This is a "Highlander: The Series" and "X-men" crossover project that my friend (Phoenixdescending) and I
have been working on and is currently in two volumes. This is the first
one and it's complete; the second one isn't done yet so...
Note: this story operates on the idea that it really was Methos (from "Highlander") that we saw in "X2: X-men United", posing as Sgt. Lyman, and includes an explanation as to why he would be involved with such a man as William Stryker. Comments are welcome and appreciated.
One of the characters in this story--Talia--is the beautiful creation of Phoenixdescending and I lay no claim to her. If you want to know more about her history, her story is posted under Phoenixdescending's pen-name, entitled "Dum Spiro Spero". Be sure to leave your comments, as they are appreciated.
DISCLAIMER: The characters of "Highlander" (excepting Nadya Jamesson) do not belong to me, neither do the characters of "X-men". The character of Talia belongs to Pheonixdescending and is her sole creation and property.
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Chapter 1
Welcome, Professor!
Charles Xavier pushed the forward button on his wheelchair and whirred quietly into a very 'large round room'. Cerebro—the device with which he could find any mutant alive. Cerebro, the symbol of his life's work: to help mutants realize and control their abilities and become useful and valued citizens of society.
"Shall I join you, Professor?" Ororo Monroe, a.k.a. Storm, stood at the still-open doors of Cerebro.
Professor Xavier sighed. Normally, it would be Jean Grey who asked that question but no more. She had disappeared a year ago at Akalai Lake, saving her friends. Jean had been his own protégé, a telepathic/telekinetic like him; he had worked with her for many years, teaching her to realize and harness her powers. And now she was gone. A sacrifice to save their lives.
"Yes, Storm. Please come in."
The slender, white-tressed woman entered Cerebro and the steel doors shut fast behind her. She strode up to stand behind the professor's chair as he lifted the helmet onto his head and the room grew dark.
"Just...don't move."
Suddenly, the room was full of white lights, outlines of nations, countries, and continents. Then, amidst those twinkling lights came flashes of red, pinpricks of humanity. Mutants.
Storm looked around in wonder; Cerebro's capabilities never failed to amaze her.
The professor concentrated deeply, scanning these mutants and looking for ones in need of his assistance, whose abilities were just beginning to show and needed harnessing.
Suddenly, it was as though someone had ripped Cerebro apart! A fork like lightening scored through the lights, emanating from one particular place...in Europe. Or at least where Europe had been 5 seconds ago. The professor screamed in pain and ripped the helmet from his head! Storm rushed forward to help him as he almost fell out of his chair.
"Professor!" She grabbed his shoulders and pushed him back up into the chair. "Are you all right?"
"Something...happened. I don't know what. Some sort of energy spike somewhere," Professor Xavier was panting. It has given him quite a shock.
"But what could be powerful enough to disrupt Cerebro?"
"I...don't know…but it's somewhere…in Paris."
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In an alley off the Champs Elysees, Methos used his sword as a crutch and pushed himself up as light poles and power wires sparked all around him.
'This gets harder and harder all the time; I am definitely too old for this!'
Methos stuck the Ivanhoe inside his coat and staggered out of the alley, out the back way. There was no way he was stepping out onto the Champs Elysees like this.
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"Really Professor, you shouldn't be up and about for a while...at least not until we are sure there is no extensive damage." Storm said as the professor sat up on the medical table and moved to return himself to his wheelchair.
"I am fine, Ororo, truly." But he mover slower than usual, just in case. Once he was seated he maneuvered around to face the trio of concerned faces.
Well, two out of three.
Logan, a.k.a. Wolverine, was no doubt as concerned as the others; he just didn't show it from his relaxed position near the door.
Scott, a.k.a. Cyclops, stood behind Storm with brow furrowed over the red quartz sunglasses he wore, no doubt still concerned about losing another person he cared about.
The professor tried to assure them once more. "I have been through worse. This...whatever it was...was more of a shock. My headache is almost gone."
"What was it, Professor?" Scott asked, relaxing his stance some.
"Truly...I haven't the faintest idea," the professor said then after a moment. "I have never felt anything like that before. Ever." Xavier placed his hands in front of him fingertips forming a bridge upon which he rested his lips, pondering the event.
"Was it a mutant?" Logan asked from across the room.
