The aftermath of Endgame was something fierce. Not since Archangel has something been the gut punch that hit me as Duncan stood there, in too much pain to even weep.

I wrote one version of the story. I tore it up. I showed the 3rd version to the usual suspects. Another online friend who volunteered to read it in a weak moment, volunteered the information that there might be room for it in "Futures Without End".

I sent it off, expecting a polite rejection, and quit breathing for several days. Then came the note. Would I be willing to work with one of the Editors?

Thanks go to all involved, particularly to the most patient lady I know, ellenross and the magical Killashandra. Please know that I appreciate your help more than I can say.

The wonderful picture Killa did for the story in on the FWE IV website as are the other stories and pictures. The website can be reached here:

Futures Without End

The winds were picking up. I could almost hear Connor's teasing laugh, the Connor I'd known for most of my four hundred years.

We never stayed together too long. Once he considered me trained, we'd traveled off in different directions, coming back to talk, to share things we'd learned.

I can still remember the stench of the battlefield where he found me. I woke again, my head aching and dead men all around me. My wounds were gone, only the drying blood on my baldric and plaid to show where the wounds had been

Connor came out of the sun, all feathers and finery, with his fancy Italian boots, telling me I had more important things to do than lay there on my ass, laughing and offering me a hand up.

Connor was always there if I needed to ask a question. Always there to push me on to better skills, to let me know he understood the losses, the pain.

We'd never said goodbye. Until...

Until a bastard renegade priest with an obsessive hatred for my friend, my brother, made it impossible for Connor to face another death--mine. Anger flooded through me again.

You learn too much, too fast when the Quickening of a friend rips through you. I hadn't wanted this. I would never have wanted it, not even if we were the last two. I knew that he'd loved me. I was, in a way, his son, in the same way Richie was mine. Now both of them were gone--and yet, both lived, in some strange fashion, within me. I wished they were standing here beside me, with the wind in their faces as it was in mine.

It was getting late and dark clouds were coming in from the horizon. I shivered in the cold wind. Connor... You were right, you know. We never could really say goodbye. I will carry you with me, always.

As I watched, Duncan's shoulders straightened. He took a long last look around and started down the hill toward me.

He turned back once to look again at the headstone. All I could do was wait there for him, my hands so cold that it was hard to start the car.

I grabbed the thermos and poured a cup of coffee, wordlessly, handing it to him. We sat for a moment, letting the car warm before slowly pulling away from the quiet hill. The sunset threw scarlet and gold shadows over the plain stonework, and the lonely whisper of a hunting owl was the only sound.

In the gathering darkness, the narrow roads took all my attention. I headed the car back towards Glenfinnen, wishing he'd say something, anything. It was way too quiet here with the road slipping away beneath my tyres.

"Mac...."

There was no life in his voice. "I'm okay, Methos."

"Are you, really?"

He took a deep breath. "I will be."

"You wanna talk about it?"

He shifted in the seat, pulling against the shoulder belt. "I…don't know where to begin."

The village was quiet and I decided to go on to Glasgow. Finally we turned onto the A830 Twenty kilometers went by with his breathing the loudest sound in the car.

I'd finally gotten bored with the grad student gig and had "Adam Pierson" inherit an estate and a decent sized fortune to run it. The leased Mercedes was part and parcel of that. Unfortunately, I really needed more noise that the fancy German engineering was willing to provide.

"Methos.... When did you first meet Connor?"

When? When I was hiding and running, as usual. MacLeod didn't hide. We would never agree on that. Well, I wasn't going to lie about it.

"I met him in 19… it would have been 1948. He was on a buying trip to the south of France with Rachael. I was Allan Townsend, teaching Conversational English and trying to get enough money together to get out of France.

"I was getting desperate. Caspian had been working for the SS and I knew he'd escaped the Russians. The newspapers in Paris had reported a couple of murders that looked like his handiwork."

Mac sat up, startled. "The images from his quickening… He was a cannibal?"

I shivered at the memories, "Yeah, but I was more worried about losing my head."

"Sick son-of-a- bitch," He paused for a moment, then "So you ran into Connor, and.?"

"We made a deal. I needed to get to Orleans. I had antiques there. Connor could buy them from me, I had the provenance. But he was being followed by some Gestapo type left over from the war and didn't want Rachel in jeopardy. I'd get Rachael out of harm's way and he'd help me get out of Europe.

"A protector, how convenient." Mac's voice was hoarse

I ignored the comment.

"I took Rachael and traveling money, and we left. He showed up in Orleans a week later, somewhat the worse for wear. He bought what pieces he wanted and got a bargain because he knew my back was to the wall. I traveled with them as Rachael's tutor and we parted company in New York.

"Landing on your feet again?"

I spared a glance from the other cars on the road, but he was staring out at the darkness. "It seemed smarter than dying."

Mac's voice was quiet, as though he was talking to himself, "He said, "Living was everything."

"Who?"

"Kell."

He didn't say any more for long while.

I could see his reflection in the windscreen as he turned toward me, "What did they do to Connor?"

"Kept him safe, kept all of us safe in a way, I suppose."

He turned, glaring at me, "You call that safe, keeping him drugged and bolted to a board in that hole in the ground?"

"It wasn't supposed to be that way. And it kept him alive for ten years, Mac. You know better than anyone what he'd been through. You've headed to Holy Ground yourself."

He slammed his fist against the dashboard, an angry shadow against the dim lights. "Yeah, I've stayed away from the Game at times, but he was drugged... helpless."

"I didn't say I approved of that."

The car was silent again. I felt like a ghost speeding along the road, the streetlights ticking off the distances.

Mac's mood swings were starting to bother me. He'd been rude to the flight attendant, and at one point I'd thought he might punch out a cab driver. Maybe it was just stress, but…. I glanced at the dash. "I'll need to fill the tank soon. D'you want to get something to eat?"

The lights of a service plaza were coming up. Maybe the break would do both of us good.

He disappeared into the loo while I took care of the car, then I refilled the thermos and bought a tin of biscuits; I was hungry even if he wasn't. When I got out to the car, he was waiting, looking pale and ill in the garish lights of the car park.

I got back in the car and started off. He was slumped against the window. "Mac?" His eyes opened, but he didn't look at me or answer.

I fumbled with the fancy power seats that were supposed to be driver controlled and finally got the seat lowered, letting him rest. I was tired, too, but I'd slept a little on the plane; I don't think he'd even closed his eyes.

"Methos...."

"I'm still here."

"Was there anything else I could have done?" There was such pain in his voice.

"You know the answer to that."

"I just keep running the damn fight in my head. I don't want to believe Connor wanted to die. It just isn't the way my teacher, my clansman, lived his life."

"It can happen to any of us, Mac."

Quietly he said, "He loved Heather."

"You gave him a reason to live, after she died."

He turned back to watch the night.

I remembered.... I remembered being afraid of him, at first. I didn't believe that he was Connor MacLeod; I was sure he was a demon. I was sure I was one, too.

So, he led me to the nearest church. He blessed himself, then made me do the same thing. I'd been afraid to even touch holy water, so sure that I was damned. He had a lace-trimmed piece of linen, a handkerchief; he called it, and dipped it in the font. Then he bade me take it and wipe my face. The water was cool, and suddenly, I believed him.

We went to his home in Glasgow. For the next few months, I worked harder than I had in years. Played hard, too. Connor seemed to enjoy life, then. He taught me so much. He took me to his tailor, laughing at my reaction. I'd never had clothes like that. Eventually, we went to Italy, to property he had in Ravenna, and later I sailed with him on the Rosemary, learned how to handle the ship and its crew. I still love the sounds of the wind in the rigging of a sailing ship.

Connor.... The energy of the two Quickenings was still painful. It was as if I could feel Kell and Connor battling, with me as the prize. Maybe it was just that my head ached, and I was so tired. I kept hearing Kell telling Connor that I was on borrowed time, was that what broke my teacher?

The headaches were distracting me. I was starting to feel like a passenger in my own body. It had all happened so fast, the meeting in the graveyard with Connor....

"Methos, you knew where Connor was?"

He nodded. "Yes."

"Did you help him escape?"

"No, Mac. I don't know if Kell let him go, but it would have fit his pattern, a cat playing with its prey...."

"Kell met us in the graveyard."

