Where have you gone?
Will you come back?
Or, will this be the time you truly vanish.
And what will I do if that happens?

I thought I knew you.
I didn't know I loved you
Not until now
Now, when it may be too late

It's so quiet.
Only the streetlights and the stars
To keep the nightmares away
And my memories

After all the deception
After the pain, the darkness
I heard you weeping
Who were the tears for?

Will you come back?
We need to talk about it
I need to tell you that I can accept you
That it doesn't matter...

Can I say what I need to say?
Will my heart rule my voice?
It's still midnight
And I'm still alone

They are dead. Kronos, Caspian and Silas are dead and only the flames and wreckage of the abandoned submarine base are left. The poor creatures Kronos was using to create and test his virus are dead too and perhaps I'm sorrier for them than I am for the Immortals but the fires will draw attention and I have to leave.

Where is Methos? Cassandra left, hatred clear in her eyes. Perhaps I shouldn't have stopped her from killing him. Too tired to even think that through right now. I must get out of here but I need to find him first.

There, silhouetted against the dying sunlight in the open gateway, the place the ships used when leaving on their deadly missions, he stands. His head bowed, murmuring something... praying? Methos isn't looking up even though I know he senses me. His voice is soft; I can't make out the words. Then there's a quiet splash as something hits the water and sinks quickly beneath the stillness.

He straightens up and turns toward me. His sword is lying at his feet. There is no attempt to pick it up, no defensive posture at all. I move to his side, "Come on, Methos." There'll be police and Watchers all over this place in minutes. The sirens are getting closer.

He nods, but the move is automatic, no real understanding behind it. I grab his arm and pull him along with me. The maze of dark hallways is filling with fire and I have to change directions a couple of times to find a way out through the smoke. Finally I can see his truck and I steady him for a moment while I dig through his pockets to find the keys.

"Where are you staying?"

No response. I guess we go back to my hotel. If Cassandra is still there it'll be a very short stay, but the room is empty, only a forgotten earring under the chair beside the fireplace. The room is cold and I build a fire as quickly as I can. Both of us are chilled, shockey with the energy of the ancient Quickenings we've taken.

A call to room service gets food and a couple of bottles of wine. The shower becomes a little crowded, but his clothes are as soaked as mine are and this is the fastest way I can think of to get both of us warm.

He looks so old, so thin... Living with the Kronos' madness would have killed me. How long had they ridden together? What would it have been like? Was he terrified? I would have been.

The room is warming up and I manage to get a few bites of chicken into him. A sip of wine and a faint touch of life comes back into his eyes. At first he doesn't seem to recognize me.

Its darker outside and I switch on the lamp. He turns his head away from the light and covers his eyes. The fact that it's over is finally beginning to sink in.

"You're free, Methos. Kronos is dead."

He doesn't look at me and I realize that there are tears slipping under his hands. Is he crying for Kronos, for Silas or himself?

Abruptly, he stands and heads for the bathroom. He closes the door, shutting me out. I hear the water running for a moment and then he's back, pulling on the still damp sweater and jeans.

For the first time he looks at me. "Thanks, MacLeod. I'd have had a hard time explaining myself to the police."

"Methos, please, don't leave just yet. You need to eat more than..."

He winces and shakes his head. "Not a good idea at the moment."

"Beer?" I try to smile at him.

He almost laughs, then shakes his head no and starts out the door. One hand on the knob, He stops and turns. "Meet me at the church tomorrow after noon?"

I nod and he's gone.

Reluctantly, I sit and try to get some of the food down. It's a lost cause and finally I lie down and drop off into a troubled sleep.

Cassandra's talking to me again, the same monotonous phrase, repeating again and again. "You can't trust him. You have to kill him"

The twisting pain in my gut won't stop. She kept feeding my outrage at what you did. It happened so fast. One moment you were walking toward me, looking more worried than I'd ever seen you, the next you were trying to keep me between Cassandra and you and I can still hear you saying, "You don't know me". And then I was beside your truck.

You screamed it at me. You laughed, you bragged about the killing, the fear you caused

She knew me before, the only one left who did. Even Connor, only found me after... The beautiful woman, the shape changer who haunted my dreams for so many years is gone. The woman who remains is the fierce personification of revenge. I can't say that she has no right to her anger. My home was raided, too; my father killed as her teacher was.

She knew Kronos was close by. Seeing you must have terrified her. Did she think you were going to take her to him? Did that push her over the edge? Is she right, do I have to kill you? I can't do it. I can't let her do it, no matter how just it might be. That much I know.

She is still there, screaming in my mind. Both of you're people I care about. How can I judge? You are right, the times were different. But rape and murder... They were wrong then. They are still wrong.

The Methos I know, have known for more then two years now, fights fiercely when he has to. Yes, he's a killer. All of us are killers... but you were so gentle with Alexa. I've never known you to kill without cause.

Was she using the Voice? I'd like to think that she wouldn't do that to me... but she did it before. I'd like to think she's wrong, that there's a missing part of this that would explain what happened so long ago.

She wasn't like that when I met her, when I saw her as the white wolf. Seductive, beautiful, gentle and a source of wonderful fantasies for years, yes, but not this hard eyed woman demanding the death of a man who befriended me.

Which man is really you, Methos? Is the man who stayed with me, just being there, after I killed Ingrid, the real person? In 5,000 years you've seen great changes and I'm not really so naive that I don't know that people change too. Were you that rapist? Did you kill all those people? Why did you lie to me about not knowing her? Did you throw the worst of a long life at me for a reason?