"I cannot be sure...I was trying to focus on the mutant population but I had not singled them out yet...but I find it hard to believe that any human could have been responsible for something of that..."
"Magnitude," Storm finished, leaning back in the chair. Her face was tense and her eyes still watched the Professor closely in case he should have any reactions to whatever happened.
"Could it have been something else? An explosion?" Logan offered again.
Xavier shook his head. "Cerebro doesn't work that way. She can only monitor living beings...humans, mutants...perhaps even animals, though I have never tried that. An explosion would not show up like that."
"Besides, the new networks would be buzzing if anything big enough to disrupt Cerebro had happened; it has to be a mutant." Scott finished, looking at Logan.
The two men, though nowhere near common ground, had become less blatantly competitive since Jean had disappeared. They were both suffering the loss and, perhaps out of respect for her, they tried to keep their personalities in check...for the moment.
Logan acknowledged this and said nothing.
"You said it came from Paris?" Storm said.
The Professor nodded. "I am not sure where. I could search but Cerebro will take time to repair and to tell the truth if we wait too long we may lose the trail of.... whatever this was."
"So we go to Paris...and search for what? It is a big city, Professor. Where would we start?" Scott asked, spreading his hands out before him.
"Well, the logical place would be the police department…if something of that magnitude," Xavior used Storm's proffered word, "…happened, it should have drawn some attention."
Scott nodded.
"Storm and Logan will go with you."
"What about us?" came the drolling Southern voice behind where Logan stood. He then turned to look out the door at the two younger faces.
"It's called school," Logan said dryly to Rogue and Bobby.
Behind, and slightly above, them almost sheepishly stood Colossus; he also stuck his head into the room.
"Oh, lahk we'll have it with all the teachers gawn." Rogue pressed the issue and it was rather obvious. The Xavier Institute for Gifted Youngsters tended to have a problem with sudden class cancellations, but, since it was year-round school, the vacations every couple of weeks were not a problem. Well, not a big one at least.
"Ok, it's called 'yer too young'," Logan quirked a brow up and looked down at the red-headed sprite, trying to hide a smile.
"Actually," the Professor broke in, lowering his hands to the armrests, "There comes a time when a person needs to learn how to function as an X-man."
Rogue beamed for a moment but then the professor continued.
"Especially when they are almost done with their studies."
Rogue blanked and looked back at Bobby questioningly, who in turn shook his head and nodded towards Colossus who was gaping at the statement. Then, slowly a big grin spread across his face.
"That's not fair," Rogue began but Bobby dragged her off before Logan could get in another comment on their age.
Bobby thumped the taller, muscular guy on the back as he pulled Rogue down the hallway, thankful she had worn a long sleeved shirt that day.
"I can come...really?" Colossus asked, half expecting he had heard them wrongly.
"Yeah, your uniform order came; it....it takes longer on the larger sizes." Logan teased. Though he felt a little uneasy at the return glare he got from the youth. 'Would adamantium be able to cut whatever metal his mutation created?'
"Of course, Piotr. You have to start sometime." Xavier said, "And it gives you something to do...aside from deciding what you would like to do for a career and which college to go to for it."
Piotr placed a big hand behind his head and rubbed sheepishly a moment. He was more comfortable at going out and being an X-man and all that entailed than applying for a degree...or dealing with the future."Cool," he agreed.
"So get ready. Let's leave in an hour." Scott said as he left the room followed by Storm and Logan.
"You should go pack, Piotr," the Professor said.
"Yes, Professor." Colossus said, then everything sort of set in and he realized he wasn't dreaming and he took off down the hallway, his heavy footsteps thumping.
Xavier's soft chuckle echoed in the small room a moment later.
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The sun was beginning to rise when the pounding sounded on the door. A moment later, a small robed figure threw open the door after having looked through the peep hole. She could not contain her exclamation at the sight that met her eyes.
"Methos!! What happened??!!"
The pitiful figure struggled to reply a moment. "Powerful immortal," was all he said as he leaned against the doorframe not being able to stand on his own any more.
Nadya supported him on her other shoulder and helped him into the room, her eyes noting the smear of blood left on the door frame before using all her strength to get her friend to the couch. She was suddenly thankful she had it covered so the blood wouldn't damage the upholstery.
'Methos, what have you gotten yourself into now?'
"Owitch! Watch it!"