"Yeah, I know."

His voice was quiet, as though he knew how painful the memory of that visit was to me. "Joe and I saw them arriving."

"Were you Watching Connor?"

"I couldn't be everywhere. Joe needed a hand breaking you out of the Sanctuary."

Anger blasted through me. I forced myself to keep my voice down, but I couldn't seem to keep the cold out of it. "Well, now you can put 'wheel man' on your resume. Damn it, Methos, I told you to leave."

"We were leaving. But Joe was worried about you."

"Spying on me, you mean."

He shrugged, unsure if I could see him in the darkness. "We got a call that Kell was headed to the cemetery."

"And of course you couldn't miss an opportunity like that!"

Ouch. We'd been doing so well. For a minute there, Mac had almost sounded like Kronos. God, I shouldn't have mentioned Caspian. They were all dead and I didn't need to be reminded of them now " Mac, Do you want to take the car? If my being here isn't a good idea, I can stop at the next town and get a room. I'll get another car in the morning."

He turned to look at me, "Methos.... I'm sorry. I still don't know how the hell this happened, any of it. It was so fast, and Connor.... I just can't.... It's very hard to accept it."

I just nodded. In a way, I did understand. "Nowadays they call it survivor's syndrome. You lived."

He was holding himself so tightly I could almost hear tendons stretching. "Mac--. Duncan, there were no good choices. Connor wanted Kell defeated, and he didn't think he could do it. He saw the same fire in you that I saw the day I met you."

"I remember."

He closed his eyes, and we drove on in silence for a while. We were coming into Glasgow now, and I needed to get us into a hotel for the night, preferably one with suites and lots of room service. He needed to rest. His color was bad, and it took a lot for one of us to look that ill.

Malmaison was over on West George Street, and I'd always liked the old converted church. Our kind still regarded it as Holy Ground, and it would be a safer place for him than the grandiose Hilton.

He opened his eyes as we pulled into the garage. "I don't want you to go."

I breathed a sigh of relief. "I won't. We're going to have room service bring us a bite to eat, and then we're gonna get a night's sleep. In the morning…. Well, we'll take it from there."

He just nodded, too tired to argue with me. When we got inside, he just stood there in the lobby, not even looking around as I registered.

"Ah, Dr. Pierson. Good to see you, sir. Another conference?"

"Unfortunately, a funeral."

The concierge, Andrew, I remembered, looked upset at that. "Sorry to hear of your loss, sir. Is there anything we can do for you?" His professional concern was a relief.

"I'd like to have dinner for the two of us served in the suite as soon as possible. I'll trust your judgment on that, Andrew. Please add a bottle of decent scotch and coffee."

"Immediately, Dr. Pierson." He handed me the key card, and I urged Mac toward the elevator.

The massive iron staircase didn't even get a look from Mac. I'd always liked it, myself. Napoleon's conquests carved out in iron as though they still mattered.

The suite itself had been redecorated since the last time I'd stayed there. I wasn't fond of eggplant and cream, but the prints and the careful reproductions of antique furniture always made me feel secure.

I hung Mac's coat up and showed him to the bath. "Get a shower, Mac. Dinner will be up shortly, and you need to eat."

"I don't need a mother, Methos," he said, and slammed the bathroom door. As I heard the water start running, the bellman knocked with our bags. I put my things away and pulled clean sweats out for MacLeod. I needed a drink, food, and at least a couple hours sleep. Mac was having trouble with Connor's choices, but I was too damn tired to think beyond food.

I needed to call Joe. He'd wanted to come with Mac, but he was a Watcher, and I wanted Mac to have a day or two to get over the fact that the Watchers had kidnapped him and locked him in that ugly hole. Then, too, Joe wanted to find out exactly what the hell those Watchers had been doing, and he needed time to do it.

The phone kept ringing so long…. Finally, Joe answered.

"Dawson." Joe sounded as bad as Mac.

"It's me. We're in Glasgow, the Malmaison on West George."

"Is he all right?"

"He just buried his teacher. He's dealing with it as best he can."

"Yeah.... I'm trying to trace the properties the Watchers bought, see where else they might have people stashed. Somebody knew about this."

"I think we stumbled on it as soon as anybody who wasn't actually involved could."

Joe sighed. "I'll keep looking."

"Joe, be careful. I don't think Mac could handle losing another friend right now."

"You don't really think-- No, I take that back. You do think this is dangerous, don't you?"

"Damn it, Joe, if you don't, you haven't been paying attention."

"Yeah. Okay, I'll consider myself warned," came the wry response. "Take care of yourself, too. Same reasoning. I'm trying to get hold of the tape of the fight."

"Yes, I want to see it. I'll be careful, too." I hung up. God, I was tired.

Unless Mac had other plans, I was taking him home. I knew Helen, my housekeeper-estate manager, would still be there. As usual, she answered on the first ring.

"Pierson Residence."

"Helen, I'm bringing a friend home. Would you ready the green room for him? We'll be there some time late tomorrow."

"Of course, Dr. Pierson. Are you well, sir? You sound weary."

"It's been a difficult time. We'll want supper, but nothing fancy. I leave it to your judgment."

"It will be waiting. This isn't Mr. Dawson?"

"No. He may be along later though."

"Excellent. His music is always welcome. I will have his room ready, as well."

"Thanks, Helen." Another knock at the door, and I hung up, opening to a waiter with a carefully loaded cart. I tipped him and went to the bathroom door. There was no answer when I knocked, and suddenly worried, I opened it.

Mac was out cold, standing up, his back red from the hot water still pouring over him. I stripped down and got in and cooled the water down a bit. He hadn't even opened the soap. I grabbed the courtesy bottle of shower gel and did a fast wash on both of us. He was barely awake as we got out, and I rubbed him down and wrapped him in one of the hotel robes, then kept a hand on him while I hastily grabbed the other robe for myself.

"Come on, Duncan. I want to get some food into you, then you can sleep."

He said nothing; just let me maneuver him into one of the big wingback chairs. They'd sent up grilled lamb chops and baked potatoes, new peas and fresh rolls filling out the rest of the dinner. I opened the wine and handed him a glass. Obediently, he drank some of it and reached for his knife and fork, but his hands were shaking so badly he couldn't cut the chops. I waited for a moment. "Duncan?"

He put down the knife. "The food smells wonderful, Methos. I just.... I'm afraid I'm not really hungry."

"How about the potato, rolls?"

He shook his head. "Thanks, but I just need some time. I'm going to go on in to bed. In the morning...."

"Good night, then." I watched him walk slowly to the smaller bedroom. In the morning, we needed to talk. He was holding everything inside again. The door closed behind him, and I went back to my dinner. When I finished, I moved the serving cart, minus the coffee service, alcohol and ice, outside the door, then settled in the big chair by the fireplace. They'd sent up an evening paper, and I read aimlessly for a while.

I was drowsing, lulled by the heat of the fire, when noises from the other room woke me. It sounded almost as though there was a fight going on. I didn't know what to expect when I opened the door, certainly not what I saw. MacLeod was at the center of a lighting storm, twisting on the bed in flares of flame colored light.

"MacLeod! Mac!"

What the hell was happening? I grabbed his shoulders, trying to hold him, to keep him from throwing himself off the bed. It felt like grabbing a live power line. His eyes opened, and the light eased away. His breathing was harsh in the sudden stillness.

He got up slowly, looking around the room as though he'd never seen it before. Suddenly, he dropped like a stone to the floor, unconscious.

I lifted him to the bed, muttering at how hard it was to lift 200 pounds, dead weight.

After the frightening light show, I didn't know what to think. Was this just an unsettled Quickening? Kell's head count was higher than any I could remember. If it hadn't been for the odd lightnings, I'd have said he was having a seizure. God, I really had to get both of us home. I had access to far better resources there.

There were burns on his arms. Ultimately, his body would heal itself. His spirit--that was another matter. I could hold him, though. The human touch was all I could give, and I hoped it would be enough. I crawled into the big bed with him. I knew how much it hurt to lose people. At least, I could do this for him.

Half a dozen times he battled nightmare enemies and woke himself screaming, but that odd light didn't show up again and no shocks. Finally, as the morning light began to show through the windows, he seemed to settle, and I fell deeply asleep.

