She was being watched.

Joe and Methos were asleep on the couch, unfolded earlier in the evening. Maggie got up from her chair, putting the laptop on the coffee table. Amanda was asleep, her arm protectively across MacLeod's chest. Duncan's eyes were open, looking at her, registering who she was.

"Thank you, Mother Goddess," she murmured. She smiled at him and went into the kitchen to get him some orange juice. "Drink this," she said quietly. She helped him hold the glass, then pulled the quilt back up over his shoulders.
"Back to sleep, Duncan. We'll talk in the morning."

He nodded and closed his eyes, asleep before his head hit the pillow.

She put the glass in the sink and tried to stretch out the cramps in her neck and shoulders, but they weren't going to yield to anything less than dynamite. Finally willing to go to sleep, she went over to the two men sleeping on the sofa-bed. Gently she patted Methos on the shoulder. "Can you take over?"

Methos nodded.

"He woke briefly; seemed to recognize me."

"That's a step in the right direction."

"I'm going up to the wheelhouse. There's a bunk there."

"OK. I'll wake you in the morning."

"Fine." She grabbed a loose robe from her suitcase and went up on deck.

The streetlights turned everything to shades of gray. The mist softened the edges of the buildings making an impressionist painting out of the landscape. Maggie walked along the upper deck of the barge until she reached the wheelhouse hatch. The room was small, but Duncan had remodeled it after a fire, almost a year ago. The new bunk was larger, to "accommodate Richie and a friend," Joe'd laughed. She was so tired. She stood up and stripped. The robe landed on the chair. She'd sleep as she always did, naked. The rhythm of the water against the barge lulled her to sleep.

A hand gently taking hers woke her. She recognized the scent of his cologne. "Joe? You should be asleep."

"I was. I woke up." Joe suddenly turned to go. "Sorry, Maggie. I don't know what I was thinking."

"It's all right." She patted the bed. "Sit by me a minute."

"You're sure."

"Sure."

He leaned his cane against the foot of the bed. It creaked a bit as he settled beside her. She reached out to take his hand. "This has been very hard for you and Methos."

He looked up at the mention of the oldest immortal's name. "How long have you known?"

"I had wondered-he talks about ancient cities as though he knew the builders, but he's good at hiding things . . .  Probably years of practice. Then, last night I made a rude comment and Amanda confirmed it. I won't tell, you know."

Joe nodded, "Mac knew him right off. He never said how, but there never was any doubt in his mind." He laughed, "They didn't tell Richie, you know. He was so pissed off when he found out." His face changed again. "I wish he were here to tease."

"He was so serious the day he came over with the papers for the shop. MacLeod had given him a power of attorney and just dumped the whole thing on him. It seemed a bit harsh to me. Then, I realized he wanted to keep the boy busy so that he wouldn't blame himself for Tessa."

Joe looked out across the bridge, remembering. "She had become Mac's whole life. When they took Richie in, it made them a family."

"Family would be important to him."

"It is to all of us. Sometimes we're born with them, sometimes we choose them."

"Joe, hold me?"

He gathered her into his arms, holding her close. "I guess Mac sort of included me and Methos in his family. At least, we argue and fight like family."

"And care about each other like family," she said, wistfully.

"You've never talked about your family. I know Mark died."

"Not much to talk about, Joseph. Grandmother raised my sister and me after our parents died. The settlement from that put me through nursing school. My sister married a strict fundamentalist and hasn't spoken to me in years."

"Where did you learn the Craft?"

"Grandma used herbal teas for all kinds of things. When I had the chance of a work/study semester in England, I took it. Lots of herbalists there in those days. Some of them were Witches. You were there the night Adam and I got off on women's spirituality, and it's connections with the Craft."

"Yeah, I remember you working with the stress cases, too. Maggie, I know Methos dragged you over here without any warning . . . "

"Yes."

"I guess, I meant to say, I'm glad he did. I wanted to say something to you, I don't know how many times, but the time never seemed right."

"Something?" She pulled back enough so that she could see his face. "What was the 'something'?"

"I think I love you, Magdalene Frost. I thought I loved you years ago, when you threatened and teased and pushed me into choosing life. You pushed all of us. But I always hoped that you felt more for me as a man, not a patient."

