They met at the Presidio Cemetery, because it was safe ground if another Immortal decided to come after them. In a way, they were pressed for time. Maroofus was leaving town in a few days to return to Israel and Grey had no intention of messing up his timetable with Methos. So the pair caught up, renewing old jokes and talking about their distant past. Maroofus explained that he was a Star Trek fan and put Grey in stitches by demonstrating his Klingonese.

"So, where is Pierson, anyway?" Maroofus eventually asked.

"Most likely delving through the more obscure bookstores in town. The ones that might carry bizarre ancient tomes. He loves that sort of thing."

"Ooh. Must be why he likes you."

Grey snorted and shook his head. "I see time has not dulled that tongue of yours," he said affectionately.

"Tsk. Would you recognize me without it, or think it was someone else wearing my face?"

"The gods take pity on the fetch fool enough to assume YOUR likeness, 'Roo!"

Maroofus threw his head back and laughed. Getting a hold of himself he breathed, "Well that sure takes me back!"

Grey chuckled and asked curiously, "What have you been occupying yourself with the last two thousand years?"

Maroofus shrugged. "Pretty much the same thing as I was doing when you met me."

"Saving helpless women and children and in your spare time spying for the Israelites?"

"Well, not spying that much. Remember, for most of the time there hasn't been any kind of a government to spy FOR. I was pretty busy during the Second World War rescuing people from the death-camps. And these days..." he trailed off, considering. "I may retire and go back to just saving helpless women and children. In Africa, in Russia. Wherever there is injustice, I'll be there!"

"Did you see the movie 'The Three Amigos'?" Grey asked curiously.

"I was a consultant for the fight scenes. Saw it recently, did you?"

Grey waved his hand with mock indifference. "Adam rented it."

"Yup, I noticed the boy has a good sense of humor. So what have YOU been doing? Did you ever get back together with... whazzizname, Tran?"

Grey sat down, sprawling in unconscious imitation of Adam on an iron seat. The smaller man plopped down next to him. He said, "Yeah. We've been together most of the centuries since. We breed horses. Fight other Immortals. I took a student who would have been just a little younger than you."

"Died recently, did he?" Maroofus asked softly.

"Yeah. He chose to. Win or die."

"M'sorry."

"It's alright. It's the Game." He drew a quiet breath, sadness capturing him for a moment. He turned his mind back to the things he had been doing over time. "I studied to be an architect. Wanted to build something like St. Basil's Cathedral, but I'll never be that good." Maroofus snorted adamantly, but Grey only grinned. Then he went still, staring at the Star of David on the monument across from them. After a long moment he said absently, "I was in a concentration camp for about nine years."

The explosion took a moment to begin. "NINE years?! You must be joking! Why didn't you just leave? Get out-" Maroofus cut himself off with a chuckle of realization. "Got picked up with a mortal lover, didn't you? And you wouldn't leave him. I know you. When did it happen?"

"July 1st, 1933."

"It must have been a relief when the two of you escaped." There was a long silence. Maroofus drew a breath. "I see. I'm sorry." He laid his hand on Grey's shoulder and gave it a firm squeeze.

Grey bowed his head and smiled faintly. Then he closed his eyes and said, "He didn't just die. I killed him."

Maroofus felt his throat knot. He increased the pressure of his hand. "It's never easy killing a lover. I'm sure you didn't have a choice."

"That's the problem, you see. I'm not sure. Not at all." He curled forward, hugging his knees. "He'd contracted pneumonia. They were starting to use him for experiments and he chose... he asked me to kill him and I couldn't refuse him." He shuddered and shook his head, hard. "Just like that time with you." He threw his head up and stared, beseeching, into Maroofus' eyes. "Why? Why couldn't I say no to either of you when you asked me for death?"

Maroofus leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. He set his chin in his palm, groping for words. "You... Grey, I don't know. I wasn't your fault. I never was. I wasn't all that stable then. Hell, I'm not all that stable NOW." He grinned broadly and drew a half-hearted response from Grey. He pulled on his chin thoughtfully for a moment. "You know, I didn't let myself like you at first. You were just a means to an end. A way to get from Rome to home. But after a few months in your company..." he grinned again and drew a snort from his old friend. "The first thing I realized I liked about you was that you thought of people on an individual basis. You couldn't be stirred by the plight of the Jewish people or by the plight of any group of strangers. But you worried about ME. You worried about those two boys who Flavius brought for your pleasure. You didn't even use them and they were pretty enough for ME to notice!"