Time... Perhaps, now that they are dead I can take the time to reason this through. There's been no time, no place, with Cassandra demanding that I kill you.

Did Methos hope I would follow? Or know it? Hell, I didn't know I would do it... or why.

Nothing in my life has been simple or uncomplicated for a very long time. Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod, the Clan Chief's son, the protector... the demon? And, if my years and experience have made my life complicated, how much more complicated is he?

He hasn't really answered me. I could probably catch up with him... Should I just let it alone? He isn't willing to discuss it any further, that's obvious.

So, what do I do now?

Too much time now, to think, I guess, to think and wonder where Methos has wandered to. It's getting along towards winter... Maybe a fire will help warm things. I pour a substantial brandy and sit there sipping for a while. I must have fallen asleep in spite of everything because the sun is high, showing through the portholes when the phone startles me.

"Mac?" the familiar smoky voice is both a comfort and a nuisance right now.

"Yeah, Joe."

"Well, at least you're alive"

"Sorry, Joe. I should have called you but things have been... interesting."

"Cassandra headed for Switzerland. She has an house in Basle."

"Has anyone seen Adam?"

"No, but I think he's blown. There was a Watcher on Cassandra and one picked up on you. There was a lot of noise about an unknown Immortal taking Silas. You really jumped off a bridge?"

"It seemed safer than letting Silas get closer."

"Yeah... He was a big 'un."

I shivered. Silas had been a mountain. The fury on his face as he came after me... when he was trying to kill Methos...

"Joe, will you let me know when Adam... surfaces? You don't have to tell me where. I just... I need to know he's alright."

"Mac, what happened down there?"

The noise I made wasn't words... "Joe... can we talk about it later? I'm not sure how to answer you."

"Maybe it would help if you talked about it. I won't stick it in the Chronicles. Hell, the Watchers are fairly sure that I'm not putting everything in, but so far..."

Abruptly, I decided I needed to get out of the silence of the barge. "I'll be over a little later, Joe."

Eleven o'clock, I pulled on sweats and runners and started off on my usual route.

A charley horse pulled me up short... How long had I been out? The sun was setting, streetlights coming on and the street I was on was familiar. There was a light on in the flat, Adam's apartment.

Was I close enough for him to notice? Should I go up? The wind was chilling me. The door of the building opened and he came out, a towel over his arm, looking like some demented maitre de.

"You could do with a shower, Mac." He said, wrinkling that formidable nose at me.

I didn't know how the hell to respond. He tossed me the towel, then motioned to me to follow him.

His flat was warm. There was a fire in the small fireplace and the smell of something savory on the stove. He handed me a clean pair of sweats, mine, loaned to him months ago, and pointed me toward the bathroom.

I showered and dressed. Outside the windows, Paris was dark and cold. Methos was sitting in that ridiculous chair of his with a large, old book balanced on his lap. He looked up at me from under those heavy lashes, as though he wasn't quite sure whether to talk to me or get a net.

Awkwardly, I said, "Thanks, Methos. I was out running..."

"I could see that. All day too, from the look of you."

I could feel myself flush, embarrassed, or angry... Looking at him more closely, I could see that he wasn't in any better shape. He was simply baiting me, as usual. I decided not to play.

"Thanks for the shower." I motioned at the sweats. "I guess I'm glad I loaned these to you."

He made a kind of half bow without leaving his chair or putting down his beer. "I should be a proper host. Are you hungry? There's plenty, I think."

My mouth was watering. I nodded and he got up and went to the kitchen. The stew tasted good and the beer was cold. The bread was a little stale but I wasn't in the mood to be fussy. He picked at his. The silence was thick around us and I couldn't stand it.

"I asked Joe if you were back."

He looked up at me and for a moment I saw the same blankness I'd seen in the submarine base. "Why would you do that?"

"I was worried about you."

He got up, practically threw the bowl into his sink. "Even though we're through."

Baiting me again. I took in a deep breath and held it. "Methos, I was angry. You wanted me angry, I know that. You had a reason for throwing that past in my face. I don't know exactly what it was..."

He didn't turn around. "You just wore out your welcome, MacLeod. Get out."

"No. God damn it, Methos. You spend so much time and energy trying to manipulate things... Did it ever occur to you that I might really want to know what the hell was going on?"

"Get out."

I sat back down. No way was I leaving. "For, what, two, three years? You seemed to be my friend. You admitted that you read my chronicles. You knew raiders killed my father. And that little scene by the truck was perfect."

"It was the truth."

"Was it?"

He turned toward me, his face pale and sweating. "It was the literal truth, MacLeod. I was Death. I rode with Kronos and Caspian... and Silas... Cassandra wasn't the first. She wasn't the last, either." He shook his head. "You don't know me..."

I shook my head, "No, I don't. I only know what you let me know." I stopped. There really wasn't much I could say. "Methos, I'm younger than you, yes. Maybe too young for you to consider as anything but a nuisance or maybe a project of some kind. I don't know but I thought... I thought you were my friend."

The emotions flickering over his face were some measure of the stress both of us were feeling.

"I always knew you'd wind up hating me when you found out."

"I don't hate you. I hate what you did..." The memory of Kean's face, accusing, angry, flashed in front of me again, "Hell, man, I hate things I did, too. But... you changed. We all change" I walked to the door. "I still want to talk to you. I'd like...  I want to understand..."

He didn't say anything and I left. The walk back to the barge in the rain was freezing. The city noises seemed to fade around me. It hurt. It hurt that he had lied about not knowing Cassandra. It hurt knowing what he'd been, what he'd done. But balanced against that was the Methos who deeply cared for Alexa. He'd been willing to risk everything to find the Methuselah stone, that last ditch effort to save her life.