"I did. I do." She turned to look out the window. "When I joined the Watchers, it looked as though it might bring us together but when we met, you were friendly, but it seemed as though you didn't want me to get too close."

"Close is scary. You scare the hell out of me, lady. I guess I'm more afraid of not speaking up, maybe losing you, than I am of anything else."

"I won't bite, Joe."

He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it. Then he turned it over kissing the palm, lingering over it, lovingly. He bit gently at the fleshy pad at the base of her thumb. She reached up to touch his face. Her fingers left fire wherever she touched. She lifted the quilt and he edged in next to her. She turned to face him welcoming his kiss. "Come to me, Joseph, we've waited so long."

His warm lips sent a surge of desire through her tightening her nipples almost to the point of pain. He ran his hands up her arms and brushed against her breasts. Gently, he drew her face closer, kissing her softly at first, then demanding more, his tongue pressing her lips apart. He could taste coffee and brandy; most of all the faintly spicy flavor that was hers alone.

Maggie was warm against him. She rubbed her chin against his beard like a cat demanding to be petted. Her hands loosened the tie of the robe. "I want to feel you against me, Joseph." She helped him ease out of it and reached for the waistband of his shorts.

"Maggie girl, you're sure you really want to do this?"

"Joseph, over the years I've known you in every situation but one. Now I want that, too."

Maggie moved over on the bunk to give him room. "Let me help," she said as he started to unfasten the prostheses. As uneasy as he was about having the prostheses touched, he managed to let her. It was almost as though she was disarming a knight, loosening his armor against the world so that she could ready him for an entirely different kind of encounter.

She leaned the limbs against the chair, close beside the bed so he wouldn't have to hunt for them in the morning.

Joe pulled her on top of him, running his hands over her shoulders into her hair. She took one of his hands and held it to her breast. "Do I need to be the bold one, Joe? I won't break, you know."

His answer took her breath away. He drew a nipple into his mouth and sucked gently at it, nibbling at it just enough to tighten it again. His hand teased the other one, then his lips circled it, too. She moaned low in the back of her throat, the sound felt more than heard.

She began to draw tiny circles around his nipples, causing a sudden hardness to swell against the inside of her thighs. He stroked her back bringing his hands around the front of her belly and into the dark curls sheltering her sex. Her muscles quivered along the line of his touch and she could feel him growing larger. He eased one finger gently between her legs, barely touching her clit. Her whole body reacted to his touch, hips thrusting against his hand. He pressed a little harder, letting her reactions guide him.

Maggie shifted to let him rest his shaft against the moist opening. Her affection for this dearest of friends spilling over into love and a wanting that she'd known in her dreaming. Slowly he pushed the labia apart and teased her with his hardness. She lifted herself up enough to center him and then slowly let him enter. Her soft "Yes" welcomed him, her muscles clinched around him, making his breathing ragged. Slowly, they found their rhythm, rocking against each other. She curved herself over his face to give him access to her breasts. He sucked at them, teasing the nipples, feeling her heartbeat racing. She was twisting from side to side now, the heat in her building to its climax. Her contractions triggered his, and the surge rippled through them both. They stayed locked together until their breathing steadied.

She let him half lift, half roll her beside him, "It was worth the wait Joseph, definitely worth the wait."

He laughed, "I think I can second the motion."

She laughed, "I think you'll have to wait till I recover before you make any more motions, Joseph."

He kissed her deeply and held her against his chest. "We'll take our time, Maggie. If I've learned anything from Watching them, it's that each day is important." He reached back to rub her shoulders, not wanting to end this closeness even to sleep. "Things will work out."

His eyes closed, in spite of good intentions, and Maggie fell asleep listening to soft snores and the strong beat of his heart.

The fog had turned to pale silver when they woke. Joe smiled at her, "You are beautiful, Maggie. I waited way too long to say that."

"I'm glad I came to Paris. No matter the reason." She snuggled back against his shoulder tucking her head under his chin.

Joe held her close as it grew lighter, knowing that sooner or later they would have to get up and begin to deal with the real world. For just this moment though, it was only the two of them and the early morning sun.