"I don't like pretty. Besides, they were practically children," Grey murmured.

"I know." Maroofus hid his smile behind his cupped hands. "That's when I started to see YOU, and not simply what use you could be to me. My people say 'a person who saves one life, it is as if they've saved the whole world.'"

"But I didn't save his life, 'Roo."

"Oh? How long would he have survived in that concentration camp without you? I'm assuming you got away shortly after he died."

Grey shrugged. "Yeah, essentially."

"There are no guarantees in life. YOU taught me that. Since you couldn't get him away alive you stuck with him. And that's you. That is what makes you great. You don't abandon your friends in... in their hour of darkness."

Grey dipped his head, thinking Maroofus' words over. He supposed they were true. Still, his question remained unanswered. He repeated it, hoping that the small man's bizarre wisdom would help. "Why couldn't I say no?"

He watched as Maroofus furrowed his brows in thought. That was one thing that had remained the same about the man: when asked an important question, he would drop all vestiges of his stupid act and try to answer. The thoughtful black eyes met his and Maroofus said, "I'm only guessing, you know that." Grey nodded confirmation and waited, the taste of ashes in his mouth. "I think there was a time when you wanted death and were kept from it. Probably by the simple fact of what we are. And when someone says to you, 'I'm suffering and cannot bear to live, please release me from this pain,' you cannot find it in your heart to deny them."

Grey stared at him and blinked slowly. "Perhaps," he allowed reluctantly. Maroofus' words rang a bell but brought no memory. It must have happened, only so long ago that the memory had lost form.

Maroofus was digging in his pockets. At last he drew out a carefully folded piece of paper. It was of modern print, though almost worn through at the folds. He held it out to Grey. "Here, I want you to have this. Read it. It helped me recently when I felt too deeply the loss of my loved ones during the war."

Grey took the paper and unfolded it carefully. He glanced at the words written thereon in surprise, skimmed it once and began to read.

"We often debate the differences between individual death and mass death. People say there is more sorrow involved in mourning the end of a loved one's life, than in mourning the tragic annihilation of hundreds or thousands or millions of victims whose identities are unknown to us. I'm not sure that's true. I have viewed the death in action of a son and also been forced to consider individual deaths and mass deaths that were all part of the same insidious event in history. It seems to me all the deaths were intricately connected to my sorrow in ways that I could never explain. The tangled, subdued sorrow over the multiple deaths of some mass disaster is, I believe, no less intense, no less meaningful, no less important, than the more dramatic outward show of grief for a person who has had the considerable misfortune to die alone." *

Maroofus waited for Grey to finish before speaking. "You can flip that around. Change it as you please to fit your needs. The point is it's good to grieve. We can't undo the past. But we can survive it and use it to make us stronger. You cannot gain strength from what you have forgotten."

Grey cradled the paper in his hands. He was suddenly overwhelmed with memory... the night when Jo had first shown him that he was not a rapist anymore, listening to Jo's jokes into the night under the glaring lights of their prisoner block in Meerschweine, the day when suddenly it was no longer him taking care of his lover, but Jo taking care of him. Then the lovemaking that had ended in Grey killing Jo... It came to him in a flash of absolute sureness, that Jo would have died long before Grey's companions came and took him from Meerschweine. Grey had made it as quick as he could. His long life showed him exactly how to break the young man's neck to kill him. He had not been able to bear staying beside Jo's cooling, empty body.

And if they had never met? Grey knew that Jo would have done the same things: joined the Sturmabteilung, ended up in Meerschweine or dead when the SS cleaned Rohm's men out of the Nazis, died in the camp probably not very long after arriving. At least I was with him, Grey thought.

His heart lurched as if throwing off a great weight. He lifted his eyes from his knees to focus on Maroofus' face. The other man had been waiting patiently while Grey was lost in thought. "You're right, 'Roo. You are right."

Maroofus placed a palm on his own chest in mock dignity, his eyes affectionate. "I know I'm right. Use your life to show the meaning he gave it."