Methos flinched and Nadya ignored his sharp rebuke despite the fact that she was indeed helping him. In fact, she looked concerned. "Why hasn't it healed? It should have by now." She swabbed a wound on his lower abdomen with a cloth soaked in hot water.
"Depends on the Quickening and the wound," the old man rasped, grimacing as she pulled out a shard of steel with a towel-wrapped hand. His opponent's dagger blade had broken in his side before the end. "This was a powerful Quickening, the body takes longer to adjust."
"I thought your body would have been able to take anything," she commented, tossing the shard into the nearby wastebasket. Methos' sweater and coat lay nearby and he reposed on the covered leather couch while she worked away at his wounds.
Methos glanced down at the young woman as she patched him up. He would heal in time, it was sure, but, for now, he needed help to keep from bleeding out and dying again so soon. He suddenly felt a stab of guilt as he saw her small brown hands covered in blood. His blood. He was glad that she wasn't queasy about blood; if she had been, she'd gotten over it the day he'd been killed in her presence. The day she had learned about Immortals.
The sun was rising quietly and steadily outside her bay window that overlooked the Seine. MacLeod had removed himself to Paris for a while and, fascinated with the idea of Europe, Nadya had followed, transferring to the Paris office of the Coopers and Hills Publishing House for whom she was now a coveted editor.
"Where were you?"
"Off the Champs Elysees."
Nadya's face took on a horrified look. "That public of a place, someone is bound to have noticed."
"I heard the sirens as I left."
Nadya closed her eyes and sighed as she pressed a bandage over Methos' abdomen. "That will stop the bleeding until you heal, which will hopefully be soon."
Then she rinsed her hands in the bowl of water and gathered up the stuff to head to the kitchen, taking Methos' sweater with her.
"Hey, what are you doing with that?" he wondered.
"There's no way you can wear this again; it's rag pack fodder!" she replied, tossing it in the garbage and pouring the soiled water down the sink and washing her hands again with antibacterial dishsoap. Soon, she returned with a plain, dark-green button down shirt. "Here."
Methos looked at the shirt and then at her, his eyebrows raised. "And you just happened to have this around?"
Nadya shrugged, tossing it at him. "Don't even think it. It was mine; I like to wear it around the house but it's yours now. Now I should go get some clothes on, too." With that, she moved towards the bedroom.
It was only then that Methos noticed that she was only clad in her short blue brocade robe. "What do you have on under there anyway?" He knew it would get a rise out of her.
"A gentleman wouldn't ask such things," she replied with a smirk and shut the bedroom door most of the way.
"Afraid that MacLeod would walk in and get the wrong idea?" the ancient couldn't resist teasing; it was a part of his nature.
"No, the heater shut off ten minutes ago. I'm cold!" came the reply from the bedroom.
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A good 45 minutes later, the drone of a jet engine could be heard for a moment over the New York landscape, but only for a moment before the Blackbird shot past the speed of sound, beginning its arch over the upper Atlantic Ocean.
The professor looked out his window at the white trail of jet exhaust trailing after. He was still staring out the window when the trail had dissipated into the atmosphere.
"What could have done something like that? And more importantly, why?" Xavier pulled himself out of his musings and turned his wheelchair to leave the room and start the repairs on Cerebro. Perhaps then he could find some answers.
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Nadya came back into the room where Methos reclined on the couch, flicking on the TV on her way to the kitchen. Methos, grunting in disgust as the annoying marvel of the 20th century blared to life, propped himself up on one elbow and opened his mouth to call after Nadya…only to be interrupted by her.
"Yes, I know you want a beer, but, of course, I don't like that stuff in my house." She turned and placed a hand on her hip as she rounded the island in the middle of the kitchen. "I'll brew you some coffee in a minute...or some tea?" she offered as she opened the refrigerator door.
Methos suppressed a smirk. The small figure was clad in a long denim skirt with a slit up the back so as not to slow her down. Covering the upper part of her frame was a violet colored sweater, worn more for looks than for the chill of the mild September that Paris was having this year. Her feet were shod in her light-blue fuzzy house slippers...the ones with the little bows.
Methos' smirk became a smile as he responded, "Actually, I am aware of that and was going to ask for the tea to begin with."
Nadya poked her head around the door to look at him. The old man gave one of his boyish grins that annoyed the life out of her...except for the fact he looked so cute when he did that.'Must be feeling better if he is in the mood to play,' she thought before saying, "It's from India—Princess Gita." With that, she ducked her head back behind the fridge to hide her smile at the upcoming reaction.