And he'd saved more than my life. The horror of the darkness that had rolled over me like a black wave still woke me in the middle of the night. He'd come to me, leaving his precious Alexa, stealing time away from the little she had left...

He was afraid. I know that now. I'd killed Sean and he still faced me down. I'd left him there, flat on his back, driven to kill... but not able to kill him.

There was a message light. I listened to Joe's voice saying Adam had called him. I didn't return the call. All the confusion, pain... all the things I'd felt there by the truck came back, tearing at me. It's past midnight...

I must have slept for a while, the sky is lightening. There's a monstrous crick in my neck. I should have gone to bed like a reasonable person. I'm not feeling very reasonable right now. I shower and put the coffee on. There's a presence...

The katana slips into my coat. I step out on the deck... I don't like the feel of this one. His eyes are almost black, dilated. Anger? Drunk or drugged?

"I am Duncan MacLeod..."

"Of the bloody be damned Clan MacLeod, yes. I know who the hell you are, hotshot. Let's go."

"I don't know you and we can't fight here, It's too public."

"Ah, but I know you. I wouldn't be worried about your public, MacLeod. This'll be short and sweet, and when It's over I'll have your head."

I started down the gangplank, "We can move under the bridge. Much quieter there."

He turns keeping me in view as I move closer. I pass him and seconds later hear the pop of a silenced gun I spin, trying to drop out of the line of fire. The impact drops me forward on my face with the exit wound bleeding over the cobblestones. He's beside me, a long dagger in his hand trying to sweep it across my throat. Somehow, I grab his arm, twisting it, hearing the bones breaking and his gasp of pain... I stab up through his gut and feel him go limp almost on top of me. I get to my knees and with the last of my strength, take his head. The world goes black around me.

"You back with us, Mac?"

"Joe?"

"Yeah, I was trying to catch you before your run, to warn you about this loon. That was a little close, Mac."

The wound is still healing... I look down, the crimson beginning to dry to an ugly brown. "I need to get back and change clothes."

Joe looks me up and down and nodding as I turn to climb, unsteadily up the gangplank. My phone's ringing but I didn't really want to talk to anyone. Then I hear Adam's urgent, "Goddamnit, Mac, pick up the fucking phone!"

"I'm here."

There's a silence, then, "I... there was a moment when you weren't."

"What...?"

"You were challenged."

"He's dead. I'm not. Anything else?"

"Mac, you're right, we do need to talk. OK if I come over?"

"You must be worried. I don't think you've ever asked before."

A strangled noise and the click of the phone hanging up is all the response I get. Joe's watching from the lounge. He looks at me, his concern clear to see. "Do you want me to go, Mac?"

I almost laugh, "If you're up to refereeing, Joe, stay and welcome."

Part 3

By the time I'd showered and dressed, Methos was settled on the couch with a beer in hand. He must have brought his own, for a wonder, because I hadn't done any shopping.

He looked wiped out. His eyes had dark areas like bruises around them and his hands were almost shaking.

I went over to him, wanting to help somehow but he pulled away from me as though the touch of my hand might burn him. If Joe hadn't been watching... but he was and I didn't want to make a bigger fool of myself than I already had.

I perched on the arm of the couch, close enough to touch, but not close enough to frighten my skittish friend... Interesting. I still thought of him as a friend. Whatever the last weeks had brought us; we certainly were not through, no matter what I'd said in the anger of the moment.

Methos was looking everywhere but at me. His hands rubbed restlessly at his sleeves, the seams of his jeans, as though he didn't know what to do with them. He tried to clear his throat and wound up coughing. I reached over to thump him on the back and he almost jumped out of his cozy corner. What the hell...?

Joe was looking at him as though he'd just seen something he never really expected... So was I. The Watcher's phone rang and he looked apologetic as he flipped it open.

From what little I could tell, Joe wasn't happy. He muttered, "All right. I'm on my way." And hung up. "Something I've got to take care of. Try not to kill each other, will ya?"

I waited until I could see him drive off, then went into the galley and started a fresh pot of coffee. Methos sat there; not even drinking the beer and his face was so still he might as well have been a mannequin in a store window. It was eerie, almost frightening to see him so quiet.

"Methos, there's fresh coffee. You gone off beer?"

He started, almost as though he didn't realize what was going on around him. "Sorry, Mac. This is not something I expected."

"What?"

"When you were challenged, I knew it."

I turned to look at him. The pallor and real fear on his face wasn't a joke, wasn't something he was putting on to get a reaction. He was frightened, scared stiff by the look of him.

"How could you?"

"I'm not sure... The only thing I can think of was the Quickening... That it somehow created a connection."

I handed him a mug of coffee, laced with brandy and cream. He looked as though he could use it. Suddenly, I was dizzy, almost sick. He reached out to me and there was an electric shock, a flare of energy...

"There... That's what I meant, Mac. You need this more than I do... get some of it down."

He held it out to me and in spite of the heat, I took a large swallow. "I'll get you another."

I took time to fill a new mug, to add the brandy. What had happened that night? The lightnings were all around me. I could feel Kronos' hate, his anger and the sudden realization that he had lost. The sounds of it echoed around me again. I felt the electric burn along my nerves, the pain of it... Then I wasn't alone. Another felt the same pain, wept tears that I could feel on my own face, tears for the loss of the last of them... the one of them I would have saved...

I was on my knees, something shattered on the floor beside me, nausea doubling me over. Darkness, there was a hand on my shoulder... The pain eased back. I struggled to my feet, trying to brush off shards of ceramic.