They had just stepped off of Holy Ground when the rifle shots rang out. Maroofus went down like a rock and Grey dropped beside him. Maroofus met his old teacher's startled gaze with pain-filled eyes and a twinkle of humor. "Owwwch," he said in the moment before his eyes blanked out in death. Panicked screams filled the air around them as people dove for cover. A few more shots rang out, then the sound of an ambulance siren filled the air from nearby.

An ambulance burst out of the alley and came toward the two of them. Grey swore to himself as he sensed another Immortal. The ambulance screeched into a turn so the back doors faced Grey and Maroofus. The doors opened and two men stepped out. One leveled a pistol at Grey. He moved, launching himself at the man and falling with him into the ambulance. Pain blossomed in his gut before he even heard the shot. The other man threw Maroofus' body into the ambulance and slammed the door. As the vehicle sped off, Grey continued to fight the man who had shot him until the other one lifted a fire-extinguisher and brained him with it.

By the time Grey came back to his senses, the ambulance had stopped. He lifted his head and winced at the pain in his arms. His hands were handcuffed behind his back. He opened his eyes and found himself looking straight into the blue eyes of the man who had been pursuing Maroofus. With a surge of anger he growled, "You again."

"Thank you. You led me straight to him," the other man said curtly.

Grey glanced around. Maroofus still lay as if dead. He turned his eyes again to glare at the blond and said icily, "If this is what Carruthers taught you, he deserved to die."

The man frowned. He spoke quietly, glancing away. "Maybe. But I don't. What chance does someone like me have against someone like you?" Grey pulled his head up, surprised. Before he could say anything, the man turned away and spoke to someone outside the ambulance. "Put them in the storeroom and lock it. Then you can go."

There were four men. They were street thugs from the look of things, though one of them was obviously a good shot. Maroofus' dead body was also handcuffed, Grey noted. He met the blond Immortal's eyes and saw wry amusement there. Don't imagine I'm a fool, the eyes seemed to say.

Grey dropped his eyes to hide his own amusement. When he had a moment he would slip out of the handcuffs. He had no doubt that Maroofus could do the same just as easily. Hiding his laughter behind an angry expression he growled, "I am Grey. Who are you?"

"Jason Wrigley," was the cool reply.

Grey did not struggle as two of the men pulled him out of the ambulance. He lifted his head high and stared about. The warehouse interior was gray and white. There was a second floor office above the room the men were taking him to. The other two men were dragging Maroofus' limp form. Grey stumbled as the two who had him straight-armed him into the room. Maroofus was dumped unceremoniously inside and they shoved his body away from the door before they closed it.

It was a storeroom lit by halogen bulbs. There were no windows and no visible exit other than the one door. Well, at least getting out would be interesting. Grey leaned against the wall and pressed his left hand until the thumb popped out of joint. Gingerly, for he did not want the healing of broken, fragile bones to impede him if Wrigley came in, he slipped his hand out of the cuff. With a sigh he popped his thumb back into place and took the cuffs the rest of the way off.

"Nice," commented Maroofus.

Grey glanced over at him. The small man lay on his stomach. Under the lights something silver danced between his fingers. Grey heard the click as the handcuffs released and Maroofus sat up, stretching his arms and wiggling his fingers. The pick was already out of sight. "Nice yourself. Where is it?"*

Maroofus grinned and tapped the lining of his pants. "Amateurs," he commented, rolling his eyes.

"Indeed. And what, pray tell, have you got planned for getting us out of this?"

"Planned? Me?" Maroofus looked wide-eyed and helpless for a moment. Grey shook his head. The little man shrugged back and grinned again. "Ah am gonna talk him into mendin' his ways." He stretched out on his back, cushioning his head on folded arms. "He's not like Carruthers was. It's been awhile since I had a student. I think I can help him."

Grey sat beside him. "And if he wants to learn sword-combat?"

"I know a few people. I can get him going in the right direction. He just needs to know that he doesn't have to go against his conscience to survive."

"I noticed that. He doesn't like what he's doing, but thinks there's no other way."

"Yep."

"'Roo, what if you fail?"

"Doesn't bear thinking about. I've had a good run. But I won't give up without a fight."

They fell silent after that and waited calmly. They might have had all the time in the world or only a few minutes, it did not matter. They had both settled into light dozes when another presence announced itself in the usual wash of Immortal sensation.