"...can't you have any decent tea?"
Nadya wasn't sure what language he had slipped into but she remembered his rants about Indian tea--namely, the British obsession with it and, specifically, Byron's obsession with it, among other things. She knew he hated the stuff.
".....bloody nasty stuff!" Methos paused to get a breath, ending his tirade for a moment. "Could I have coffee instead?"
Nadya composed her face and peeked around the door again.
By then, Methos had remembered his manners, "Please."
"Of course! I keep some just for you." She moved toward the cupboard.
"I know." Methos grinned and lay back down on the couch. Nadya was about to respond when the television drew her attention, followed by the old man's.
The television portrayed a protest in the streets of Washington D.C. The crowds of people holding signs and yelling were lined up behind barricades along streets in front of Capitol Hill. Fists were raised in the air, along with signs proclaiming the country's growing concern about what some were so bold to call a world wide epidemic. Mutants.
"Today, the streets of Washington belie what the Congress voted just the day before: that the United States will not require mutants to register nationally. Yet, apparently, the public has not had its concerns met by their representatives," came an anchor's voice over.
The camera panned away from the reporter to fan the angry crowds. Some were even chanting, "Death to mutants!" The newsfeed cut back to the newsroom and the anchors closed the story then as they looked to another camera, appearing to leave the turmoil that was gripping the world at large and focus on a public interest story.
"If only it were that easy," Nadya said as she moved over and turned the television to the French version of A&E.
She and Methos shared a sympathetic look before she asked, almost in a whisper, "Aren't you...?"
"Afraid they will come after us next?" Methos finished as he looked down at his wounds, almost healed by now.
"Yes." Nadya clinched a small fist at her side. Her concern for her friend was evident; not just for him but Duncan as well. And all the others."I have seen far worse." Methos replied, mostly to alleviate her fears. If only she knew what he had not only seen but had done. His mind flashed back to a year ago and his own involvement with the bunch of racist...'no, speciest jerks'. He should have felt guiltier about being involved with Stryker, but well...
'Well what, old man? You wanted that adamantium! You wanted to keep your own head! You are selfish...yes.' Methos thought to himself. 'But, when you have been Death, nothing is too hard. And morals...well, morals are fickle things.'
Methos didn't regret his time spent playing the bad guy…only that it had proved useless in the end.
"You have?" Nadya asked.
Methos nodded. "The world has seen far worse than this...and I suspect even that will one day be surpassed. Humanity lacks no limits to the depths to which it is capable of descending," he said as he sat up, his wounds finally closed.
"That...is an awfully pessimistic attitude," Nadya answered, a somewhat sad tone to her voice.
"Well, what do you expect?! I just got attacked by a bloody big, powerful immortal, almost got apprehended by the authorities, walked several miles with a gaping hole in my side, AND, to top it all off, there is no beer in the place I sought refuge at!" He threw his hands up in a gesture of 'why me'."I...Ithink some tea would calm you down," Nadya murmured as she moved back to the kitchen. Her tone was flat and low; he could tell she was hurt by his outburst.
"Nadya...wait! No, I'm sorry. Please, no tea; I've suffered enough," Methos staggered to his feet, cursing himself, and followed the small woman to the kitchen.
Note: this story operates on the idea that it really was Methos (from "Highlander") that we saw in "X2: X-men United", posing as Sgt. Lyman, and includes an explanation as to why he would be involved with such a man as William Stryker. Comments are welcome and appreciated.
One of the characters in this story--Talia--is the beautiful creation of Phoenixdescending and I lay no claim to her. If you want to know more about her history, her story is posted under Phoenixdescending's pen-name, entitled "Dum Spiro Spero". Be sure to leave your comments, as they are appreciated.
DISCLAIMER: The characters of "Highlander" (excepting Nadya Jamesson) do not belong to me, neither do the characters of "X-men". The character of Talia belongs to Pheonixdescending and is her sole creation and property.
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Chapter 1
Welcome, Professor!
Charles Xavier pushed the forward button on his wheelchair and whirred quietly into a very 'large round room'. Cerebro—the device with which he could find any mutant alive. Cerebro, the symbol of his life's work: to help mutants realize and control their abilities and become useful and valued citizens of society.