The smell of fresh coffee woke me. I could hear the shower, and a serving cart with coffee and scones was parked invitingly by the bed. MacLeod came out of the bathroom, toweling his hair and looking a bit less like a corpse. There was no sign of the burns on his arms.

He wouldn't look at me at first. "Sorry, Methos. I guess I was making a lot of noise; I can't really remember…." He shook his head.

Immortals don't forget things. I certainly remembered the light show; something was very wrong here. "You remember getting here, don't you?

He nodded slowly. "Yes. And you wanted me to eat. Things sort of blur out after that."

"Is your throat sore?"

"I was screaming, then?"

I nodded, "Seemed like you were nightmaring…"

"I don't remember. There was something keeping me from moving," He started shaking.

I got up and put a my hand on his arm go to him, "Mac, it's all right. The rooms are pretty well soundproofed. I don't think you kept anyone awake."

First time in days he looked directly at me for the. "I kept you awake."

"Well, what can I say, I'm a sucker for tall dark haired men who brood."

He smiled at me, that smile that melted everyone, including me, "Thank you."

"Well, what are friends for?"

He looked embarrassed for a moment. Then he gestured at the cart. "I didn't know how hungry you'd be."

"This is fine. Have you eaten?"

"Not yet." He opened his suitcase, turning away from me to drop the towel and pull on briefs and jeans.

"Mac, where do you want to go from here?"

He pulled on a sweatshirt and turned to me. His eyes were so shadowed. "I don't know, Methos. I feel…. I can't seem to think…."

I waited, but he didn't say anything more. "It's okay," I repeated. "How 'bout you visiting me for a few days. I'll get my shower, and we can move on to London."

He simply nodded and poured himself a cup of coffee.

By the time I was dressed and ready to leave, he was dozing in the chair.

The run to London was quiet. Traffic was snarled as usual, and it was very late when I finally pulled into the drive. Mac had been silent through most of the trip. "Come on, Mac. We'll get the bags in the morning."

He nodded and walked stiffly up the stairs. Helen met us at the door, her coat and hat on.

Mac hadn't met her before. Helen Waters was a formidable lady, almost six feet tall, with an imperial attitude worthy of a Yoruba Princess. She managed my house and many of the London based business interests I kept under a couple of names. I suspect she knew more than she said about the world of Immortals, but we'd never discussed it.

"Dr. Pierson! Good to see you, sir. The guest room is ready, as you asked, and supper is in warmers in the small salon. This package came for you." She handed it to me with a wide grin. "Did you finally buy me that diamond?"

Her glance swept over Mac, but he turned away from her. Not like Mac to ignore an attractive woman.

Helen watched him for a moment, then shook her head slightly, almost shivering, "Uh, is there anything else?"

"Thanks, Helen. This is my friend, Duncan MacLeod, Mac, Helen Waters. I don't think there's anything more tonight, and I'll be sleeping in tomorrow, so noon will be early enough."

She nodded and was on her way.

I took Mac's arm to help him down the hall. He was stumbling with fatigue.

"Helen's been with me a while. Several generations of Piersons owned this through the years. I think Joe'd like to make her my Watcher." I knew I was babbling, but it seemed to give Mac something to focus on.

We walked back to the smaller of the two salons. True to her word, Helen had soup, a casserole of some kind, fresh bread, fruit, and wine set out. Coffee was dripping into a thermal carafe. She must have turned it on as we drove up.

Mac almost fell into the chair, and I hurriedly poured him a small brandy. I didn't want to start him on Scotch. Hopefully, brandy would warm him and ease that pinched look. I filled a deep bowl with the soup and cut him a slice of the bread. "I want you to eat something, Mac."

He wasn't listening. His eyes were half closed, his face drawn. Damn, I really didn't like this. He didn't feel right. His look, his reactions, all of it worried me. Then there was the damn light show in Glasgow. Damn, I was too tired to even start on that tonight. I needed a night's sleep as badly as he did.

I gave up trying to get him to eat and got an arm around him. The guestroom was warm. Helen had started a fire, and I added wood to it after easing Mac down on the bed. I managed to get his boots off and unfastened his belt, then pulled the down comforter over him. There wasn't any doubt that he needed to sleep. He looked gray again, worn to the bone.

Would he be able to survive this? The thought chilled me. So many losses over the past few years…. He was tied too closely to other people. He liked people, cared about them, helped them with no real expectation of help in return.

I turned the lights down in the salon. I was tired, too. I'd accompanied Mac from the States to Scotland because I didn't want him to be alone, and it had been a long and stressful trip for both of us.

The incident I'd been treated to in the hotel room bothered me. What in hell had I seen? I'd never known it to take this long for Mac to handle a Quickening. MacLeod was used to supressing headhunters, but Kell was a genuine loon, and Connor had used him to commit suicide. In the mutters of his nightmares I'd heard names--too many names.

Four hundred years and far away from the village where he'd grown up, he was still trying to protect others, no matter what it cost him. I remembered reading Joe's report, the private one, on Brian Cullen. Duncan had done everything he could to help Cullen, only fighting him when he was forced to. He'd wept at the loss, and it had been months before he snapped out of it.

After Richie's death, I was sure we'd lost him, and I ran as far and as fast as I could, so I wouldn't hear about his death. I should have stayed, been there for him, then. I would be here for him now.

Joe had said the "demon" was real and he wasn't given to fantasy.

I poured myself a drink and sat down by the fire, trying to see answers in the flames. The room was warm, and I dropped off to sleep.

Connor…. He'd called me, and I'd flown into New York from Paris. He picked me up at the airport, and we drove back to his apartment over the shop….

Connor wandered over to the bar. "Still drinking Scotch?"

I nodded. I took a sip and smiled at Connor's choice. "Glenmorangie. You've been drinking this for a long time."

"Aye, since the distillery was founded. Some things improve with age."

"We've spent a lot of hours sipping it. You always had stories to tell me. I loved them… the sea, our Clan. You were the one who told me about Ramirez and Methos."

"You didn't seem to be paying attention."

"Your sword arm made sure I was more concerned about the bruises on my backside, than the stories, "teacher."

Connor's laugh still sounded like an asthmatic viper. "You certainly pestered me about the clan stories. You were worse than a kid for tales."

"Yeah," I said. "I didn't have a lot of time for 'just stories' when I was growing up. Ian MacLeod had very definite ideas about what was important."

Connor settled into the big leather armchair. "I think I had it easier. Nobody wanted me to be anything but a competent warrior. My uncle was the chief, and he had sons. No one was after me to learn the laws or be judge."

"He wanted me to be the best at everything. Robert and I egged each other on." I was pacing now, uneasy with the old memories. "I was so sure of my place; I would marry Debra and raise a family, and train my son as my father had trained me. After she died…."

"Then you died."

I paused, sipping at the whiskey again. "I was a little lonely, but there was always so much more my father wanted me to learn. He wanted to make an advantageous marriage for me and was in no hurry about it."

Connor nodded, remembering. "I'd been promised, too. We were to wed at Beltane. She was leading the pack that wanted to burn me. Wonderful woman, that."

"I was lucky they hadn't burned me too. God, Connor, I haven't thought about that day for so long." I looked at the fire, my eyes unfocused. "I'd taken a spear in the chest, and I knew I was dying. I remember someone praying, and my father telling me I was a good son...then brightness that faded into darkness. Someone was screaming, and my father was back.... There was no wound. I thought the woman praying had done it."

Connor came over to the window and reached out to lay a hand on my shoulder. "It's past, Duncan. Past pain can rob you of your present, and you have Tessa, now, and the boy."

I took a large sip of the scotch. "I thought I was through with it when I killed Grayson."

"So that was you? Good job."

I looked up, surprised. "Didn't I tell you?"

Connor laughed. "Mostly you don't, kinsman. You've never been one to toot your own horn. I heard that there'd been some odd happenings in Seacouver, and Darius said Grayson was gone. He said a mass for his soul."

"You've met Darius, then?"

Connor shook his head. "I've lived in Paris; of course I know Darius. He's impressed with you, lad. So am I. Grayson was good."

I really didn't want to talk about it. I could still see that smile, malevolent, hateful, and so sure of victory. The fear I'd felt chilled me again.

I walked out with him, headed for my hotel. I asked about the business and Rachael, and we chatted about inconsequential things. I knew Connor had something on his mind even then, but as usual, he wouldn't talk about it.

