers." Duncan got up to
refill his water glass. "Trust me, Arica, I understand the struggle
you're facing right now, it isn't far from the one I went through upon
finding out." He worked his jaw and wondered how much more
trite he could get before one of them puked.
"You're still his friend. Forgive me, but I must make the assumption
that you have found some small amount of peace with his actions."
"No." Duncan shook his head and Arica stared in open dismay.
"Not really, at least. I would say that it is more a matter of the fact
that I have come to realize that it is not particularly my right to
judge his actions. Whatever else may be true of the matter, I was
hardly there to understand cultural inclinations and/or his personal
motivations at the time. And then, there is the small matter of me
having no answer to your second question....how to stop loving him.
Ignoring the fact that he is as infuriating as all hell," Duncan
shrugged good-naturedly, "well, he has his moments, as I'm sure
you've figured out by this point." Arica allowed a small smile to
creep to her lips as she concentrated on the patterns of condensation
forming on her glass.
"You have a gift for understatement, Duncan MacLeod of the Clan
MacLeod."
"Is that so?" The warrior's lips quirked at the edges.
**Five thousand year old lips whispering three words older than
that through her hair...long fingers rubbing between delicate
shoulder blades...a man who hated horses cantering through fields
with her...**
"Yeah, yeah you do."
---
It was time to leave. Time to fall back on the debatably bad habit of
disappearing. Go somewhere where neither Cassandra nor Arica
would find him and forget everything for a couple....*A couple
what? A couple centuries?* Though he really couldn't work up the
energy to care one way or another how long Cassandra's life was, he
hoped desperately that Arica would make it at least that long.
*What are you going to do, run for the rest of eternity?* Well, it
was a thought. At the moment, it was a rather attractive one.
The beer that had kept him company since her departure had long
since lost any trace of coolness. Too lazy to get another one,
Methos took a quick swallow and frowned at the oncoming
bitterness.
He wondered if she was okay. He probably should have found out
where she was going. *Oh yeah, and I'm sure she would have just
come right out and told you.* Methos grasped the edge of the table
in frustration until the knucklebones turned a bleach white color and
his palm began to ache from the deep digging sensation. *This is
bullshit old man, she has no more right to judge than MacLeod. Just
pack up and leave and who cares if you see either one of them again.
It would be nice to get back to being on your own, nobody to look
at you like you popped some kid's balloon every time they find out
something about your past that bothers them.* Yeah, it would.
Unfortunately, Methos knew the flipside of that was the sometimes
mind-numbing loneliness. Beer tasted great anytime, but it had a
tendency to be that much better when he had someone to annoy
while drinking it. In the same way, TV was nice, but it was better if
you had a warm body next to you to appreciate your comments
about a particular character's stupidity.
Methos got up from where he had been sitting and winced as blood
rushed back into his neglected legs, along with the pinprick
sensation that he had always found maddening. Walking into the
living room, he sifted through the CD collection until he found
something that appealed to him and put it on, chasing away the
stillness of the house. Or at least some of it.
Slowly he walked to the bedroom. The room smelled like the
chamomile lotion she claimed to which she claimed an addiction. He
was standing on her side of the bed. *It WAS her side, you idiot,
she is not coming back.*
*Duncan came back.* Unfortunately, as he well knew, rape was the
ultimate unforgivable sin to many a woman, much more so than to
any man. Add that to all the other things he was sure her crash
course with Cassandra had enlightened her of....things were not
looking up. Almost giving into the temptation to scream, he kicked
rather forcefully at the bedframe. *Oh, stop it. It's only what you
deserve, I mean, what kind of a complete ass goes out and falls in
love after countless rather painful examples that it doesn't work?*
Methos crossed to his armoire in four rather large strides and began
to pull out a few of the shirts in the top drawer. Screw loneliness,
he didn't want to be on this side of the world without her.
---
"You sure you don't want to stay here tonight? See if the beast is
slightly less fearsome in broad daylight?"