MacLeod was still stretched out under the quilt. The stillness wasn't that of sleep, though. Finally Maggie walked over to him and laid a hand on his shoulder. "Want to get some air?"
 
She handed him a robe and took his hand. Duncan followed after her, but there was none of his easy grace-no economical flow of motion. He was too quiet. Too still.

They stood on the deck of the barge for a moment. He ran his hand over the old wood of the wheelhouse.

"Reality?" said Maggie quietly.

"I don't know what reality is any more." His voice was quiet, toneless.

"It's your friends. It's the harsh reality that this thing caused the death of one of those friends. It's your own strength and the strength of Adam and Amanda and Joe, and mine."

He closed his eyes against her words. "I killed Richie."

"Yes."

"How can they still trust me?" His hands tightened on the rail.

"Love trusts."

He sighed and leaned on the railing. "Maybe it shouldn't."

"But it does. It always will."

She looked him over assessing him with the eyes of a nurse who'd worked with warriors before. The damage to their spirits had been worse then the injuries to their bodies. Just like this one.

"MacLeod, talk to Joe, he cares about you. So does Methos. Amanda loves you. Don't shut them out."

"I'm surprised Joe didn't just shoot me and take my head. Maybe he should have."

"Yes. That would be one solution. Not my first choice, though."

Mac looked at her. He knew that she'd been Joe's friend and a Watcher; that she'd bought the antique shop after Tessa's death. Richie thought she was terrific, she told him stories her Celtic grandmother had told her, stories of the old heroes. She'd been part of the friendly group at Joe's Bar, eating and drinking with them and enjoying the Blues. He remembered discussions about archeology with Adam and references to dinner at the shop.

"Why did you get involved?"

She looked up at the morning sky. The moon was still up. How to answer this man? How to tell him that he was important to Joe and so, important to her? How to explain that she believed Professor Landry might have been right in insisting that he was the Champion? "A friend does tend to get involved. I want to know what really caused Richard's death as much as the rest of you do. And, of course, Joe is involved.

He nodded. *Joe will need someone to be with him afterward. * The thought flickered across his face and was gone.

Maggie took his hands in hers. "Duncan, you are not alone. We are going to find out what this "demon" is and how to fight it. If Landry was right, and I think he was, the Adversary had to find a way to hurt you."

His face was closed again. He started back up the ladder. Maggie followed him in.

Joe was dressed and combing his hair. "Hey, Mac, better grab a shower before the rest of 'em get back."

MacLeod nodded absently and went into the bathroom.

Amanda raised her hand. She and Duncan were sitting back against the headboard of the bed. Methos had his computer and the Landry journal on the coffee table. Joe had an arm around Maggie while she made notes. Methos emptied the carton and tossed it into the kitchen.

"You missed," said Joe.

"No points."

Amanda snorted at the two men, "Come on, Methos. OK, how much of what we have here, is fact, what's helpful speculation and what's so far out "Hard Copy" wouldn't touch it?"

Methos reached across to Maggie for the notations. "Well, its name seems to be Ahriman. And, strictly speaking he's more a Demigod than a demon. Zoroastrian tradition holds that he is the opposite number of Ahura Mazda, the god of light and truth. If I'm reading this correctly, he was defeated by Mithra, the warrior god. Mithra is the one who was born on December 25th in a cave or stable, between an ox and an ass, of a virgin . . .  Sounds vaguely familiar, doesn't it?"

Maggie picked up the explanation; "His mother was Anahita, later Anaitis, Ardvi Sura Anahita. Zoroaster tried to ignore her but the writings say Ahura Mazda himself worshiped her. Usually, she's portrayed as crowned with the battlements of the city, wearing golden veils. Coins from earlier times show her crowned with flames and as the storm Goddess, with a golden robe trimmed in fur.

Methos took over again, "The Roman legions spread the worship of Mithra all across Europe. That spring we went to, after the dark Quickening, may have been part of one of their catacombs. Unfortunately, none of this gives us specifics on how to fight it."

Joe nodded, "I remember seeing some of the statues with the Phyrgian cap. Mithra is killing a bull in them isn't he?"