We were supposed to meet that evening. He never showed. I arrived at the shop the next morning and saw the damage. I found him, dry-eyed, silent. They said the gas fireplace had blown up. I stayed for Rachael's funeral. We both thought there was another Immortal nearby, but didn't see anyone. He packed me off to Paris and disappeared.

I could still see him, standing there at the gate, looking at the plane, and then slowly walking away.

Then Tessa and I were walking in the Luxembourg Gardens. She was talking about…Michael. Michael Moore was dead. So was Tessa. Then Kate was beside me in the hotel room. "I wanted to see if I could feel… anything."

And then I was cold and wet, and her necklace hit me in the chest with a weight that was much heavier than the gold locket warranted. Kell was laughing, "Too late again, MacLeod. You couldn't have her forgiveness, and you can't escape me!"

Voices screaming at me, calling to me…. The world was filled with Quickening lightning and I was falling….

Something crashed to the floor, and I was out of my chair and running for the guest room before I was really awake. The standing figure was blazing with blue lightning, scarlet streamers and black fire surrounding him. I tried to go to him, but the energies were a barrier I couldn't get past. I was dumbfounded. In five thousand years, I'd never seen anything like it. Whispers and flames whirled through the room, terrifying me.

My feet were frozen to the floor. It looked like a Quickening, but diseased, the energy shifting through dark colors, attacking him. Ghostly whispers filled the room. I could hear Connor and Kell, but there was another one, a cold, hate-filled voice I'd heard in my own nightmares for a thousand years, and it sent ice down my spine.

The voice was all around me, the sibilants all too familiar. "Well, Brother, your weapon seems to have lost a bit of his edge. I'll win this time, and your MacLeod will be just a memory."

"No," I whispered. I forced down the panic that held me in the doorway. "Mac…. Duncan!"

He turned to face me; there was no recognition in his eyes. Suddenly the lightnings flared again, and the figure moved toward me.

"Vengeance, Methos. I'll have the perfect vengeance," came the whispered threat. Then there were a dozen voices screaming, distorting Mac's voice beyond recognition.

He stopped, and I could see Mac's eyes in the midst of the coruscating fires. One hand reached out to me. I stepped toward him, hoping he didn't have the katana with him. Then the lightnings flared and died, and it was Mac, holding on to the foot of the bed for dear life. He needed me now. My own terror would have to wait.

He was gasping for breath and bleeding from his ears and nose. There were new lightning burns on his arms and face. I managed to get him into a chair, and a wet towel took care of the worst of the blood and soothed the burns. They weren't healing, none of them were healing.

"Easy, Mac. What happened?"

He shook his head. His voice was strained, hoarse. "I…was dreaming I was with Tessa…then I was fighting again…. There were so many...."

"Sit tight." Both of us needed a drink. I went back down the hall for brandy and glasses. He was shivering and his skin was cold and clammy. The burns were an angry red, some of them showing charring.

I poured him a generous measure and held it so he could get some of it down.

Mac had always had a dark golden complexion. Right now, under the burns, he was a gray-green that scared the hell out of me. We needed to figure out what was going on, and I had to stay focused; I couldn't help him if my own fears…. Could Kronos be back?

My chest hurt like a truck had hit me, my arms… I hurt all over. I could feel blood seeping from my nose, and my head was pounding. Methos said something, but I couldn't really follow it. I leaned back in the chair, feeling the Quickenings twisting in my gut. Kell was so powerful…. He was laughing.

Methos was holding a glass for me but the room was darkening, and Kell was laughing in the shadows…something about Connor. I could hear the others, too, the mad ones I'd taken over the years. It was as though every Immortal I'd fought was struggling to battle me again. Every one of them hating me, wanting my death, and the last voice had been Kronos….

Cold… so cold. Kronos screaming that he was the end of time, of me…. Byron chanting verses and the hermit taunting me about my destiny… Nefertiri's sword was in my belly, and Brian chased me over a chain link fence. I was thrown over the side of the ship and the waters took me.

Breathing hurt. Pain everywhere… Blackness… fighting to breathe… flashes of light… faces… Connor? Tessa? Tessa!

The nosebleed started again; his breathing was ragged, and he began convulsing. I got him into the bathroom and filled the tub with hot water, all the while trying to keep him from hitting his head on anything.

Another convulsion and the flow of blood stopped. No pulse, no breathing. They were killing him. Kronos was killing him, and I couldn't stop it -- but I had to. I was not going to lose him. Damn him, he was not going to leave me. Not now, not before I had a chance--

I got him cleaned up and put some of Helen's burn cream on his arms and face. Normal healing should have started by now…

The massive four-poster in the guestroom was an antique I'd picked up years ago, perhaps with the idea that he would be staying with me some day. I got him into it and settled in to wait. Almost as an afterthought, I turned on the radio.

Christmas carols filled the room. I'd lost track of the days. Tomorrow was the Winter Solstice. I remembered times when it had been a vitally important day. No convenience stores then, and so many years when half the village succumbed to the darkness and cold.

I had to find a way to keep that from happening to Duncan.

Three times during the night he started breathing, only to go into convulsions and die again. No healing was taking place. If anything, the burns looked worse. Finally I wrapped him tightly in a light blanket to keep him from hurting himself and pulled the quilt over him. I knew the Watcher's computer files didn't have anything resembling this, but that wasn't surprising. An Immortal in convulsions was vulnerable to any passing danger, not to mention any passing Immortal.

This situation was way out of hand. I could always hope Joe had some news. I hit the speed dial; he picked it up on the first ring.

"Adam?"

"Yeah, find anything?"

"Yeah, but nothing good. Apparently Kell found one other Sanctuary. No survivors among the Immortals and only one mortal left alive, who was just coming on duty. When he heard the noise, he ducked into a storeroom. The tribunal would prosecute if there was anyone left to prosecute, but it looks like that's a waste of time, no other survivors."

I was pacing, furious at the hellish distortion of something that had been an honorable alternative to the killing. "Joe, this isn't what Sanctuary was supposed to be."

Joe sighed, "Yeah, I know, Watchers aren't supposed to interfere with the Game, either."

"So, what are they going to do?"

"I don't know yet. I'm talking to some of the higher-ups, and there are going to be some changes made. We have to decide if we're going to modify the no-contact, no-interference rule, or not. How's Mac?"

"Not good. It looks like the Quickenings haven't settled, and they're tearing him apart." I could hear the fear in my voice. "I don't know what to think. Connor was suicidal, and I think that's part of this. Or maybe Kell's Quickening is somehow releasing other Quickenings -- I can't explain it."

"You mean like a Dark Quickening?"

"No… not exactly. More like taking over an empty house. Mac seems to be almost fading somehow, retreating from me, from life. Connor used him to commit suicide, but I don't think Mac realizes that yet. He still believes he murdered Connor."

"We recorded the fight, and that's just not what happened. I messengered a copy to you."

That package Helen had handed me…. "What do the tapes show?"

"Connor literally took his own head. According to the experts on staff, there's no way to stop a determined follow-through on that move."

"You've shown it to them?"

"Hell, they showed it to me. To quote them, "You're still Duncan MacLeod's Official Watcher."

"How clear is it?"

"Telephoto lenses. Connor's in your lap."

"Were they able to hear anything?"

"The whole thing. Adam, Mac definitely needs to see this."

I nodded agreement even though he couldn't see me. "You're right. I'll show it to him as soon as he's had some rest. Joe, how soon can you get here?"

"I'm at the Headquarters in Lyons. I can't really leave till the end of the week. There are still meetings."

Damn it, I need him here. I need his common sense, needed his assurance that I wasn't losing my mind. "Can't you get out of it?"

There was silence at the other end. "It's that bad?"

I stopped pacing and tried to pull myself together. Joe was right. Changes had to be made in the Watchers, and he was the best man to do it. I took a deep breath and tried to keep the reluctance out of my voice. "As soon as you can, Joe. He's died in convulsions several times. His body isn't healing as it should."

"Geez, Adam, I'm not a doctor."

I'd started pacing again. "I guess I just want someone to tell me I'm not seeing things."

"If anyone can help him hold it together, you're the man."