Arica threw back a hand to rub behind her neck. "No." She smiled
at him, "It's not that I don't appreciate the offer, I just think we had
better do this before one of us loses the nerve. Thanks for the
dinner and conversation." He would have thought the last part was
said by rote if he hadn't heard the slightly dry sound infusing her
voice.
"Yes, well, in the future, I would like to be able to say that knocking
you on your bum was not the only thing I did well as your teacher
with some measure of truthfulness."
"I'll keep my opinions to myself...."
"Go home."
"Yes sir."
---
"Methos?" Her voice rang off the walls a little oddly to her ears and
she continued through the entryway into where she saw the light
coming from. She reached the living room and came to a dead halt.
The tingling infiltrating her mind and limbs was not the familiar one
she was so used to greeting her at the door. *Oh G-d, Oh G-d, Oh
G-d. RELAX!!!* Unsure if she had really yelled at herself or if it
had been in her mind she attempted to follow the instruction
anyway. *There wasn't a quickening, you would have seen it.* The
pommel of the rapier seemed to find its way into her fingers. By the
time she reached the door of the bedroom, Cassandra was standing
in its frame, waiting.
"He's not here." The older woman didn't look surprised to see her,
but then, Arica realized, she shouldn't be, this was her house. Their
house. Arica had to concentrate to keep her eyebrows from
knitting. When had she decided she still wanted this? *At dinner,
when Mac brought to mind the memories, just now, when you
thought he might be dead....*
"I can't let you kill him. Not while I still have a microscopic chance
to make it otherwise. I have absolutely no interest in fighting you, I
am far from idiotic enough to think I have a prayer of winning, but,
against all sanity and reason, I will fight for him."
Any other day of the year, Cassandra would have laughed at the
child, planted the suggestion that she let her go and walked away.
She wanted to now. But what good was a threat if you didn't follow
through on it? **You walk away from this and we will see just how
developed her relatively new fighting skills are.** Shit. She should
have expected this, that he would walk away. After all, the girl
could not possibly mean anything to him. She supposed she just
hadn't planned on meeting the girl. Yes, that was what this
hesitation was about. *Just get it over with.*
"There is a park, about two miles away from here. It is a children's
park, so nobody goes there at night. You can follow me there."
The panic that had been lying dormant inside Arica since walking in
on the fight that morning chose this moment to erupt. *Are you
fucking insane?? She's three thousand years old. As in three
millennia older than you. As in having that much more practice at
this!!* Arica listened to the self-given lecture for a moment,
considering the words she was screaming at herself.
Cassandra saw the flicker of indecision on the young girl's face.
*Take the choice away from her.* "That was a challenge on my
part, not a polite request. You can take it, or, you can do as he
does, and run."
Arica next words had nothing to do with the fact that the other
woman had come this close to insulting her honor and everything to
do with the fact that she had insulted her lover's. "See you there."
---
She let Cassandra chose the spot, checking only to see that there
was no uneven ground in the surrounding area. She didn't
particularly expect there to be, she doubted the woman was relying
on outlying conditions to win this fight.
They stood facing each other and drew swords. Arica stuck to the
"wait it out" strategy that Duncan had so mind-numbingly forced
upon her and stayed still until Cassandra was to make the first
move, rather than risk standing there all night. No sooner had the
fight started than Arica noticed something was odd, she just couldn't
place the precise why or wherefore of it. Her opponent was not as
accomplished as she would have expected someone of that age to
be. Her moves were flawless, she just didn't seem to have the
strength or the rapidity of Duncan or Methos. Arica noticed,
however, that she was not at her best either though. A weird
lethargy seemed to steal into her mind, making her arms feel heavier
and her movements sluggish. *Concentrate, girl, you gonna give up
without a fight? Like hell.* Every nerve fiber and neural synapse in
Arica's body strained to respond to the orders she was giving out,
but it just seemed that everything was indulging in a delayed
reaction reflex. Cassandra, on the other hand, was no quicker than
she had been the moment before, but was just as lithe and steady.