Maroofus opened his eyes. "Now, who could that be?"

With the arrival of an unknown Immortal, the two men could not sit and wait. In unspoken agreement, they moved to the door. Maroofus pulled out the tiny sliver of metal and set to work.

When Grey had to leave to meet Maroofus, Methos left too. He knew a number of Grey's favorite types of foods and intended to go shopping. He had a recipe that was almost two thousand years old. It had been lost to the mortal world when the small Middle Eastern tribe that created it died out. A master of substitution, Methos knew where to buy most of the ingredients, and what to replace certain ones with. Grey would love it.

He got to his Volvo just in time to see his lover drive past towards the exit. They smiled at each other in passing and promise. The nondescript brown car behind Grey's might not have attracted his attention if it were not for the intense expression on the driver's face. Alarm bells went off in his mind. He dove into the Volvo and followed the other car.

They followed Grey to the entrance to the cemetery. While Grey parked in the outside lot, the man in the brown car pulled up along the curb. Methos pulled into the parking lot of a restaurant across the street. He watched the other man while pretending to be searching his front seat. The man lifted a cellphone to his ear and spoke into it for a time. Whatever the response was, he nodded obediently and drove off. Methos waited again. He was hyper-alert. He missed nothing. Not the people strolling in and out of the cemetery, nor the ambulance that pulled into a nearby alley. Methos positioned his car to be able to pull out of the small lot quickly if need be.

Thus he witnessed the shooting, saw the ambulance go to the fallen men and then drive off, leaving no one behind. He pulled out and trailed the vehicle. It was not difficult. The driver was obviously not expecting to be followed. By the time police processed the reports bystanders might give about an ambulance it would be long gone and hidden. They were not expecting immediate pursuit.

He trailed them until they came to the piers where they turned off into a warehouse. It was almost amusing. Warehouses were very convenient Quickening grounds. They contained the damage and light show. He parked his car down the road on the opposite side of the street, and found himself behind another car with a bored-looking man reading a newspaper inside.

Watcher. Probably. That confirmed that it was an Immortal who had arranged this. It was most likely the blond man whose teacher Maroofus had set up. Methos felt a slight pang of regret. He could not openly use their resources anymore. There was probably no time to call Joe in Paris, either. He left his car and ambled towards the warehouse. The men did not expect pursuit and so would not be on their guard. Still, he found his way to an emergency ladder and climbed it to the roof.

There was an entry on the roof. Methos jimmied the lock and crept down the stairs. He moved carefully, his every sense alert for the barely sensible shift that would mark when he was getting close enough to completely feel another Immortal. He reached the bottom of the stairs and listened intently at the door. The darkness around him was like a comforting ally. No sound. Perhaps the kidnappers were not on this level. He very carefully picked the lock, then eased the door open a crack. A silent, dark room waited. The air smelled of dust. Methos crept into the room. Unused it may be, but enough noise would bring unwanted attention.

He moved across the room towards the windows. Was it not dark enough in this building, that the owners had seen fit to buy these annoying, slatted window shades? There was an inkling of Immortal presence. It was very faint, just enough to raise the hairs on the back of his neck. Someone less experienced might have named it simply apprehension, but Methos knew what he was sensing. It was easy to surreptitiously push on one of the lower slats and look out.

The angle was wrong. He could not see what was below him but he could see the ambulance. It was empty, the doors all left open. Uneasy, he waited. After a few minutes four men moved into view, walking towards the ambulance. They were flipping through wads of money, their steps jaunty. Street toughs, Methos thought. They did indeed look tough in the rough jeans and leather jackets. They took the ambulance and drove out the exit. Methos dismissed them from his mind.

The pattern of dust on the floor had been disturbed around the door. Someone had opened it some time ago and probably decided the room was unimportant. Methos considered the door. If that blond Immortal was going to take heads, it would probably be soon. There would be no time to find a better entrance than this already unexpected one.

The door had been left unlocked and he opened it centimeter by centimeter. Carefully, he stepped out onto the metal landing. He instinctively distributed his weight and his movement was almost soundless. He felt a faint deja vu as he looked down through the mesh at a man seated below him. He ignored it and moved down the stairs, slipping his silencer out of the hidden, padded pocket in his coat. It would be tricky to fire a good disabling shot from the stairs, but he could severely slow the other man down. Their presences touched and murmured.