Fear grabbed my belly again. I hadn't been much use so far. "I hope you're right. Come as soon as you can, and don't stop to chat, Joe."

"You got it, and I won't"

I hung up feeling more alone then I'd felt in years. I went back to the guest room, but Mac wasn't moving. The bone structure of his face was sharply defined in the dim light. What was happening? Had his strength had been sapped by too many deaths in too short a time? Was it the sheer numbers?

In all my years I'd never taken so many heads so close together. This latest loss could easily be the last straw. Each death had whittled away at his confidence, maybe his sanity. And Connor, the man who'd taught him to live after his banishment, had made Mac the instrument of his death.

What I was seeing in him now was frightening. I didn't want to think about Kronos in the body of this man. MacLeod's darkest, most evil impulses were children's games in comparison to my "Brother." The fear chilled me. Was this just the product of my own fears? I shivered. If Kronos returned in MacLeod's body, death would be the least of my worries, and there was no living soul who would believe me. Or help me.

The rest of the morning seemed interminable. I asked Helen to make something for Mac. When I went in to the room, she'd gotten some broth in him and was just leaving. She looked as though she wanted to say something, but turned and left, instead. I was too worried about Mac's lack of progress to ask her about it.

Mac's eyes were closed, and his Quickening was…. The turmoil in it worried me. I needed to think this through. There was nothing more I could do for him at the moment, so I left him sleeping.

My office was quiet; the package was still on my desk. I opened it and slipped the tape into my VCR. I knew what it was, of course, but hearing Joe talk about the fight and seeing it were two completely different things. I watched as Connor reached out and put his hand over Duncan's hand. From that angle, Duncan could not get free without releasing the spring and finishing the killing stroke. He'd had no choice. Connor had beheaded himself using Duncan's leverage and Duncan's sword.

Joe called as I was rewinding the tape.

"The meeting's on a break. How's he doing? Any change?"

I hesitated a second too long.

"Level with me, Methos, have you seen anything like this before?"

"No. I think Mac has taken more heads in a short period than anyone except Kell. And now, of course, he's taken Kell."

"Yeah, Kell was playing guru, collecting susceptible people, claiming to be a holy man. Then, when he was ready to move on, he killed all of them. There were always several Immortals in the groups."

"Kell was insane, no real question about that, but I don't know whether the insanity was there first, or caused by taking clusters of heads." I took a long pull at my beer.

"So, Mac is dealing with his guilt about Connor plus the whole herd of Quickenings Kell dumped on him?"

"Yeah, but there's something else. I saw things…heard things."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

I took a deep breath; I didn't know how to phrase this without sounding as mad as Kell. "I think I heard Kronos. He was…. making threats. And it's a toss up as to whether Kronos or Kell was the most dangerous."

There was dead silence at the other end of the line.

"Joe, I'm as sane as any Immortal. The crazy ones don't live long."

He sighed. "I sure hope so, buddy. You're the only expert we have. So, exactly what are you dealing with?"

I didn't want to talk about this, but Joe, of all people, was entitled to know just what we were facing. "Okay, but don't say I didn't warn you."

I gave him everything, and waited for him to tell me how crazy I was.

Joe was quiet for a moment. I expected a rude comment, but all he said was, "We didn't get a Watcher on Kell until 1873, and he gave us the slip a dozen times over the years. We didn't know that he was from Glenfinnen. Didn't know he was after Connor, either. The Watcher on Connor in the sixties never spotted Kell. Hell, the Watcher who got the pictures of the fight with Kurgan never realized there was another Immortal around."

I nodded to myself. It fit with the little I'd learned. "Immortals are a sneaky lot, Joe. Kell gathered people around him to get power. Mac gathers them because he wants to help people. In so many ways, he still is the Chieftain."

"Ain't it the truth."

I waited for more, but Joe didn't seem to have any more to say. "Thanks for calling, Joe. I'll keep you posted."

Helen brought me something for lunch, but I couldn't even look at it. Finally I wandered back to the guestroom. I didn't know how Joe would handle the blinding flashes of heat and lightning I'd witnessed. I wasn't handling them particularly well myself, and I certainly didn't want to hear Kronos' voice again.

Helen came in behind me. "Dr. Pierson, what is wrong with your friend?"

"This isn't something you can help with, Helen."

"Perhaps not, sir, but you need to speak of it to someone, and I am here."

I was not in the mood for this. "I don't need to speak to anyone. Mac will be alright."

She reached out a tentative hand. "There is a trouble in him. You know it. I would not pry into your affairs, sir. But…your friend is in danger, and there is a danger to you, as well."

I'd trusted her in many things, and I didn't trust easily. Maybe she was right. For a moment I thought about it, remembering times when she'd helped without asking inconvenient questions.

"Sir, I have nursed family and friends enough to know that this is not a common illness. Has it to do with…?" She was quiet for a moment. "You heal quickly from wounds that should be fatal. He is the same kind, is he not?"

She looked back at Mac as a low moan signaled his return to the living. I went to the bed, hoping that this time his eyes would open and my friend would be there. No such luck. The leer was familiar, though.

"Well, Brother, you keep odd company these days."

"You're dead."

"Are you so sure?" Mac's face twisted, sweat shining on his forehead. I could see his fists clinching under the blanket. Then he convulsed again and died.

Helen studied MacLeod for long minutes. She touched the sweat-soaked hair, drew his eyelids back to see the fixed stare of the dead, and turned back to me.

"Dr. Pierson, I must speak freely. You know, sir, that I'm not the first member of my family to serve you."

"Yes, your Aunt Elizabeth--"

"Yes, sir, but she was not the first, either. Our family came from New Orleans, and long ago we were... dedicated to serving and protecting you. Sir, you must believe me. There is a great danger here. Your friend, Mr. MacLeod -- There is a Loa, a spirit near to riding him."

I didn't know what to say.

She looked around the room. "One of us has tried to stay near, to be ready to help you, as you helped us. For nearly 200 years, someone of each generation has been taught the old ways, the teachings of the spirits. You cared for our people -- Charlotte, and Elizabeth and Anthony, so many of us. You bandaged our wounds, cooled our fevers, and taught us to respect ourselves. The Voodoo Queen said you were one who had powers. You died. Elizabeth saw you drown after you got her boy to safety. She saw you come back to life on the riverbank."

Her voice was low; as if she was repeating something she had heard many times. "The voodooine, Marie, told us to keep your secret. So when you left New Orleans and offered to take Anthony with you to care for your horses, Elizabeth told him to go. They traveled with you to London."

Shock and long years of hiding tripped in my automatic response-I had to convince her she was wrong, "I think you're mistaken, Helen. Yes, I suppose I'm Ben Adams' heir, way back."

She smiled and raised a hand to quiet me. "Dr. Pierson, you left the house to a cousin, but we knew, in spite of the changes you made, that it was you. We watched. You disappeared many times, and one of us always stayed with the house. We followed the instructions left for us. We held that trust sacred.

"You provided well for us. Through the years, many of us were educated, fine doctors and lawyers. We owned businesses in the States and here. Always, one daughter or cousin returned to New Orleans to learn from the Voodoo Queen. We owed you many lives, and we learned to be able to honor the debt." At this point, she turned and looked at me directly.

"Aunt Elizabeth was afraid you had really died in the war, so when the 'nephew' of Edward Pierson came here from Cardiff, she was overjoyed. She asked me to join her here eleven years ago; she felt she was too old to take care of the house and your enterprises. You have always left the running of the estate in the hands of your housekeepers, and we made certain that the property was kept up and your orders regarding the businesses were followed. We kept careful records against the day you would return."

I was floored, and then the damn penny dropped. I knew that several of the women had been related, but I'd never really questioned them about it. And she had never said a word. For a few seconds I was angry. I didn't like Watchers, and I had left many cities behind when people got inquisitive.

I remembered Charlotte. Elizabeth had been her friend, housekeeper for another of the big estates, and I remembered buying her son and his wife to get them away from the new owner, a bastard who beat people simply because he got off on it. I'd encouraged Anthony to learn to read, and he and his wife had cared for the house in Paris until I decided that the climate was healthier in London.

"Dr. Pierson, I have broken our long silence to tell you this so you will know you can trust me. Your friend is in great danger."

I came back to the present in a rush. "What danger?"