Words, I couldn't understand what he was saying... Then the darkness passed and I was hanging on the edge of the counter, holding on for dear life. Methos had an arm around me, keeping me from sliding to the floor again.

"Easy, Mac," he said. "I'll get this. Sit down."

The couch never seemed so far away.

Then he was beside me again, holding out a brandy. "Come on, Mac. Take a sip."

I did and the gentle fire of it began to soothe me, to warm the panicked cold.

My eyes closed. The muffled sound of a broom and Methos' muttering brought me back to the here and now.

I heard the cupboard under the sink close and a moment later felt Methos sit down next to me. "Are you all right?"

I just nodded. I was so tired... The bed seemed a mile away; Methos pulled me up and urged me over to the steps. It seemed to take forever, the Quickening I'd taken was still singing against my bones. I sat on the edge of the mattress, my head ached and bending over to get my shoes off, everything hurt, my skin including my cock was hypersensitive. Gentle hands unbuttoned the waistband of my jeans and lifted off the sweatshirt. Feet were bared before I was even aware of it and he pushed me down against the pillow.

He walked away and I was afraid he was leaving but then I heard him lock the door... Footsteps came back and I felt the bed shift as he sat down beside me. "That looks uncomfortable..."

"Yeah..."

Long fingers stroked across my shoulder and I was embarrassed by the heat it triggered. "Methos... It's all right. I'll be okay."

His hands were hypnotic; warm, turning me so that he could get at my back. The more knots he eased in my neck, the harder I got... Then I felt his lips at the nape of my neck. He was so warm and I couldn't keep a moan of pleasure from escaping. His arms were around me now, a strength I'd relied on now offering more than I'd ever asked from him. Not more than I wanted, though.

Then I rolled back toward him, catching his chin in my hand and kissing him. I could feel him shudder and suddenly I didn't have any questions left. This was right. He did love me. All the little touches, the looks... Right from the beginning it had been there. The kisses were being returned with enthusiasm, now and busy fingers had my jeans off leaving me open to him. He was naked too, and for the first time I could see the real strength of him.

Methos was as hard as I was. He took me in hand and it was too much. I exploded, jets striking his chest and belly. He rubbed the fluids on my cock and on my fingers lifting so that I could reach beneath him. Both of us were shaking now, the need even greater and I drew him down to kiss him again before I began to ready him for what we both wanted.

He eased himself over me, letting me guide him as I pressed against and then into him. We paused, letting us both get used to the feeling, his body so hot, so tight around me that it took all my concentration to keep the orgasm at bay. "Now, Duncan..."

That low growl was a demand. I began, trying to move as slowly as I could. Methos braced himself on my arms and came down hard. His body began moving and any thought of slow and easy vanished. Again, and again we slammed into each other; fierce, almost a second challenge. The driving need pushed us, the bed shaking under us.

The ache in my body felt good, somehow. Methos lay beside me, his breathing finally slowing and it was so quiet I could hear the waves rocking the barge as the evening tourist boats passed so that they could get sunset pictures of Notre Dame.

"God, Methos, why did we wait so long?"

His sleepy smile was the only answer I got. Dragging him into the shower was a chore and he just stood there, leaning against the glass enclosure waiting for me. I scrubbed both of us, wrapped him in a towel and half carried him back to the bed. The bedspread was a total loss. I yanked it off and slid in under the blankets beside him. The Quickening had finally settled and the connection I'd felt earlier eased back to something just a little stronger than the buzz.

I don't think either of us were awake longer than it took for me to pull the covers over us.

Part 4
The smell of coffee woke me. Methos was dressed, sitting on the couch, with the newspaper, coffee and a plate of pastries. He glanced up when I moved. "Good morning."

"Morning..." I got up and stretched, letting every muscle reach and my back unkink. I couldn't help the grin plastered on my face as I grabbed my robe and headed to the barge's small bathroom.

Methos had his coat on when I came back out. "I thought we were going to talk?"

"I'm late for an appointment, Mac. Really, I need to go..."

I moved a little faster than he expected and held on to his shoulder, "You aren't always honest, my friend. This connection needs to be talked about, at the very least. And," I said, stroking one hand along his cheek, "There are other things to talk about."

He blushed. That was something else I hadn't seen before or at least, not since Alexa.
I went over and switched the ringer off on the phone. This was one time we were not going to be interrupted by anyone. "Methos, for heaven's sake, take off your coat. I'll sit on the other end of the damn couch if you're more comfortable that way, but we need, I need to know more about this connection-Quickening or whatever it is."

Coffee... I definitely needed coffee.

"If I knew more, I'd tell you, Mac. I never heard of it happening. The odds of two immortals..."

I shook my head, "You were with Kronos and the others for a long time. You mean you never took on other Immortals?"

He threw his coat over the arm of the chair. "Caspian never shared his kills. He wouldn't come back to our camp with an Immortal. Silas... Silas got into a few fights, but most of the time, unless we were riding together, he spent with his women and his pets. He hated Caspian, but didn't bother with him unless Kronos insisted."

"You and Kronos?"

I could hear him draw in a deep breath. Sipping at the coffee kept me quiet. We had to talk about Kronos, I had a feeling that he was the key to this.

There was a thin sheen of sweat on Methos' forehead. Pale hands gripped the mug. "It was a sick, twisted thing Mac. He took the trading caravan I was traveling with. My wife had been born in a village a week's journey away. Her brother was to marry and we were taking wedding gifts to the family home."