The man jerked to his feet and looked frantically around. Methos fired, the bullet catching his target between the shoulders and knocking the man down. In the instant he was hurtling down the stairs he felt another impact of Immortality. It was sudden and he could not tell how many. He decided as he rounded the bottom of the stairs that it was safe to assume it to be Maroofus and Grey.

Pleased with the success of his stratagem, he strolled over to the man who was just beginning to get to his feet. He felt no surprise as the other tried to draw a pistol from its holster. Methos simply set the muzzle of his silencer against his target's temple and the blade of his sword against the man's neck.

The blond froze and looked up at Methos, his eyes wide and frightened. It was tempting to just take his head. Methos considered that idea for a long moment before letting it go without regret. He said calmly, "Toss that away."

Moving slowly, the other man obeyed. His gun clattered across the cement floor. The sound was loud in the emptiness of the warehouse. Sounding as if he were choking, the man said hopelessly, "Just kill me and be done with it, will you?"

"I could," Methos replied. They waited. He did nothing but hold the man there with his sword and silencer. He was composed, ready to act but needing a trigger or he would be content to just stand there.

Finally the man broke the silence, his voice shaking. "I'm Jason Wrigley."

Methos cocked his head. "Wrigley," he repeated the name calmly, "do you have a sword?"

The man flinched, his eyes going wider. "Yes..."

"Then get it out. Fight for your life."

Methos pocketed his silencer and followed the shocked Wrigley to a Porche. The blue car had been out of the eldest's range of sight before. Wrigley drew forth an old Spanish sword and held it comfortably enough, though without the ease of long familiarity. He stared dumbly at Methos, as if he did not have the slightest clue what he should do.

Methos cocked his head. "Fight," he commanded, and waited.

Wrigley worked his jaw. "Who ARE you?!"

"Just someone you've personally offended," Methos replied. He waited, watching for the first move.

"How? What did I do to you?"

Methos did not respond. His silence and stillness was meant to be unnerving. It worked, too. Wrigley stopped asking questions and moved forward nervously. He had some grace, could perhaps have trained and become a formidable foe. As it was, removed from thugs and guns he was harmless to someone like Methos. When Wrigley attacked, Methos simply moved aside. He struck the other man's sword a blow that he knew would send numbing shudders up the arms. He heard the gasp that resulted. But he felt fury and was in no mood for games. He hooked his foot through Wrigley's and sent the man tumbling. Kicking aside the old Spanish blade, Methos caught Wrigley by the collar and pinned him up against the wall, his sword across the man's throat.

Ice sluiced through his veins. Where others would feel their hearts hammering, Methos only felt the sheer winter cold that would permit him to kill without compunction. He stared into the other man's terrified blue eyes. His prisoner was paralyzed with terror. The ice soared upwards from his veins and out his vocal chords in a low hiss.

"I could care less about your little vendetta against Silverman, but you used my lover to get to him."

Wrigley was trying to grow into the wall. "It was an accident!" he panted.

Methos growled and moved his sword to draw blood. "Oh, yes. Having a mortal follow him was an accident." Visions of Grey lying in a pool of blood, his head just inches from his neck, momentarily slipped across his vision, and he tightened his grip on the other man's body. He brought his face close to Wrigley's. This man had disrupted the rare peace the lovers had snatched for themselves. Executable offense. Let him know terror, Methos thought. "Did you ever see the movie 'Impulse'?"

Wrigley shook his head dumbly, unable to break their locked gaze.

"Terrible writing. Awful acting. But it had a great premise. A small town is infected with a virus that makes its victims lose all of their inhibitions! The death toll mounted quickly." He took a step back, his blood beginning to burn. You deserve to die, he thought. Too damn foolish to let live. "Now, what you have to wonder is this: is my impulse to let you live, or is it to take your head as you run?" Methos rested his weight on the balls of his feet. As soon as he moves, he thought, poised and ready to strike. "Run," he hissed.

"Lover," a voice intruded. It curled intimately into his rage; caressed and eased him with familiarity and affection. Eased him onto his heels before Grey's hand touched him. Sliding under his sweater the hand splayed across his stomach before moving up to his chest and gently pulling him back. The desire to kill, so immediate the moment before, began to fade as he let himself lean back against Grey's body. His lover's breath was warm against his cheek. The tenseness began to bleed out of him.