There hadn't been any comment from Duncan. He'd pushed the food around his plate, but eaten nothing. His eyes were open, but unfocused and that abnormal stillness had settled over him, again.

Silence . . .  Then all of them talking at once. Maggie got up and put a kettle on.

Joe got up and walked over to the bed. "Mac, what did you get out of these books the other night?"

"You've gone through them." That flat, almost inhuman voice.

"Yeah, but people see, everybody has a different point of view."

Methos closed up the laptop. "Come on, Mac. We need to get a workout in sometime today."

There was no response.

"I can't believe you're turning down a chance to knock me on my ass."

MacLeod closed his eyes. He couldn't be what they thought he was. He was a murderer. There was no other way to 'see' it. He couldn't let them stay. It would make him kill Amanda and Methos . . .  anyone he cared about. It was out there. He could see that ugly redness at the edges of visibility. He had put them in danger, Joe and Maggie . . .  Like Richie. No . . .  dangerous ground. He could hear the screams . . .

Amanda felt him shiver. "Mac, what is it?" she asked quietly.

He didn't respond.

Maggie looked at Methos. He nodded. She dug a small medical kit from her purse. Seconds later, MacLeod lay unconscious. Methos and Amanda got him under the quilts.

"We can't sedate him again," said Maggie. "It's too unpredictable with an immortal."

"Not to mention getting hold of the drugs. My medical credentials are a few years out of date."

  Amanda looked up; "We can't let him drown in self-hate either, Methos. I can't stand seeing him hurt like this."
 

Methos nodded. "We need him. Ahriman is still out there."

Joe took Maggie's hand, "Remember Lew?"

She looked him for a moment, not quite following him, then, "It might work. Methos," said Maggie, "how much do you know about hypnosis?"

"Standard equipment for shamans, holy men-and women since, oh, before Egypt. New fad in the late 1700's and again whenever people get away from chemical treatments." He shrugged, "I miss anything?"

"I've used it as a shortcut, with Lew years ago. It doesn't replace therapy . . .  But it's a means of getting through the barriers."

Methos looked at Amanda, weeping against Mac's shoulder. "We have to do something. All we're getting at this point is a man who is clearly suicidal."

"Methos, there's no guarantee. The drugs will help, but it's still a risk"

Joe shrugged his shoulders; "We don't know how much time we've got before this thing comes back. He's not in any shape, mentally or physically to handle a fight. I know Maggie got through to Lew. I know she has the training. I say we take our best shot."

Amanda wiped her eyes and came over to Methos. "Can this really help him?"

"I don't know, Amanda. So many hard choices over the last couple of years have cost him some of his resilience." He turned to Maggie, "You know him fairly well. I know you read some of his chronicles and Joe and I have discussed him on occasion. Will this make things worse?"

"Good question." She hesitated, "There's always some risk, but I'll be watching his reactions and if things seem to be getting out of hand, I'll bring him out of it."

Joe looked at the others, "Well?"

Amanda turned to check on her lover. "We have to do what we can."
 
Methos shook his head, "If it doesn't work."

"If Landry was right, we need him. We need someone who will fight to win. If we could reach something in his past or perhaps in the quickenings… The Champion has to try to win, Methos," said Maggie. "It will take me a few minutes to set things up. The stuff you got for me usually lasts eight hours or more, but I don't think we have more than 2-3 with him. His body wants to stay alive and it will throw off the effects."

"What can we do to help?" said Joe.

"Nothing really." She said. She walked back to the hastily packed bag. "I have everything I need here."

Mac seemed to twist against something.

Methos, watched for a moment, "He's reacting to the Quickenings around him. I think Amanda and I need to be out of range for a while."

Amanda went back to the bedside and caressed his face. "I thought I could help . . . "

"You did. This isn't exactly the same thing," said Joe.

"We'll go," said Methos. "There are other things to take care of."

Joe cleared his throat, "Richie wanted to be buried near Tessa. She sat up with him when he had nightmares. He stayed with her when Mac went off to fight."

Methos looked bleakly at the mortal, "I know, Joe. Mac knew Tessa was important to him. He feels he failed both of them. Then the dark quickening and now."