"We'd been together 10 years or more. I was a silversmith. I'd bought her, a widow with a child, and her father was happy that she would be able to keep the boy. We'd been doing well. The local healer-priest was impressed with the medical scrolls I'd brought from Greece. I'd killed my master..."

"My wife had a gift for healing. Her mother had been a healer, too. We'd made arrangements to travel with the headman of the group. They traveled through every couple of years. I thought it would be safe. I hadn't seen another Immortal for years and the caravan had armed guards."

"But, there were too few of us. Kronos had paid the guards to leave us there in the night. We had no chance. They killed without mercy."

The silence stretched between us.

"Kronos stopped Caspian from killing me. He'd already killed her but I was fighting for the boy. Kronos found my scrolls. He asked if I could read them, if they really carried words."

"He said I could keep the boy with me if I came with them, if I taught him to understand."

Methos looked up at me. The memories pained him, that much was clear. "So you became his teacher?"

"Any failing on my part was punished by Caspian. He took strips of living flesh from the boy and ate them in front of me. I had failed her; I didn't want to see him tortured. One night, I think he was 15 or so, Caspian took him away. Kronos said I was getting too attached to the boy."

"When Caspian brought him back he was bleeding from the rape and most of his body had been systematically skinned. He screamed with the pain, and Kronos warned me that if he wasn't quiet, Caspian would get him back. I fed him a sleeping draught. He begged me to kill him. He was more afraid of Caspian than he was of death... I did what he asked."

"Something died in me too. For so long I'd put the brutality of my own past aside, not wanting to even remember it. Now I embraced it. I became Death."

I could hear my own voice talking to Jim Kol'tec... "The cup overflowed."

He looked up at me, nodded. I'd said that aloud... "How long?"

Methos shook his head. "I don't know. There was nothing left, all emotion, everything but hate, was gone. I told you, I tried not to think about it."

He looked so worn. Death... but he looked like he was the one dying. "Duncan... I need to go. I'll call you. I need to research this."

"Methos, will you be okay at your place? Would it be better for us to stay close?"

For a moment it looked like he was going to say yes. Then he sighed, and collected his coat. "Just stay out of trouble for a while, Mac."

I followed him to the door. "Methos.. I don't regret last night."

That almost shy smile showed for just a second. He didn't say anything and escaped up the steps.

Part 5

It wasn't noon yet and I was exhausted.

Alone, tired and worried about the connection, I stretched out for a few minutes. The dreams were back. Cassandra was there, pliant and beautiful. She bathed the dye from my face; brought wine for me and a clean robe. We made love, slowly and sweetly and she was beautiful, her hair a curtain of darkness around her...

The cold of the night in the winter dessert was all around us. I wrapped her in furs and told her about the stars, the stories I'd learned centuries earlier. She was the only brightness in my day, the only warmth in my nights. I kept her out of the sight of the others, knowing that Kronos would not allow me to keep her.

And inevitably, he followed me. Like an echo of her terror I heard him say that I'd made quite a prize of her. In frozen silence I stood there, the sounds from his tent carrying on the night winds. I thought the scream was hers.

Then there was blood everywhere and pain...

Someone was there in the light from the porthole.

"Joe?"

"Yeah. You okay, Mac? You never even twitched. The door wasn't locked. I just walked in. Not like you."

I tried to smile at him, "Rough week..."

Joe nodded, "I didn't want to just phone you with the rumors. You do need to know that there've been a few I've been sorta helping along."

"Rumors?"

"Somebody saw Koren, Kronos, carrying a body and they were able to identify Adam Pierson."

"Shit! Now we're really in trouble."

"Maybe not, speculation is that you were staying close to Adam because you knew, somehow, that he was going to be an Immortal. The fact that you took Richie in made that sound likely, and the possibility that he's new made the visit to your dojo very plausible."

I got up to make coffee. I seemed to be doing a lot of that... "So, why did he leave?"

"Well, somebody said they thought Cassandra was jealous of him."

"Maybe there's some truth to that." My head ached. Trying to sort out other people's reasoning wasn't helping it. I'd never really questioned Cassandra's motives. "I wonder if she was afraid he'd come to take her to Kronos."

Joe looked puzzled, "Why?"

"Adam will have to tell you that, Joe. It isn't my tale to tell."

Joe snorted. "You two divvy up scraps of information like two cats with a damn gopher. I'm your friend, Mac. I'm Adam's friend, too. I don't know Cassandra well, and don't particularly like what I do know."

"Hasn't she got a Watcher?"

"She does now. Hell, Mac, we didn't have a clue as to who she was when she turned up earlier this year. We'd registered Roland Kantos during the Revolutionary War. He was a British spy. Lots of money from that one. He stole jewelry, easily portable items. Then he just, disappeared."

I filled mugs for both of us. There was a... nudge, a faint sense of... Methos? Then I could sense him. I pulled a cold beer out. Joe looked up as the barge quivered under Methos' arrival.

He still looked worn. He also looked trapped.

"Joe came over to let us know what the scoop was from the Watchers," I said.

He nodded, "The rumor mill is worse that a girls' high school. So, how much do they know, Joe?"

Joe ticked things off on his fingers, "They know you're Immortal. They know you've had some dealings with Cassandra and she doesn't like you. They know that the three of you managed to take down three very tough customers in Bordeaux. Koren was identified and they know Mac had a past with him. Caspian was identified as the murderer-escapee. No one seemed to know much about the big man; they heard Caspian call him Silas. Mac got points for jumping off the bridge, by the way..."

"What about me? Do they know anything more?" Methos sat like a statue on the edge of the couch.