Another voice, slightly gravelly, sounded beside him. "What are you waiting for, boy? Run!"

When Wrigley bolted, the part of Methos that still instinctively watched him jolted. Grey moved with him, gently deflecting his charge. The urge faded as Wrigley vanished through the door, leaving behind his Porche and all the things within. Deprived of his prey, Methos needed another target for his hyperactive senses. The hand on his chest, the body pressed against his, took all his attention in a flash. He turned around and pulled Grey tight against his body, one hand trapping the man at the waist, the right arm, with the sword angled away so as not to injure his lover, at the back of the neck. As ever, Grey simply responded, opening himself to whatever Methos needed of him.

Yet there was something hesitant in Grey's attitude. Methos growled in protest and savagely kissed his lover. He thrust his tongue inside the wet, open mouth and squeezed Grey's bum with strong demand. He felt the man begin to tremble, legs parting to the hand slipping between them.

Of a sudden, something very cold pressed against Methos' neck. Freezing drops trailed down his skin and he was wrenched back to earth with a shudder. He pulled away, easing his grip on Grey. A laugh sounded nearby. Methos' head cleared immediately. Maroofus was standing there with a can of beer. For a brief moment he felt Grey sag under his hands and turned, worried.

Grey was only catching his breath, his face flushed. He ran a hand through his hair and then reached out to stroke Methos' face, smiling. "Glad you could make it."

"Oh, well I just... you're welcome."

Maroofus grinned and clapped a hand on Methos' shoulder. "Well done, friend. I knew you would be dangerous."

Methos raised his head, the anger of earlier returning. "I could have taken his head. You wouldn't have to worry about him anymore."

Maroofus waved his arm dismissively. "He's not a problem."

Methos hissed. "He took Grey to get to you!"

The little man's eyebrows shot up, and he gazed gravely at Methos. "I know what he did. Don't worry, it won't happen again."

Methos thought, Don't try enigmatic all-knowing elder on me, boy. He grasped at Adam Pierson, trying to calm his rage and keep it something a young Immortal would behave like. "You can't be sure of that!"

Grey circled an arm soothingly around Methos' waist. Maroofus laid his hand firmly on the man he thought was so young and gazed deep into his eyes. "He needs a chance to be something else, boy."

Methos bared his teeth. "He's a killer like Carruthers was!"

"Oh? Are you telling me you've never done things you regret?"

Methos was brought up short. He pressed back against Grey's chest. The silver-haired Immortal was staying out of this argument. Whether it was because he thought Methos could handle it on his own, or because he did not know what to say, the eldest could not guess. He dropped his eyes to the floor, willing the memories of helpless victims to stay dormant. Finally, he met Maroofus' eyes again. "Yes. I don't want to die, but I've often wished someone had stopped me back then."

Maroofus grinned and chucked his chin. Methos choked on the urge to strangle the little man and instead blinked indignantly at him from the shelter of Grey's arms. Grey was laughing softly, with clear amusement. Oh, I'll get you for that later, Methos thought bemusedly.

Maroofus said, "That's what I'm gonna do. I'm gonna get me a student." He put the beer in Methos' hand. "It's from Wrigley's car," he added by way of explanation. He walked over to the vehicle and slipped into the driver's seat. In a moment, he had hotwired it and the engine rumbled. Maroofus looked back at them before he put the car in gear. He sang, "Im tirtzu, ain zo agada."

Grey frowned. "If you want it, it's not a folk tale? Fairy tale?" he tried gingerly.

Methos smiled slightly. "If you will it, it is no dream. No mere dream, that is. It's real." He twisted his head back to skim Grey's lips with his. "So said Theodore Hertzl, the father of modern Zionism," he amended.

Maroofus cut in smoothly, "Who do you think told it to him?" Methos shook his head. The small man grinned back at him and waved. "Have fun, you two! See you when I see you!"

Methos uttered the traditional answer, "Not if I see you first."

Grey laughed aloud and raised a hand to wave to Maroofus. "Have fun, old friend." They saluted each other with almost serious respect, and Maroofus drove out of the warehouse.