"When you battle the evil ones, something of them comes to you. It is like the spirits, the ones who should be dead and gone, but will not leave the living alone. They are the souls of the evil ones, and always, always, they wish to live again. If they are not stopped, they will smother the living soul and work their evil with his body."

It was as good an explanation of Mac's situation as I could have come up with at this point, and I wasn't about to deny that such evil existed. Certainly, Mac was in danger. "Helen, I'm not saying you're right, but if you are, how could he be protected?"

"You know his heart. What will help him?" She was waiting for some response.

I didn't have any suggestion. I shook my head. "I don't know anything that will help."

She looked into my eyes. "You are the same kind, old spirits, no matter what the body seems to be. You know what is hurting him, why he has no heart to fight the evil ones." She looked at her watch. "I must tend to things. Look into your own heart. Talk with Joseph. Think on how you can make your friend strong again."

She stood and moved gracefully to the door. In that moment, I could see her ancestor, Elizabeth, the long skirts of the day rustling as she went out to give the orders to her staff.

"Helen, Elizabeth knew…?"

She stopped, but did not turn around. "What I told you was true, sir. None of would us lie to you, Dr. Pierson. We believe that there are mysteries. You are one of them. The traditions tell of the ones who walk among us, to keep the people from harm."

"Helen, your people only knew what I did there in New Orleans."

"In so long a life, you have been many things, of course. I can only know what my teachers have passed on to me and what I have seen. As long as we have known you, you have cared for people. You battle the shadowed souls. Now you must find a way to keep the shadows from Mr. MacLeod, or surrender him to the darkness."

She left me sitting there in a room I'd known for generations. I found myself looking at it as though I'd never seen it before. Here and there among the artifacts I'd collected in many different personae there were other things. A small figure here, a small red leather bag….

I finished the brandy and perhaps I drowsed off, fear and exhaustion overcoming my need to find answers. I dreamed about Charlotte and the magic of New Orleans. I woke with a start, rubbing eyes that were dry and gummy with fatigue. I had to do something.

The bedroom was quiet. MacLeod was still, utterly unmoving. For a moment I thought he was sleeping, but then his eyes opened. The smile on his face was one I knew, but it was not his.

"Well, brother. You don't look all that happy to see me."

"Should I be?"

"You've wanted this body for a long time. Now you can have it. Of course…there will be some differences."

The sneer told me my blood would be one of them.

"I have no interest in renewing old times, Kronos. You'll sink back into the muck. Mac is strong. He's not going to give over to the likes of you."

The laugh chilled my bones. Mac's face seemed to shift, the eyes going blue and the line of a scar showing where none belonged.

"Oh, no, Methos. I've gone to considerable trouble to find my freedom. I won't give it up. You'll be back where you belong."

Suddenly the blankets weren't there and he was coming at me. I couldn't move. There was a flash of lightning and darkness….

When I came to my head hurt, and my hand came away bloody when I touched it. Helen was beside me, pressing a cold cloth to my head and looking very worried.

"I was bringing you some coffee when I heard the sound of someone falling. Did he do this, Dr. Pierson?"

I wasn't sure what to do. The image of Kronos coming at me.... Having him trying to live again in the body of a man I liked and respected; I was desperate, horrified at the thought.

Helen looked at the body on the bed. As I watched, she took a reel of thin red cord from her pocket. Murmuring words too softly for me to hear, she tied one end at the foot of the bed, then carefully looped it around each of the four posts, circling Mac's body. Three times she knotted it, then stood back with a sigh.

"This may protect us for a time."

I stood up, shaking with fear and fatigue.

"I do not think we can wait any longer, Dr. Pierson. I have never known you to be frightened of anything, but you are afraid now." She brought me a blanket and wrapped it around my shoulders.

"I'm alright."

Wise eyes looked at me. "No, you are not but if we can send the evil back where it belongs, you will be well, too."

"Helen, you said you had connections with practitioners of Voudon in New Orleans. I spent enough time there to know a few basics and recognize a few things, but how can this help MacLeod?"

"What you are afraid of is the spirit who seeks MacLeod's body to use as his own. I do not fully understand it, but I know you live far longer and heal far faster than we do. I know that you care about him."

"Yes," I looked at him, so still. "I do care. Just how much more do you know about us?

"Enough to know that you are magic." She looked a little frightened. "Dr. Pierson, I will try to give you a door, but you will have to find the key. You must master your fear if you are to help your friend."

I knew she was right. Kronos had owned my soul for a thousand years. I thought it had ended, burned out in the fires of the double Quickening. I wanted to pack a bag and run.

Mac looked like hell. I caught a glimpse of myself in the dresser mirror, and I didn't look a lot better. I turned to Helen. "What do you want me to do?"

"I will bring the candles and such. We will move a chair beside Mr. MacLeod's head. When all the preparations are made, you will talk to him. You must remind him of who he is, his strength, the things he loves. You must be the link for him."

She left. I got a brandy and sat there trying to calm myself. Voodoo. I hadn't given much thought to New Orleans until Morgan surfaced. There had always been something about the women there.

Then Helen was back with a serving cart. She had changed clothes. She was barefoot, dressed in layered skirts of white and blue. A blue and white turban covered her hair.

"Nothing's changed with him." I said.

She nodded and began setting a fire in the fireplace. When it was blazing, she began lighting candles and setting them in clusters at the corners of the room. Finally, she started the CD player. A rumble of drums began. Low thunder rolled through the room; "Bata," I'd heard them called. Then, the higher voiced drums followed the pattern. The rhythm was hard to ignore. It drew me in, soothing me with its rolling beat as the voices joined in.

Helen took a bottle from the cart and began to sprinkle the contents around the room. The fragrance of cinnamon, fresh lemons, and oranges filled the air. I watched her fill a bowl with tobacco and another with rum. They were placed before the fire, offerings to the ancient Yoruba Gods.

Then, she took the last package from the cart, unwrapping the figure of a mermaid, the Goddess, Yemanja, if I remembered correctly. Gently, she placed the mermaid on the mantelpiece. She took an elaborate blue and white beaded necklace from the package and put it on. Another figure, Chango, Master of the Lightnings, a powerfully built man in red pantaloons with lightning in his hands, was unwrapped to take its place beside Yemanja.

Helen was chanting now, and she placed the offerings in the fire. The rum flamed up quickly, blue and gold. Smoke from the tobacco swirled around the room, moving almost in time to the beating drums.

When that was done, she began moving about the room. The drums were beating faster, and I could almost see the energy moving through the room, with the smoke, following Helen's lead.

The drums quieted. Only a soft beat, matching a human heartbeat, remained. Helen looked at me and motioned to the chair by Mac's bed. "You must take over now, Dr. Pierson. Use the energy around you. Bring your warrior back to us."

She moved to sit by the fire. Her murmuring voice was too quiet for me to hear clearly, and after a minute, I quit trying. She said it was up to me to reach MacLeod. Up to me….

Looking at the still figure, I tried to remember the first time I'd seen Duncan MacLeod. The pictures hadn't really prepared me for the force of the man's personality. I'd been so taken with him that when he called me by name, my real name, I just nodded. "Mac, you need to hear me. You need to come back to us. The others, Kronos, he has no right to your body."

There was no movement from the man on the bed. I laid my hand on Mac's chest, desperate to reach him. "Duncan, Duncan MacLeod! It's Methos. I need you, Duncan." The heavy scent of the rum made me dizzy. Mac's silence made me afraid. "I know you feel responsible for Connor's death, but the Watchers got it on videotape, Mac. Connor literally took his own head with your sword. You didn't kill him, Mac. He killed himself."

My panic was getting hard to ignore. I looked across the room. Helen was holding a glass of rum, murmuring into it. Mac's eyes were still closed, no movement. Helen had done all she could do.

"Damn it, Connor, if you're in there too, help me. What you did hurt him, damaged him in a way no one else could. You broke it, you damn well can fix it!" There was a small sound, and I felt Mac's chest lift with the intake of breath. "Mac?"

The drumming seemed louder, and the logs spat sparks against the fire screen. I felt a lunge, Mac--someone--trying to break free of the confining blankets. "Easy, talk to me, Duncan. Just talk to me."

But the cold eyes that opened were not those of my friend. A sardonic voice said, "You'll have to leave a message, Methos. He's not in right now."