The slashes started breaking through Arica's defenses with ease.
First, a nick on the right arm, then the left, then a cut to the
thigh...Arica fought frantically through the haze of her mind, her
main purpose now only to keep herself safe from more pain. The
attempt failed rather miserably as Cassandra, in a motion that now
seemed lightning-quick to Arica, drove her sword into Arica's
stomach and yanked upwards. Arica thought she might have
screamed. Possibly, though she wasn't sure she had the presence of
mind to do it through the agony flying erratically out from the point
where the sword had hit, into places of her body she had forgotten
she possessed. Eventually, the agony subsided into a constant hum
of extreme pain and Arica found herself kneeling, the sword no
longer inside her but resting against her throat, painting a thin red
line on the clammy white skin.
She focused her mind on not breathing too hard, every inhalation
digging the skin deeper against the blade. Part of her was aware of
the ridiculousness of the action when the blade was merely waiting
to dig all the way through, but it seemed utterly necessary.
"Jesus, c'mon." She wasn't aware she had spoken the words, only
that the desire for this to be over was overwhelming. Cassandra
heard the words.
*What the hell am I doing? She's a child, not even that.* Cassandra
watched Arica's breath quicken against the pain of her stomach
healing. *She is Methos' lover, even knowing what he did.* The
girl's eyes were focused on her rapier, calculating the distance. *If
you are right about him, this will mean nothing. You are going to
kill her because she is foolish? And if you truly thought he didn't
care, that he is the same now as he was then, why did you bother to
threaten him with her?* Cassandra eyed the dull red gleam of her
blade, recalling the dreams that had brought her to this place.
*Perhaps your understanding of the dreams were not as incomplete
as you thought. Are you truly willing to commit even one of the
horrors you accuse him of to avenge yourself? Killing innocents?*
Swearing in a language she didn't remember learning, Cassandra
pulled back the blade, standing in a defensive position, just in case
Arica decided those minutes spent in mortal fear were worth
finishing the fight.
Arica didn't move. For a moment, she wondered if this was a
nervous hallucination.
"What are you doing?" Arica could have hit herself. As it was she
bit the inside of her lip. Hard.
"You're not who I want."
"You can't have him, not without having me first."
"I know." That comment sent Arica back to chewing on her lip.
"Then I go back to my original question, what are you doing?"
"Being a fool, listening to my conscience, something I shouldn't be
doing...take your pick." Cassandra dug the tip of her blade into the
ground and sagged against the hilt. "Go. Go and find him, before
you can't." Arica hesitated, wanting an answer, something tangible
to take away with the small scar on her throat. What if this was
another part of the game? If these answers were to rid of her so that
Cassandra could move on to her intended target. Entirely possible
and not something she was particularly willing to risk.
Cassandra saw her unwillingness to leave and sighed. Not that she
could blame her. Had their positions been switched, her suspicion
level would have been operating on high right then too. She
twisted her lips fractionally.
((Go find him, make things alright for yourself.))
Arica never even questioned the order that whispered through her
brain leaving no room for disobedience. She walked over to where
her coat lay on the ground, placing the sword carefully in its folds.
"I //am// sorry." Cassandra looked at the other girl, wholly healed,
poised on the balls of her feet. She gave her a bittersweet smile and
motioned with one hand for her to go. It was only after Arica
followed that suggestion and was out of hearing distance that she
spoke.
"So am I."
---
Practically falling into her car, Arica stretched her body over across
and opened the glove compartment to find the cell phone she kept
stashed in case of emergencies. It took her three times to dial the
number correctly, her hands repeating clumsy errors over the
glowing buttons. She breathed a sigh of relief and fell back against
the seat cushion at the sound of ringing.
"Hello?"
"Mac, sorry if I woke you. Is he there?"
"You didn't wake me, and no, //he// is not here. When was the last
time you saw him?"
"Before I came over there."
"Arica, you left my place hours ago, where have you been?"