Maggie shook her head. "I wish I had a nice quiet Swiss clinic I could whisk him off to for a year or two instead, but . . . "

Methos took her hand. "We won't be gone long. Be careful." He and Amanda left quietly, his arm around her shoulders.

"I'm going to ask you to go up to the wheelhouse, Joe. I need to be alone with him."

"Maggie, he's dangerous. You aren't an immortal. He could kill you!"

"I know."

"Let me stay. I'll get out of his line of sight. You might . . .  "

"Joe, I handled patients for years on my own. That's what we have here, a patient. Nobody knows much about immortal psychological make up, but the standard rule with any seriously disturbed patient is not to let them harm the therapist."

She smiled and made shooing motions at him. "I just started a wonderful relationship with a man I find fascinating. I need to take care of this patient, then my gentleman and I are going to take a vacation. I always wanted to see the south of France."

Joe sighed. She was in "nurse mode" now. He'd seen that at work before. "Lady, you yell if you need help." He went to his suitcase and took out his gun. Wordlessly he laid it on the table beside her and left before she could see how badly he was shaking.

Maggie took several heavy scarves from her bag. She anchored Duncan's wrists and ankles to the corners of the bed. She had no illusions about his speed and strength. Precautions were necessary unless she wanted to take the chance of suddenly becoming dead.

She closed all the curtains, then set up his sound system to play every emotionally loaded recording she could find. Then she pulled one of the small side tables up to the bed along with a comfortable chair and her small tape recorder. She took a brass incense burner out, lit charcoal and filled it with frankincense. The smoke spread, and Duncan's face relaxed a little as the fragrance reached him. She put the burner in the fireplace. Then she sprinkled an orange/lemon and spice scented liquid in a circle around the bed. Maggie sighed. "For this to work, I have to hit below conscious level."

She took one of the pillar candles from the living area and added it to the items on the table. Once the candle was lit, she settled herself to wait, murmuring the words to an old invocation under her breath.

There was movement beneath the eyelids. Muscles shifted assessing the situation.

"You're perfectly safe, Duncan. I just don't want you to leave. Methos, Joe and Amanda are not here. You don't need to worry about hurting them. They don't exactly approve of this, but, they didn't have any other suggestions."

He wouldn't open his eyes. "What do you want?"

"From all I've read, in your memories, you have all the information you've accumulated in the last 400 years, plus the knowledge and skills of the quickenings you've taken."

"Including Sean Burns and . . .  Richie."

"Yes. We're going to go exploring. There may be something hidden there that will help you defeat this evil." Then quietly to herself, "and perhaps you can find a reason to live again."

No answer. He closed his eyes.

"Duncan, we can take as long as we need to here. You can't hurt me . . . " Maggie continued talking, repeating the same message again and again.

His eyes remained closed. The "Concierto Aranjuez" sang its aching melody through the room, flowing into "Mysterious Mountain" and the "Liebestrod."

Maggie took his hand, never completely stopping the flow of words. She kept talking, letting her voice drop, catching him the web of her voice, familiar fragrances and the music, Beethoven and Rachmaninoff.

His eyes were almost open now, looking at the candle. Her voice took him deeper into the trance, reaching for the levels where the doorways to the deep mind open.

She lifted his arm, telling him it was so light that it would float when she released it. The arm stayed up. She brought it down to his side. The trance was deep enough, now if there were only enough similarities between mortal and immortal.

"Duncan, we are standing in an ancient hallway. There are doorways here, places where the quickenings stay until the time of the Gathering." She paused for a moment watching for any reaction. "What you need to know is here, through one of these doors. Let yourself go to the door and open it. Learn what you need to know."

She waited again. His breathing was slow but deep and even. Her breathing matched his, anchoring him in time and place. She repeated the command to open the door.

His eyes seemed to be searching, then he reached out. Pain flickered across his face and he was still, his eyes closed.

The eyes that opened to her were blue. The face was younger somehow, rounder. His head turned to take in his surroundings. "The barge . . .  Maggie?"

"Oh gods," she breathed. "That last quickening - Richie." Maggie took a deep breath, "It's all right, Richard. Will you help me?"

He tried to laugh, "I don't know how much help I'm going to be, dead and all . . .  Why have you got me . . .  him tied up?"