"I haven't even admitted that you might have been a pre-Immortal. Zoll is nosing around, though and she has almost as much tenacity as Mac does."

"Ah, the charming and wonderful, Dr. Amy Zoll. You're right about her tenacity." He got up and put the empty beer bottle in the sink. "I need to see about some traveling arrangements."

"Methos... They're assuming you're new, and that I'm taking you on as a student. It would be a decent cover for you. That would give us some time to talk about this."

Joe looked from one of us to the other. "This? What "this'?""

"Methos knew when I took that challenge."

Methos glared at me. "That's enough, Mac. We'll talk, but this isn't..."

Joe cut in, "Damn it, we've been friends a long time, "Adam". I'm trying to help as much as I can, but if there's something..."

A look passed between us. He turned back to face Joe. The decision was made. "I'll stay. I think It's a huge mistake, but I need more information and since the 'honorable' one here won't go into hiding, I'll stay close for a while."

"Do you want me to stay or leave?" asked Joe.

Methos shook his head, "Don't go. You're right, you are my friend. You also have research experience and we are going to need all the help we can get on this."

For the next hour, Methos went over what he knew about the Quickening we'd shared. Clearly, the whole thing and the possibility that the death of one of us might kill the other one or at least leave him vulnerable hadn't really registered with me. Methos didn't take heads. Unless he was forced. On the other hand... If he was right... I couldn't risk anything happening to him. Not now, this new thing between us.

"So, will connection just fade out?" I asked.

Methos shrugged. "I wish I knew, Mac. I've never heard of anything like it before."

"I'll run a search," said Joe, "But I don't ever remember anything like it coming up in the archives I've looked through."

"Twice nothing is still nothing," muttered Methos.

Joe glanced at his watch, "Damn, guys, I need to get over to the club. I have a new kid coming in to play with the band tonight. I think he's pretty good." He looked at the two Immortals, "You're invited, if you want to come over..."

Methos quirked an eyebrow at me, "Sure, Joe. Mac and I need to do some more checking, but we'll be there.

I poured a scotch while Methos got a beer.

For the next two hours, we tested the connection. We tried different distances. They didn't break the connection. Both of us had experience with meditation techniques for blocking out distractions. Nothing worked. Distance apparently thinned it, but that low buzz never completely went away.

Finally, I put a stir-fry together for us and we changed the subject. I did want to talk about Kronos but as frazzelled as both of us were, I realized he'd simply ignore it. Last night had been illuminating, to put it gently and that Quickening was part of it. I'd never felt closer to a lover, not even Tessa. I wanted to keep Methos close, to protect him. That was a laugh. He'd been protecting himself and me. At least, I'd found a part of his reasons for that.

He agreed to let me pick him up at his apartment and headed back there to shower and change. The hot water soothed me and every once in a while, I could feel a ghostly touch as he used his razor and dressed. Strong emotion seemed to leak over between us and I tried to let him know how much I cared about him.

It was late in the evening before I drove up to his flat. He was coming down the stairs, looking a little more rested.

That faint smile was back but he still wasn't very talkative. I hoped I could get him back to the barge later, but it looked like he wasn't interested. I could wait. Maybe now, we'd have some time to talk, even if it was after midnight.

Part 6

Fuck. Every time I think I understand him, something happens to prove that I know nothing. Byron? I didn't even know he was an Immortal. The instant Methos saw him, there was a surge of... something and I lost it. It was all I could do to stay within the limits of courteous behavior

All I wanted to do was to grab Methos and get him out of there. Maybe I should have... Jealous? I thought I'd gotten over that trip years ago.

I can't explain any of this.

Bryon looked me up and down as though he'd found something in his soup. We must have looked fairly ridiculous, pawing the ground like a pair of prize bulls, and Methos was not helping anything. The possessive look on Bryon's face set me off as though he'd started making love to Methos in the middle of the club. I wanted to punch the bastard and ... God. There have been people I've not liked on sight in the past, but this came out of nowhere, like being hit in the gut.

Methos seemed perfectly OK with Mike going off in the limo. Joe was hurt by it and I... I was still trying to get some control back.

Mike came in for rehearsal flying on something. Heroin, coke... All I could think of was Brian, wasting his life, tearing himself apart with the drugs and his fear. I had to do something. Now I wish I'd just left town.

I went over to the hotel. Methos tagged along as though he wanted to be sure I wouldn't challenge Byron there in the middle of downtown Paris. Who knows... I certainly was pissed off enough. Looking back, I must have sounded like something out of a dime novel.

I just wanted the Mike to have the chance Joe wanted for him, to make it on his own, his own talent... Now Mike is dead and Joe's linked Byron to a string of other mortal deaths. I tried to talk to Methos but it just led to a "discussion" that missed being an argument by a couple of decibels.

Joe's protege had no chance. The "famous" Lord Byron had an aura no mortal, young, budding musician could resist. I can't say Byron murdered him. He didn't force Mike to shoot up. He just made it impossible for him to do anything else. Is he responsible for that death? Will there be others? Hell, yes. Byron has gotten away with it and apparently sees no reason why he should do anything else. He kills off the competition before it can knock him off the charts.

Is that truly what's going on? To me, that's what it looks like, but am I completely unbiased? I can't honestly claim that. Methos isn't even answering his phone so I can't discuss it with him either. That sudden flash I got looked like the two of them, Methos and Byron... I saw that look on him, on Methos... and I saw that smile. I'd give a lot to see it again. Oh, Methos... Why can't we ever have a time together without the world going to pieces around us?

The scotch isn't helping and all I want to do is get Methos off somewhere where we can talk this out. Of course, the last time I tried that was when he was running off to join Kronos. Is that really fair, MacLeod?