"Shall I join you, Professor?" Ororo Monroe, a.k.a. Storm, stood at the still-open doors of Cerebro.
Professor Xavier sighed. Normally, it would be Jean Grey who asked that question but no more. She had disappeared a year ago at Akalai Lake, saving her friends. Jean had been his own protégé, a telepathic/telekinetic like him; he had worked with her for many years, teaching her to realize and harness her powers. And now she was gone. A sacrifice to save their lives.
"Yes, Storm. Please come in."
The slender, white-tressed woman entered Cerebro and the steel doors shut fast behind her. She strode up to stand behind the professor's chair as he lifted the helmet onto his head and the room grew dark.
"Just...don't move."
Suddenly, the room was full of white lights, outlines of nations, countries, and continents. Then, amidst those twinkling lights came flashes of red, pinpricks of humanity. Mutants.
Storm looked around in wonder; Cerebro's capabilities never failed to amaze her.
The professor concentrated deeply, scanning these mutants and looking for ones in need of his assistance, whose abilities were just beginning to show and needed harnessing.
Suddenly, it was as though someone had ripped Cerebro apart! A fork like lightening scored through the lights, emanating from one particular place...in Europe. Or at least where Europe had been 5 seconds ago. The professor screamed in pain and ripped the helmet from his head! Storm rushed forward to help him as he almost fell out of his chair.
"Professor!" She grabbed his shoulders and pushed him back up into the chair. "Are you all right?"
"Something...happened. I don't know what. Some sort of energy spike somewhere," Professor Xavier was panting. It has given him quite a shock.
"But what could be powerful enough to disrupt Cerebro?"
"I...don't know…but it's somewhere…in Paris."
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In an alley off the Champs Elysees, Methos used his sword as a crutch and pushed himself up as light poles and power wires sparked all around him.
'This gets harder and harder all the time; I am definitely too old for this!'
Methos stuck the Ivanhoe inside his coat and staggered out of the alley, out the back way. There was no way he was stepping out onto the Champs Elysees like this.
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"Really Professor, you shouldn't be up and about for a while...at least not until we are sure there is no extensive damage." Storm said as the professor sat up on the medical table and moved to return himself to his wheelchair.
"I am fine, Ororo, truly." But he mover slower than usual, just in case. Once he was seated he maneuvered around to face the trio of concerned faces.
Well, two out of three.
Logan, a.k.a. Wolverine, was no doubt as concerned as the others; he just didn't show it from his relaxed position near the door.
Scott, a.k.a. Cyclops, stood behind Storm with brow furrowed over the red quartz sunglasses he wore, no doubt still concerned about losing another person he cared about.
The professor tried to assure them once more. "I have been through worse. This...whatever it was...was more of a shock. My headache is almost gone."
"What was it, Professor?" Scott asked, relaxing his stance some.
"Truly...I haven't the faintest idea," the professor said then after a moment. "I have never felt anything like that before. Ever." Xavier placed his hands in front of him fingertips forming a bridge upon which he rested his lips, pondering the event.
"Was it a mutant?" Logan asked from across the room.
"I cannot be sure...I was trying to focus on the mutant population but I had not singled them out yet...but I find it hard to believe that any human could have been responsible for something of that..."
"Magnitude," Storm finished, leaning back in the chair. Her face was tense and her eyes still watched the Professor closely in case he should have any reactions to whatever happened.
"Could it have been something else? An explosion?" Logan offered again.
Xavier shook his head. "Cerebro doesn't work that way. She can only monitor living beings...humans, mutants...perhaps even animals, though I have never tried that. An explosion would not show up like that."
"Besides, the new networks would be buzzing if anything big enough to disrupt Cerebro had happened; it has to be a mutant." Scott finished, looking at Logan.
The two men, though nowhere near common ground, had become less blatantly competitive since Jean had disappeared. They were both suffering the loss and, perhaps out of respect for her, they tried to keep their personalities in check...for the moment.
Logan acknowledged this and said nothing.
"You said it came from Paris?" Storm said.
The Professor nodded. "I am not sure where. I could search but Cerebro will take time to repair and to tell the truth if we wait too long we may lose the trail of.... whatever this was."
"So we go to Paris...and search for what? It is a big city, Professor. Where would we start?" Scott asked, spreading his hands out before him.