God. I took a deep breath; I felt like I was drowning. The look and voice were Kronos'. What in hell had I gotten myself into? "What are you?"

There was a laugh, glacier ice brittle. "Oh, I'm not sure I want to give you that information. You know too much already. I'll give you no power over me, Brother."

There was a subtle difference in the voice, the set of the shoulders, as though Mac's body and spirit were discordant, at odds. Was Mac beginning to fight his way back? "Duncan, I need your help. Damn it, Mac, you beat Kronos in battle; you can't let him win, now. You have to hear me!"

His face twisted, expressions shifting, reflecting the war going on inside Mac's soul. Then the face, everything, was still.

"Joe sent me the videotape, Mac, we've both seen it. You were not to blame!" All the years I'd waited for a friend like Duncan MacLeod…. I would not let this intruder, whatever he was, win. "Damn it, Connor, help him!" I reached under the tangled blanket to take MacLeod's hand. "Duncan, Come back to us. You--"

I choked. The very real possibility that I was going to lose this man, this friend, was strangling me. All I could do was hold on to Mac's hand, trying to hold back the panic I felt. I could see movement beneath his eyelids.

Then Helen was beside me, handing me something, rum, by the smell of it. "Doctor Pierson--Adam. Let the fog of old fears be blown away from you. You are among friends, the children of those you aided in the past. We will help you. We know you. Your friend has need of you, as we did so long ago. Reach out to the strength of that time. Bring it with you, to the here and now."

I did not want to listen to her. Helen took in a deep breath. Softly, she spoke again, "Lord Chango watches. He brings the courage to overcome your fears. It is time to do battle, Methos."

A sound, a low sob, came from deep within me.

"Methos, you must help break the chains in Duncan's mind."

I looked up at her, and for a moment, I thought I saw another smiling face, heard a more Creole tone in her voice. I focused on the one thing that got through.

"You called me Methos."

She smiled. "I have heard Joseph use it, but we have known your true name for generations. We do not speak it outside of this house or if others can hear."

I stood up and straightened my legs, groaning as cramped muscles were forced to move. I drank slowly, looking around the room, anchoring myself in the familiar walls. For a moment, the fire and the heat of the rum seemed to ease me.

There was still no sign that we'd reached Duncan. My stomach was threatening to reject the rum. If this was Kronos, the hell would never end. I tried to swallow the lump in my throat. Survival…. I had to survive. If I stayed here….

"Doctor Pierson, Methos, listen to me, please. This is the danger I spoke of. Danger to you, as well as your friend."

"I can't help." I tried to stay standing, but my legs seemed to be made of silly putty. I swallowed down the rest of the drink. The chair seemed to be the only steady thing in the room. "I have to go."

Helen's dark eyes assessed my pain and fear all too accurately.

"You fear that you cannot win against this evil one, who was so cruel to you in life."

I kept my face guarded. "I have no idea what you mean." Unfortunately, the look on her face told me just how much she believed me.

"You must defeat him now, Methos. He does not have the true power. Not anymore. His body is dust and ashes, and he has no right to the body of your friend."

I turned to face her. "You have no idea of his power. I knew him; I was with him, for too many years. I can not fight him."

"Then Mr. MacLeod, your friend and more than friend, will be torn from his own form and left to wander in the cold of the underworld."

"I can't help. Kronos will kill me again - worse than kill me. He is--" Abruptly, I put the empty glass down and moved toward the door.

Helen stood to her full height. Her voice commanded. "You must not leave, Methos. If you leave now, you will run forever, always afraid that he will find you. Stay. We will help, but you hold the key."

"I can't do what you ask." I turned away from the sight of them. "Let me go."

Helen smiled, "I do not hold you. Your own love for your friend holds you. Feel the strength of it, Methos. Let it give you courage."

The fear was bile rising in my throat, tearing at me. How could they ask this from me? They didn't know, they had never experienced looking at their own entrails, burning slowly while hanging from Kronos' sword. Immortal memory was too vivid.

But MacLeod…. Duncan didn't deserve this. If Kronos had his way, Mac would be a silent witness to every cruel, vicious act committed by his body. Mac would be trapped in an Immortal hell, incurably mad--or worse.

Helen's hand clasped mine, her grip warm, human, willing me to take the risk.

"Come, Methos. We are here. The Old Ones are here, too, the spirits of those you aided so long ago. We will lend you our strength."

I swallowed, trying to hold still against my panic, my pain… my love.

That was the thing at stake here. That was what I simply could not face.

Mac would not want to live dominated, displaced, by Kronos. If MacLeod couldn't force out the hell that was my former brother, I would have to make a choice, one that terrified me. I had accepted it as a possibility in that dark place under the bridge the night we met; I'd feared it when MacLeod killed Sean Burns in the blackness of the Dark Quickening; and refused, absolutely, standing there with Joe, trying to ignore the kneeling figure of the man who'd just killed Richie Ryan.

Helen's dark eyes were filled with tears. "Methos, it will not get better. Waiting will not help. We have to help him now, or we will lose him. You will lose him."

My stomach lurched again. Helen was right. I had to help. Mac wasn't the only one who had to force Kronos out. If I failed now, Duncan might never know that I…. Forcing the panic down, I took a deep breath, trying to center myself. The smoke from the fireplace brought back memories of New Orleans and the mysteries of the Creole Voodoines. I could feel Elizabeth and Charlotte, almost as if they were there, offering their strength.

The throbbing drums matched my heartbeat as I settled back into the chair and tried to remember to breathe.

MacLeod seemed to be fighting it. That was good, but how to help him? Another deep breath and I reached out to take Mac's hand.

Nothing. No darkness.… No light.… Can't feel anything. Am I dead? No sound.… Wait, there's something.…

Voices. Something's wrong.… People calling to me. And Methos. Can't seem to answer?

Something holding me. Have to get loose, have to go to Methos.…

Another voice, echoing. It can't be! It's all around me, inside me somehow.… Kronos?

No! He's dead. I know I killed him. I know.…

Have to stop him. He'll kill Methos.

Behind us, Helen added more fuel to the fire and changed the music to a slightly faster beat.

MacLeod's eyes opened. This time, I didn't flinch when the grip on my hand tightened. Again, I braced myself, looking with a calm I did not feel, into the eyes of my nemesis.

"You don't belong here, Kronos. I will--"

"And just what will you do, Brother? You can't keep me bound forever. I can stop his heart. I can do it over and over again until he doesn't know whether he's dead or alive," said the icy voice. "Eventually, I'll break free, and the conflict will destroy him. Or you'll have to kill him. That should add a touch of frosting to the cake, Methos."

"You underestimate him, Kronos. Just like you did before. MacLeod has a strong spirit and he will not let you win."

Methos? Can't reach him. Kronos…crushing me, screaming.…

Someone.… Who's there? Connor? Oh, Connor.…

Yes.… Can't let Kronos do this. Have to stop him. Break free of him somehow.

I held still as I felt something cold slip into my hand.

Helen's soft voice whispered, "Here, it may be your only answer."

I kept my hand below the edge of the bed.

Kronos' laughter had nothing of humor in it. "Your MacLeod only won because you betrayed me, Brother. You won't be able to help him now, and I'll whisper such things in his mind that he will hate you forever. A perfect return for your treachery, Methos."

Kronos looked intently at me. "You're plotting again," His eyes moved to Helen. "The mortal? She can't hurt me." The contempt in his voice was clear. He laughed again, and his voice rose to a scream, "Then, Methos, you'll be all mine, and you will never, never get away!"

I had to concentrate on holding Kronos' attention. Slowly, I eased my left hand out of the horseman's grip. Then, quickly, before I could think too much about it, I thrust the long dagger into MacLeod's heart.

Kronos gasped, fighting to breathe against the blood filling MacLeod's lungs. "It won't work, Methos, I'll come for you.…" He coughed and died.

The room suddenly seemed cold in spite of the fire.

Something has changed. There's movement all around me. So dark, I can't see anything.… Kronos is screaming at Methos. I hear his sword swish through the air in front of me. Kell is another shadow. Connor, we have to stop them.

Now, Connor is behind me, back to back.… My katana's hilt is warm in my hand. Kronos is laughing, he thinks he can beat us, he and Kell.