I'm too angry to be fair. Too... jealous? Byron is pushing the groupies to be like him. They can't be like him, they aren't Immortal, damn it and he set things up and dares them to match the stupid risks he takes.

Methos says they don't have to follow him. No, of course they don't but they want to belong... In a way, It's like being part of a clan. The problem is that this clan chieftain has no interest in keeping his people safe.

Whether Methos agrees or not, the man is a danger to mortals. How do I stop him? I can hear Methos when I asked about Ingrid... Would his answer be the same?

I hate being in this position. If I let Byron go, knowing that he's encouraging deadly behavior... How can I do that? If I challenge him, do I lose Methos' friendship... his love? Will he understand?

There is really nothing else I can do. I don't want to kill. The Game has always been hateful to me. I fight when I have to, but is this a have to situation?

The stadium is full of screaming fans. They love him... Are they right? Is he that special? Or are these people just fodder for his games... Methos is standing there... I can't even look at his face, he wants me to go back. I know that he does. I can feel the turmoil in him.

"Think of the music..."

"Think of the music Mike might have made..."

He turned and walked away. Methos... I think he heard me, he almost turned to face me. An Immortal, coming this way... Byron.

I can still hear the crowd. The lightning is all around me. Byron's Quickening is shattering, pictures, flashes of feelings... the despair... He wanted to die. Did Methos know that? Will he forgive me?

My foot still aches, the gunshot wound is healed, but there's still pain... I walk away from the crowd and keep walking. I can't see... I follow the feel of Methos like Ariadne's ball of twine. Joe's bar is there and I go in. He's sitting there at one of the tables. He isn't drinking beer tonight. I can hear Joe playing but I can't take the time to look at him.

All my attention is focused is focused on this terribly sad unhappy friend, this man I love, because that's what this feeling is. He is so important to me and we are both afraid of that. We can't say the words, not now. I sit there, sipping at a drink I don't really want listening to the soft blues Joe is playing and wondering if this is a wake for Mike, or for the friendship. Methos says something so softly about matter and antimatter and I respond with something trite about knowing how that turns out and the silence grows... There isn't anything left to say. There isn't anywhere else to go either and it's past midnight...

Part seven

Morning... Byron's Quickening is still an irritation, a sliver that you can't quite reach.
Methos hasn't called and hasn't taken his damn phone off the machine, either. I'll wait, I really don't have too many choices, do I? Maybe I'll take Rich to the opera tonight. I don't know what they're singing but at least it'll annoy him enough to give him something of a non-guilty target for his aggravation.

For the first time, I'm seeing Rich as himself. He isn't the street rat Tessa and I took in. I'm really surprised at how comfortable he seems in a tux. I can still remember that awful chartreuse and royal blue jacket he brought with him. Tessa said it hurt her eyes... Never said it where he might hear her though. He still has a tendency to ignore what he doesn't want to hear but I did the same thing for 60 or 70 years before observation and Connor taught me to listen, whether I liked the words or no.

He seems taller, more solid, somehow. The self confidence he developed racing has begun to carry over into other areas of his life. He moves better. When we sparred this afternoon, his skills were clearly growing.

He isn't really a student any more. There are times when I wish I could go back and change some things. I was so lost without Tessa, in so much pain myself that I was harder on him than I would have been if his Immortality hadn't been tied to her death. Or maybe nothing would have been different.

He grew up in such a different time. Authority is just something to flout. That will change, some at least. Rich will learn when he needs to work with it as well as when he can ignore it. At least I hope he will.

We'll just have time for dinner before we need to take our seats.

There's an odd tension in the air tonight. Walking back from the old opera house is pleasant but there's more wind coming off the river then you'd expect. It smells like something off a swamp, old, dank... I feel strange. It's almost as though I'm getting ready for a challenge.

First there was the elderly gentleman... He seemed very agitated, frightened. Then... I saw... I think I saw, James Horton. Could I really have seen him? Was this a hallucination? Did Joe lie to me again about Horton? God, at this point I could believe almost anything.

Rich didn't see anything but the old man and me acting like a lunatic, waving my sword around at nothing. Is Horton still alive? And who was the old man? He kept saying my name, Champion, he called me. What did he mean?

Joe thinks I'm crazy for sure. I lost it at the airport... I'll be lucky if he even speaks to me after this. Even now, I'm not sure that corpse was Horton... I don't know what to think.

Reality seems very slippery tonight. Sometimes my early years do come through... ghosts and, spirits maybe that's all it is... The scotch has no flavor...

"Methos!" Did I call him? I'm cold... It seems as though an icy wind is blowing through the barge, no walls to stop it... nothing is real...

Someone is here. Beside the divider is a shape, dark ... it moves. There's a smell of old leather, sweat and horses... The figure moves, as if it was waiting for me to notice it. It swaggers into view, long hair and leathers.. And a scar... Kronos? How in hell? No, this has to be an illusion, He's dead. I know that..

"Did you really think you could kill me?"

The figure disappeared. There's nothing there and when I go running up to the Quay, Methos is there... He didn't see anything and the look on him is the same expression I saw on Joe.

I have the address. Maybe the old man's granddaughter...
__________________________
How...? How did he get my name? Oh, yes, I know there's more than one MacLeod, but he came to me. He called me by name. Is this just a coincidence? I'd like to believe that.

There's a chill in here that has nothing to do with the temperature. I sent Rich home. I shouldn't have welcomed him back in the first place. He's dead here. He has to go away, back to the states or somewhere, but away from me and this menace I feel closing in on me. I don't want anything to happen to him. He's a friend, and being my friend hasn't been healthy.