She colored slightly, "He's been ill. Richie, how do you feel about Duncan?"

"He's my friend . . .  Maggie, he didn't go after me. I was looking for Joe. There were red lights and that fog . . .  and I heard a shot . . .  I ran toward the sound, then I could see Mac, he was fighting, it looked like five-six guys, I yelled to him, you know, to let him know I was coming . . . "

"Then what?"

"I don't really . . .  Somebody shoved me, Mac was fighting someone ahead of me, then they were behind me and he was swinging the katana . . .  Then I was seeing me, somehow, and the light show. Then, I showed up here."

She waited a moment, "Richie, are you angry with him?"

"I'm not happy about it. I kinda wanted to see Bora Bora you know." Sadness showed on the man's face. He hesitated, then went on, "But, Maggie, as long as Mac is alive, something of me is, too."

His eyes closed. "Maggie," he said softly, "Tell him he has to beat this thing, for both of us." The voice slurred. The heartbeat slowing. "Tell him,   goodbye."

The heart beat faltered and stopped.

The sound system had shut off. The room was still. Maggie blew out the candle and sat there shaking in the dim quiet. Then, she took a deep breath and went up on deck.

"At the moment, he's dead. Come back inside with me. Before he revives, I want you to listen to the tape of the session."

The interior of the barge was dark after the sunlight on deck. The tape played. They listened to her voice and Duncan's. Then Richie spoke. They heard his voice fade. Then silence again.

"Duncan has to hear this." said Methos.

"You really love him, don't you Methos?" Maggie took Methos' hands in hers. "You've been keeping everything going, bringing help for him, but you're in as much pain as he is."

"He's too important to lose."

"Because he's the 'Champion' or because
he's. . . "

He pulled a hand loose from hers and put it over her mouth. "Whatever the reason, I want him alive. Let that be enough for now."

"All right, Methos. But, one of these days, you and I are going to have a talk."

"Sure. We'll do lunch." He turned to go to Duncan.

"Methos, Adam, even you need a friend to talk to once in a while."

"Yeah, it's OK, Mags. I'm all right."

Joe and Methos stood near the foot of the bed, Maggie tried to find a pulse. "He isn't back yet."

Methos came to stand beside her. "He doesn't want to come back."

They sat beside the bed waiting for the deep, sighing breath signaling Duncan's return.

When it came, Maggie turned on the tape. Methos watched Duncan's face intently. He showed no response to her voice, then Richie's voice began to speak. Duncan's face twisted in fear and pain. Then, "as long as Mac's alive something of me is, too..." Tears formed and overflowed.

Maggie removed the ties. Duncan reached blindly for the older immortal. Methos held him, as he'd held Joe the night Richie died.

For the first time in days Duncan's eyes focused on the eldest. "Methos . . . "

Methos looked away, embarrassed by his own reactions. "We need to meet Amanda at the cemetery."

"Joe and I are going over to the hotel." Maggie reached out to Joe. "I need to change and pick up a few things. We'll meet you there."

They worked through the stacks of printouts most of the night. Finally, they broke for coffee and drinks. MacLeod, still too pale, by Maggie's standards, and Methos were discussing fine points over Landry's book.

Maggie had been working at the table next to the fireplace since their return from the cemetery. She'd brought an engraving tool with her. Four oval sliver medallions lay on the table before her. Finally she finished the engraving and attached them to sterling chains. "I know none of you are particularly religious, but Joe and I talked it over and we'd like you to wear these. The battle is against something out of the past. These images are from the same era. He could not overcome Her Champion then, he cannot overcome our Champion now."

She took out a small ornate bottle of oil. As she opened it, they could smell frankincense and sandalwood.

Joe stepped over to her. She fastened the chain. The medallion showed the familiar Madonna on one side and the engraved image of the Goddess Anahita, a stately woman crowned with a battlemented tower on the other. She spoke softly to him, marking his forehead with a drop of oil.

Amanda seemed almost in a trance. She bowed to the mortal. "Mother, I ask your blessing."

Maggie put the second medallion around her neck. "As your will, so shall it be," and Amanda was marked. The two women embraced. Amanda stepped back.