"Mac, trust me, I know when I left, and I promise to explain later,
but right now, I need to find him."
"If the fight was the last time you saw him, I suggest you get
yourself to the airport and check for a ticket out under every alias he
has ever used and if that doesn't bring up something then ones you
think he might."
"Okay, I'll talk to you later."
"Good luck."
"Thanks."
---
Arica pulled into the first parking space she could find and didn't
bother locking the doors as she ran into the small airport's main
terminal. She barely stopped to locate the desk before she was
moving that way. Seeing an open attendant she slid up against the
desk.
"Excuse me, miss, I am looking for someone named Simon Ross, is
there some way I could find out which flight he is scheduled for this
evening?" She was pretty sure she remembered him saying
something about having kept that identity, believing it to be good for
at least another ten or so years.
"Ma'am, we don't usually give out that information..."
"Look, I'm his fiancee, and he forgot his, well, you see, he is on this
medication that he has to take every day for his heart, and he
accidentally left it on the counter. I would give you more
information about where he is going, but all he told me was that he
was leaving for awhile on business." Arica fell silent and attempted
to breath evenly, hoping against hope the woman would believe her
story.
"I'll see what I can do, you don't even know which airline he was
on?" Arica shook her head and knew from the woman's tone of
voice she was looking a total wreck. She had had the common
sense to put on her overcoat so that the bloody and torn clothes
beneath were out of sight, but the fight had left her looking
hopelessly disheveled and the pathetic panic she was radiating
probably was not helping much.
"Oh, here he is." The woman had an edge of pleasant surprise in her
tone. She scribbled something on a piece of paper. "Here is the
flight number, it is right down the hall, it doesn't start boarding for
another fifteen minutes, so you should have no problem getting
there. Arica almost smiled at the fact that this wouldn't end up being
a last minute dramatic scene straight out of the old black and white
movies. Fine by her, she would probably need those fifteen minutes.
Reaching the gate, she reached up and deftly pulled her hair into a
tight, if unfettered, braid. Securing the ties of the overcoat at her
waist she walked resolutely to where he sat, reading from a crisp
paperback. He looked up, feeling her Presence against the walls of
his mind.
"What the hell is in Peru?"
"Fantastic ruins, for one thing."
"Were you going to send me a postcard, so that I wouldn't be
concerned you were dead? Or were my concerns not of importance,
as long as you were comfortable with the situation?"
"You left, Arica. Are you the only one in this relationship allowed
to do that?"
"Fuck you, I went to Mac's for a couple of hours, which you could
have easily found out. I needed to think, I'm sure at some point in
your lifetime, you have experienced that sensation. I almost went
insane when I came back and Cassandra was there with you
conspicuously absent."
"Wait. What? Cassandra was there? Why did you come back?"
"Let's start with the second question. Yes, Cassandra was there.
She came for you, I told her I didn't find that acceptable. Well, in
not so many words, anyway. We fought, she won, she let me go.
She told me to find you. It is over. I don't know why, and I don't
understand her motives. I don't think I am ever going to, which if I
don't have to live through her experiences, is just fine by me. What I
am positive about, is that this is a threat we don't have to worry
about." Arica stopped to breath.
"Now, the pronoun is just used, 'we,' brings me to the third question
you asked. The answer is, I came back because I love you. You're
an idiot if you truly think that something you did three thousand
years ago could make me leave you. Okay, yeah, you were an
asshole, in fact, I'd say, if they made dictionaries back then, your
picture would have been put in as an illustration of that word.
Fortunately for me, you got over it. I think maybe I even appreciate
that you were that horrible, in the sense that it makes both of us
appreciate how different you are now."
"I love the way you picked out a sword that fit me perfectly. I love
how you always start a kissing bout at a different pace and pressure
than the time before. I love the way your hair looks in the morning.