Someone's here. What the hell? "Ms Landry?"

I'm really losing it, black satin and a proposition from a vision... maybe I should just go off to Holy Ground for a while. These "visitations" are so real. First Horton, then Kronos and the Landry woman... but the vase is still there.

"Methos?" At least he's real and Joe's right behind him.

"You need help."

Wonderful. Of course I need help. How about you spend some time going through Landry's Journal and translate the fine print. I know enough to recognize some of the languages but not what they say...

My phone interrupts and Rich won't let me get a word in edgewise. Joe is trying to listen in, I hand him the phone and tell him to keep Rich on the line, I have to stop him. He mustn't be dragged into this!

The old racetrack is filthy, paper streamers from something celebrated long ago hang everywhere. I hear footsteps and call Rich's name, hoping that he can hear me. This place is full of ghosts, I don't want to be here, I don't want him here.

"Richie?"

The whine of the old escalator draws me, there's a figure sitting on it... "Rich?"

It's all too fast... They're circling me, Kronos and Horton... Richie, red-eyed and hating me... The wound is real, the pain sharp in the dancing shadows. They keep circling, baiting me. What is this, was Landry right? Am I the one who must stop them, him...which one is it? Or are all of them something out of a nightmare?

I keep moving, they come out of the darkness, from behind the pillars... There, the other Richie, coming at me again...

The world is on fire and I am damned.

Holy Ground. How long has it been... I remember the smells the most. Old concrete, wet paper... blood...and then the tobacco and kerosene of an airport. I was on a ship, too. I know I've been here through the rainy season. The old monk, the linguist, has been going over the Landry journal with me. It's as though a blanket has been surrounding me. I meditate and pray... is there anyone listening?

There's a sense that I've done all I can here. I have to return to Paris, to whatever awaits me there. I wish... I wish I could turn back the clock. Rich is dead. I can't change that. I'm alone, and there isn't anything I can change about that either.

If this thing that battles with shades and my own fears can be defeated, I have to do it. It killed Landry and his granddaughter. My monkish friend says it used Richie to stop me, to tear my soul apart so that I would never heal, never be able to face it down. Whether he is right or just trying to help someone he thinks is crazy anyway, I need to hold on to that possibility.

It's time now. I've cut my hair, honed my body and my heart. I hope It's enough. I'm afraid. Maybe that's an indication that I'm not completely mad. I know nothing about It's strengths except that it can create illusions that can entrap me. The monks say I have learned to see past the illusions. I hope they're right.

Paris is green. It's late spring and I've been gone a year. Cleaning the barge becomes a reclaiming of my life. I need to remove the distractions. Until this is over, one way or another, I have to focus on defeating Ahriman.

Joe looks so sad. I know he loved Rich and there's no way to gage his reaction to my being here. The Watchers would be able to help and he's the only one of them I can trust to ask for that help. He doesn't owe me anything. I have to hope that he's willing to help me get the information I need on this demon.

He needs to think. Yes, of course. I understand, I saw the appraisal in those looks. He wonders if I'm insane, if the battles have taken too much out of me... I wonder about that too...

The barge is quiet. It's past midnight and only the small waves, the wake of a passing boat of some kind make it shift like a sleeper trying to get comfortable in an unfamiliar bed. I wonder where Methos is... No, he could be used against me, too.

Joe says he'll help. Thank you isn't enough. I've looked into his eyes and he's aware of the danger. Has he been visited too?

The search for information goes on. The Watchers find a writing in a cave outside of Paris but they're dead when we get there. A singing bowl leads me into another space... There is an answer here, somewhere. Joe has been visited... My heart aches for him. This is a friendship that has become a touchstone for me.

We have to defeat this thing. If I am right, it isn't just my danger. Grandiose as it may sound, the danger is to humanity... "The battle between Good and Evil will be fought in the soul of one man..." was the Arvesta talking about one Immortal?

It's over. Ahriman is defeated.

God, I'm so tired. Joe insisted I bring the Katana back with me. It sits there, wrapped in the silk he found to protect the scabbard. I'll put it away. Perhaps I will take it up again, perhaps I'll have to, but for now, I need to live without it, if I can.

Joe and I sat for a while, just talking. He's a good friend, a better one than I deserve. Here in the silence I can see just how much it cost him to stand by me, to believe in me. I stopped in Darius' Church on the way back. The scent of beeswax and the tamed fire of the candles was all around me. I lit candles for them, for Rich, for the Watchers we lost to the battle. I lit one for Connor, wherever he is nowadays... There was one for Amanda and her friend, Nick. I hope she loves him enough to get someone else to teach him. Students... Ah, Rich, thank you for loving me enough to come back. I hope you know how much I loved you and how deeply I feel the loss... I won't ever forget

I even lit one for Methos, the old heathen. Joe doesn't know where he wandered off to. I understand why he left, though. He couldn't take my head any more than I could take his, or Warren's. I hope he'll come back one of these days. I haven't tried to reach out to him. Didn't really want him here because I know Ahriman would have used him against me and another dead friend is not something I want. We still have that faint connection, though.

He's not too far away. There is a warmth there, a feeling that I'll see him again and that the tie between us is more than just a shared Quickening and a night pleasuring each other. "When you're ready, Methos. When you're ready..."

The darkness is warmer now. I can feel something suspiciously like a hand ruffling my hair. For the first time in a very long time, I slip into the big bed, instead of sleeping on the mat. I glance at the clock, It's past midnight. And sleep comes to me as a friend.

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