We're fighting, too dark to see them, but I know where Kronos is. Cold and darkness all around me.... Kronos is screaming invectives, and I can feel his sword strike across my belly. Moving, staying away from the blade as my night vision, or something, begins to show me my surroundings.

We're on a battlefield, like the one where Connor found me. I can hear him.

"Up, now, lad. Off your ass, Duncan, there's a fight to be won!"

We're fighting, the way we took on bandits and brigands. It feels good to have a sword in my hand and my brother at my side. I know somehow that this is his last gift to me, that he loved me and loves me still.

The fight goes on and on, counter and slash, parry and thrust. I'm remembering all the fights we had in those early years. I can hear him coaching me, making me commit the moves to muscle memory.

I can see Kronos more clearly now. He's starting to look uneasy. Good. He is going to lose this one, just as he did before.

"I'll win this time, MacLeod. Methos is too scared to take me on, and I'll finish what I started."

"You're the one who's finished, Kronos. You're dead, and I plan to see that you stay that way."

He drew back a little, trying to gain time to heal, but I didn't let him. I followed as he circled the dimly lit battlefield. He turned to face me again, the fury glowing in his eyes. "You've given up, Highlander. You can't win because you don't want to win."

"You're wrong, Kronos. Dead wrong." I swung hard, crosscut to the belly. The cut was deep, but he stayed on his feet.

In the back of my head, I heard Connor. "Watch his eyes, Duncan. Remember what I taught you."

Yes, there is the opening.

Connor's laughing again. The guilt and pain are gone, and he is, as I knew him first, the fierce fighter, dear friend. Then, Connor's sword strikes, and I'm sweeping Kronos' head from his shoulders. There's lightning striking all around us, and Connor smiles at me. "I'm sorry it had to be this way. Live, Duncan. Be the One." Then he vanished, and the dark mists swept around me.

I am alone here in the silence.…

Methos is calling me.

"Will it work?" she asked quietly

I looked up at her, trying to breathe, trying to control my fear. "I don't think Kronos can hold on if Mac's body is dead. It gives Mac a chance to fight him. I don't see that we have much in the way of choices." I brushed the hair back from MacLeod's face. "He has to want to stay alive. I just hope he wants it enough."

Helen put a gentle hand on my arm. "You did the best you could, Methos. You stayed. Thank you."

I just nodded and waited to see who would wake up.

Helen turned the drumming down to an almost inaudible mutter. She left with a soft mention of coffee.

Moments later, she was back with coffee and brandy. "You are chilled, Doctor Pierson. Please take it."

I took the mug, adrenaline had burned away the alcohol I'd already had, and I was freezing. "Thank you, Helen. You can call me Adam, you know." The heavy mug warmed my hands. I was watching for any sign that MacLeod was reviving.

She smiled at me, then looked back at Mac, frowning, "He isn't reviving. It has been so long."

I shook my head. "Timing always varies. He's tired and stressed, and that can delay things. We wait. Nothing else we can do."

A sudden gasp from MacLeod put everything else out of our minds. He twisted against the confining blankets. His eyes opened, dark hazel in the glow of the fire and the subdued light of the room. Who was it? Would I have to kill this body, permanently? Could I?

He looked at Helen and then me. "Methos.…"

"I'm here." The small blue lightnings of a normal Quickening were showing around the burns. His skin was still paler than normal.

I could hear the deep sighing breath he took.

"It's over, Methos. I heard you. Kronos, he wanted.…" MacLeod swallowed. "I couldn't…break through."

I looked carefully at Mac's eyes, his face. He was tired, sweaty, and looked like hell, but it was Mac. Something in my soul eased. No more deaths tonight. I checked his pulse and respiration. "How do you feel?"

There was a wry tone in the rough voice. "Like I've just been stabbed to death."

My laugh was a little forced. "Well, MacLeod, what else are friends for?"

Mac tried to stretch, as much as he could in the cocoon, "You were calling me."

"I prefer you alive and well."

MacLeod smiled. "Yeah, you kept telling me to fight. So did Connor." He sighed. "There was nothing. Then it was so dark, so cold.… Connor was there with me. He was the way I remembered him." He shook his head. "A dream, I guess."

"Maybe not, Mac," I said. "He'd help if he could."

Helen moved beside the bed, offering more of the brandy. "I believe we can unwrap Mr. MacLeod now, sir."

Mac looked relieved. "Thank you. Sorry, Methos, I guess I haven't been a great houseguest."

Helen laughed and started packing away her working tools.

"I've had better. Come on, Mac. Let's get you into the shower." I helped Mac untangle himself from the blankets and handed him a brandy. I took a sip of my own. "Mac, if you want to talk about it, I'm here. I still say you weren't given a choice."

His eyes darkened. "Connor MacLeod was a brave man. I don't think I could ever do what he did."

I shook my head and looked at him. "Mac, he forced you into an impossible situation."

He nodded. "Yes, but Kell pushed him."

Helen cut in, saying, "You gentlemen have played the very devil with my schedule. I need to go and resume dinner preparations if you are to eat this evening. I will leave you to your own devices. Breakfast at ten, sir?"

The interruption did what she intended it to do. I laughed at the sudden reversion to the mundane world and assisted MacLeod into the bathroom. "Of course, Helen. I think I'm putting you in for a raise."

She just smiled at me and left the room.

I got him showered. Drying him off, I could see that the damage of last few days had healed. He was a little unsteady, exhaustion, but the strong will that had always carried him through was still burning.

"Mac, when you're ready, I have the video tape of the fight. Connor--"

MacLeod looked up. "I know, Methos. I know. Connor was afraid for me. He never loved easily. When he did, it was deep, and it hurt him even more deeply to lose them. Finally knowing that all those deaths were because of something he did trying to defend his mother -- it was too much."

"Joe and I talked. They didn't have Watchers on Kell a good part of the time. He was considered crazy, probably dangerous and too unpredictable." I took a towel and started drying his hair. "You okay, Duncan?"

"God, Mac. Helen set things up. I tried to bug out, but she wouldn't let me."

I reached up to take the towel from him. "Bull. I can still smell the fear on you, but you stayed. You gave me what I needed; your voice anchored me to the real world. Even in the otherworld darkness with Kronos ranting, I could feel you there."

Methos' voice was a soft whisper. "I.… You're still too important to lose." He tried to turn away, but I placed my hand at the back of his head and pulled him gently into an embrace.

"Methos, Connor reminded me that, even for us, there's not always a lot of time." I stopped for a moment, watching Methos closely. "You're important to me, too. I think it took seeing Kate again to make me really look at the people I care about. We've danced around this for years."

Methos interrupted me. "I don't think either of us is in any shape to do this tonight."

"Don't. You're trying to run. We'll wait until you think you're ready, Methos, but don't make it too long." I lifted Methos' face so that he had to look into my eyes. "You have such amazing eyes. I never know what color to call them."

"Duncan, I'm not some flighty female you have to court."

The picture was just too much, and I laughed, all the tension just draining out of me. "Very true. As I said, I'll wait, but I need you to know that I care for you, love you -- and I think you love me, too."

Methos colored and pushed my hand away, unwilling to maintain eye contact, as if afraid of what his own eyes might reveal. "You've been through a lot, and I think you should get some rest.

I nodded. Methos was blushing. Good, things would work out. "We'll do it your way, my friend."

We picked up the towels and put out the candles. I opened the windows a bit to let fresh air into the room and looked at the fire. The flames were lower now, and I added wood to keep it going.

Methos stopped at the door. "Dinner should be ready, Mac. Don't be long."

"Right. Be with you in a minute."

I could feel Connor's Quickening slip into my soul. I was sure now that my clansman had done what he felt he needed to do. It hurt, but I did understand. I didn't need to see the tape. Not now. Now it was time to look to tomorrow.

What would tomorrow bring? There were so many things… I glanced at the desk; the electronic calendar said December 21st, the Winter Solstice. My birthday. Christmas was only a couple of days off. Connor had always loved the Evensong service. Perhaps I'll go, for Connor.

Then maybe I'll stay with Methos for a while. We can talk. Maybe explore some of the possibilities.

I left the guestroom. Dinner smelled wonderful, and I was surprised to find I had quite an appetite. Friends, food and fire; the old Celtic blessing, and I have all of it. All in all, a birthday to remember.