Methos came next. He spoke softly, but his voice carried to all of them. "By oaths sworn at The Mother's altar in the morning of mankind, by loves long past, by my honor and my hand, I will guard his back, his life as my own."

The woman took his hands in hers. Gray eyes looked deep into the green-gold ones. She smiled, "Welcome home, my son. May you be his strong right hand." He, too, was marked.

Duncan came to face her. Somehow the woman beside the fire was taller. The gray sweater and skirt had taken on a tinge of gold. She wore square gold earrings, not the plain silver hoops he remembered seeing earlier. There was the faint image of a crown and golden veils shadowing her face. She fastened the chain around his neck. "We are all links in the chain of creation, Highlander. We hold each other in love. In the deep places of your spirit, you will find your answers."  She reached over to the hearth.  There, wrapped in white velvet was his katana, Hideo's gift.  "As it was the weapon that caused your pain, let it be your weapon against the Adversary.  Then you may put it aside.  Other battles may need other weapons.  Go with the blessings of the creating forces of your universe, and mine, my Champion."

Suddenly they were elsewhere . . .  The red earth was hard packed, dry and dusty. Duncan looked down to see armor in pre-Roman fashion, the katana in his hand. Methos stood beside him in matching gear with his own sword and a matching dagger. Joe, dressed as they were, held a golden mask, the solar mask used in Mithraic ritual. His right hand held a gladius.  Duncan could see Amanda looking like an Amazon, armored, her broadsword in her hand.

Maggie stood just behind them, torch bearers on either side, the crown and veil he'd barely seen before shimmering in the golden light around them. A chariot with four white horses was behind her, a golden cloak trimmed with otter skins laying over the side of it.

As Duncan looked around, he began to see others, dressed pretty much the way he was. He recognized some of the faces, Richie and Sean, Fitz and Brian Cullen. Methos, too, seemed to see people he knew. Amanda ran to join Rebecca.

Methos touched his arm. "Here it comes . . . "

A red storm showed on the horizon. It roared and howled, frightening in its intensity.

"Hold fast," shouted MacLeod. "We stand against Chaos."

And then the storm was upon them. The whole world was red, filled with the screams of the dying. A sword came out of nowhere and he countered. His body moved, strike and counterstrike, on into the ugly scarlet storm.

There were figures in the mists, enemies he'd fought before, and others, human and nonhuman. He could see Amanda, the joy of battle making her look like Athena herself. She took on Luther, avenging her teacher's death at his hands. Rebecca battled the others to give her space.

MacLeod dispatched St. Cloud in the next breath and saw the vicious dogs Kanis sent ahead of him approaching. He could feel the warmth of Methos at his back and hear him muttering curses in languages never written down. Kalas swung at him and the katana blocked him, continuing on to take his head.

Joe was using the mask as a shield, looking like a gladiator as he fought, braced against a pillar, with a tailed creature welding a spear. Duncan brought the sword up to face Kronos, again knowing that Silas had begun battling Methos. The tattooed face leered at him, "How do you know I'm not just an illusion," it sneered.

"It doesn't matter, does it? Either way, you're dead."

MacLeod feinted to its head, then rammed the blade through its belly. Kronos screamed again "I am the end of time!" and died, spitted on the katana.

The figure that had to be Maggie moved toward him. Amanda dispatched Luther and hurried to Mac's left. Joe's enemy coughed out its life on the red earth and he moved to stand to the right. Methos rose from his knees to stand behind him, to back his play. The creature that came into view now carried the heart of the storm with it. A pulsing red stone glowed in the center of its forehead. Waves of despair flowed from it, threatening to engulf them.

"You face the Final Death, 'Champion'."

"You going to fight or talk, Ahriman?"

With a scream, it attacked.

It had a curved weapon, the edge searing his thigh as his katana missed the block. He shook his head to clear it and narrowed his focus to Ahriman alone, trusting Methos and the others to give him the time he needed to defeat the Adversary. It bellowed and raged, screaming with a thousand voices as it used sword and claw to damage. It ducked and twisted, doubling over on itself. MacLeod's katana was an extension of his hand, moving almost with a life of its own to counter and block. The opening was taken by his hand before his brain had registered it. Blood poured over him, stinging and burning the cuts he'd taken. He raised the katana again and swung with every bit of strength he had. The stroke took Ahriman's head and the glowing red stone exploded. He fell to his knees with the fury of a quickening different from anything else he'd ever known. He could feel Methos and the rest of them around him. Maggie placed her hands over his forcing the katana into the earth.