I love the way you refuse to eat frozen fruits because there are some
things you believe should be left in there natural state. I love the
way you specially pick out the sweaters you have 'borrowed' from
Mac over the years when we go over there for dinner just to see if
you can get a reaction. I love the fact that you never ever brush off
the things I say. Not even now, when you think you should, when
the easiest thing in the world for you would be to ignore me and get
on the fucking plane-"
"Arica, stop." She did. In the silence, she wondered when she had
started crying.
"Don't leave, please. I want you. I need what we have. I-" Arica
felt warm lips crash against hers and responded by pressing hers to
him so hard it hurt. Vaguely she recognized the fact that the
moisture on his face was combining with hers, making the kiss salty
and breathless.
It was several minutes before both decided that dying of
asphyxiation in a public place was not that a good idea and drew
back from each other. Arica soothed the flyaways from the now
loose braid back and sat up straight.
"Okay, you want to base the relationship on sex, I can handle that."
"Sex is nice. Waking up smelling your hair, hearing you talk about
Margot Fonteyne, watching you calm a nervous mount, teaming up
with you against Duncan....that's better."
"Glad to know I have other marketable properties." The words
were said without bite. Just a response to ease the tension because
she could think of nothing else. 'Thanks' hadn't seemed appropriate.
He smiled.
"Um, having said that, I'm thinking I might owe you some makeup
sex when we get home."
"About three days of it."
"I was thinking more like a week."
"In that case, you get to talk to Duncan, you do the puppy-eyed
thing much better than me." Hooking hands, the two walked out of
the airport, stopping only to make sure Methos' sword would make
it back there on the return flight, having already been loaded onto
the plane.
"You realize this means my security depends on you, being that you
are the only one carrying a weapon."
"I'll protect you with my life." Her hand came up in a parody of a
swearing motion. He didn't find it funny.
"You should not have fought Cassandra for me." They had reached
her car, she leaned back against the hood and sighed.
"Shut up." He started to speak and she held up her hand and in a
beak like formation and made a "shh" sound. Methos looked mildly
perplexed for a couple of minutes but followed her instructions
anyway. "Listen very closely." Her voice was modulated like a
teacher who was speaking to a room full of rowdy kindergartners. I
want to live the rest of eternity, however that will be defined for me,
with you. Cassandra threatened that. I responded. Do not tell me
what I should and should not do where your life is concerned. If
someone threatens me and you don't feel the need to challenge them
for my protection, then fine, that's your prerogative, whatever. Just
don't expect the same nonchalance from me."
"So you would saddle me with the guilt of knowing you died for me
to run off and play heroine?" She was silent, watching him fight the
open worry and fear in his features.
"I love you. I will do what I feel I need to in order to preserve that
love." Before she could register the movement, she was in his arms,
being held like the edge of a cliff that the falling climber maintains
his grip on. She used the hand that wasn't caught in the embrace to
reach around and rub up and down the length of his back.
"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. Running...it's instinctive now, like eating,
you do it even when you aren't sure why you're doing it. You
walked out of the house and I couldn't breathe, so I just walked in
and got the suitcase out."
"I'm-"
"I'm not done. I'm pretty sure at this moment I don't deserve you.
But since you seem willing to overlook that fact, I swear to you that
I won't try and run again. Not without consulting you first."
Methos had to fight the urge to slap his hands over his mouth and
take the words back. He was leaving himself with no out, unless he
chose to forsake his promise. *That would be so unusual for you?*
He looked down ruefully at violet eyes, wide with the significance of
what he had just said.
"You don't have to do that. I don't think I have the right to take
away five thousand years of freedom." She was giving him a way
out. They both knew it. Every instinct in him screamed to take it.
Somehow, though, it seemed as if his heart had disconnected from
his survival reflexes.
"I am choosing, freely, I might add, to be with you. For as long as
we have. Day and night, morning and evening, breakfast, lunch, and
dinner, month after month, year after year, century after century.
Think you can stand that much company?" Arica didn't bother with
a verbal reply, just pulled his head down to her and used her tongue
for a very different kind of affirmative response.