They closed around him, Maggie saying, "This isn't a Quickening. Let it go into the earth to be cleansed, Highlander. You don't want it."

The lightnings grounded through his sword and the scarlet clouds faded away. Even the bodies were gone and then there was silence . . .  and he was on his knees beside the coffee table on the barge. It was past midnight and the katana, nicked and bloody, lay beside him.

Maggie was crumpled in front of the fireplace, Joe beside her, the gladius stained red. Amanda had fallen near the couch, blood on her sword. Methos was at Duncan's back reaching out to touch him, bloody sword still raised in his defense.

There was a last rumble of thunder. A voice came softly, "Good will always win over evil . . .  Did you not know that?"

It was morning. Duncan took Amanda and her bags to the airport. "It is all right if I stay at the dojo tonight, isn't it? Are there things I should send on to you here?" she asked.

"Of course you can," Duncan thought for a moment, "No. I'll get back there eventually. I'll put it up for sale, maybe see if the neighborhood watch wants to buy it as a club for the kids. Richie would approve of that. I probably won't live there again."

"Duncan, You're sure you're OK?"

"I'm fine, Amanda. Watch your head."

She got on the plane without a backward look. Very loving, Amanda, and he did love her. Living with her would be a little too exciting, though.

Maggie and Joe were at the barge when he got back. He made coffee and watched Joe's face as he talked about the trip they'd planed. Maggie looked serenely happy, her arm tucked in Joe's. As they were leaving, she took Duncan's hand. "You and Methos need to talk, MacLeod. Give yourselves some time for it."

"Maggie, did we win? Are the people I care about safe, now?"

Maggie thought for a moment, looking at the katana, now hanging over the hearth,  "I think we did. I hope they are, Duncan. If Landry was right, yes. I wish I could read the material in its original language, but Landry was considered a fine scholar. If you need us, call. Joe left the itinerary on your table."

Dawson looked 10 years younger, even his voice was stronger, "Try to stay out of trouble for a week or so. See you then, MacLeod, we're off to look at castles."

"Well, if it's castles you're after, I still think you need to visit Scotland, " Duncan pronounced with his best brogue. They all laughed and he waved as they drove off. Joe was happier than Duncan had seen him in a long time. Maggie shared so much with Joe. His Watcher deserved to be happy. Heaven knew he hadn't made life easy for him the last few years.

Maggie was right though, he and Methos did need to talk.

Methos was meeting him for a late breakfast at the cafe. He played back some of their conversations in his mind. Kronos and Silas had died at the same time. He and Methos had been caught in the quickenings flaring between them. Their minds had been opened to each other, if only for a moment. The loneliness he'd picked up from Methos, the warmth he'd felt from the other man...  The tone of his voice and the promise he'd made, was it only last night?

Duncan had gone from awe of "the Eldest" to irritation with Methos, the "just a guy" to anger and hurt about the Horseman named "Death." Methos had risked death several times to keep him alive. He needed to think about the reasons. Methos always had reasons.

He had to be honest about his feelings. In 400 years he'd seen men take other men as lovers . . .  Immortals often ignored the sexual mores of the current time. In such long lives, the shape of the particular body was less important than the person in it. Before Tessa he'd enjoyed the favors of a number of ladies, but seldom felt drawn to other men. Amanda told him he was being stupid and blind to ignore love whatever the package. She loved him, but never expected that relationship to be exclusive. That wasn't practical for immortals.

He walked to the cemetery and stopped for a moment at Tessa's headstone. "Keep an eye on Richie for me, Tessa." A few steps further he saw the stone Methos and Joe had picked. He stood there for a moment, fingering the chain at his throat. The loss still hurt, but he could go on now. "Eternal peace, my friend. Rest well."

He checked his watch. Methos would be waiting. They had time to talk now, maybe time enough for love.
 

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