"Well, the logical place would be the police department…if something of that magnitude," Xavior used Storm's proffered word, "…happened, it should have drawn some attention."
Scott nodded.
"Storm and Logan will go with you."
"What about us?" came the drolling Southern voice behind where Logan stood. He then turned to look out the door at the two younger faces.
"It's called school," Logan said dryly to Rogue and Bobby.
Behind, and slightly above, them almost sheepishly stood Colossus; he also stuck his head into the room.
"Oh, lahk we'll have it with all the teachers gawn." Rogue pressed the issue and it was rather obvious. The Xavier Institute for Gifted Youngsters tended to have a problem with sudden class cancellations, but, since it was year-round school, the vacations every couple of weeks were not a problem. Well, not a big one at least.
"Ok, it's called 'yer too young'," Logan quirked a brow up and looked down at the red-headed sprite, trying to hide a smile.
"Actually," the Professor broke in, lowering his hands to the armrests, "There comes a time when a person needs to learn how to function as an X-man."
Rogue beamed for a moment but then the professor continued.
"Especially when they are almost done with their studies."
Rogue blanked and looked back at Bobby questioningly, who in turn shook his head and nodded towards Colossus who was gaping at the statement. Then, slowly a big grin spread across his face.
"That's not fair," Rogue began but Bobby dragged her off before Logan could get in another comment on their age.
Bobby thumped the taller, muscular guy on the back as he pulled Rogue down the hallway, thankful she had worn a long sleeved shirt that day.
"I can come...really?" Colossus asked, half expecting he had heard them wrongly.
"Yeah, your uniform order came; it....it takes longer on the larger sizes." Logan teased. Though he felt a little uneasy at the return glare he got from the youth. 'Would adamantium be able to cut whatever metal his mutation created?'
"Of course, Piotr. You have to start sometime." Xavier said, "And it gives you something to do...aside from deciding what you would like to do for a career and which college to go to for it."
Piotr placed a big hand behind his head and rubbed sheepishly a moment. He was more comfortable at going out and being an X-man and all that entailed than applying for a degree...or dealing with the future."Cool," he agreed.
"So get ready. Let's leave in an hour." Scott said as he left the room followed by Storm and Logan.
"You should go pack, Piotr," the Professor said.
"Yes, Professor." Colossus said, then everything sort of set in and he realized he wasn't dreaming and he took off down the hallway, his heavy footsteps thumping.
Xavier's soft chuckle echoed in the small room a moment later.
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The sun was beginning to rise when the pounding sounded on the door. A moment later, a small robed figure threw open the door after having looked through the peep hole. She could not contain her exclamation at the sight that met her eyes.
"Methos!! What happened??!!"
The pitiful figure struggled to reply a moment. "Powerful immortal," was all he said as he leaned against the doorframe not being able to stand on his own any more.
Nadya supported him on her other shoulder and helped him into the room, her eyes noting the smear of blood left on the door frame before using all her strength to get her friend to the couch. She was suddenly thankful she had it covered so the blood wouldn't damage the upholstery.
'Methos, what have you gotten yourself into now?'
"Owitch! Watch it!"
Methos flinched and Nadya ignored his sharp rebuke despite the fact that she was indeed helping him. In fact, she looked concerned. "Why hasn't it healed? It should have by now." She swabbed a wound on his lower abdomen with a cloth soaked in hot water.
"Depends on the Quickening and the wound," the old man rasped, grimacing as she pulled out a shard of steel with a towel-wrapped hand. His opponent's dagger blade had broken in his side before the end. "This was a powerful Quickening, the body takes longer to adjust."
"I thought your body would have been able to take anything," she commented, tossing the shard into the nearby wastebasket. Methos' sweater and coat lay nearby and he reposed on the covered leather couch while she worked away at his wounds.
Methos glanced down at the young woman as she patched him up. He would heal in time, it was sure, but, for now, he needed help to keep from bleeding out and dying again so soon. He suddenly felt a stab of guilt as he saw her small brown hands covered in blood. His blood. He was glad that she wasn't queasy about blood; if she had been, she'd gotten over it the day he'd been killed in her presence. The day she had learned about Immortals.
The sun was rising quietly and steadily outside her bay window that overlooked the Seine. MacLeod had removed himself to Paris for a while and, fascinated with the idea of Europe, Nadya had followed, transferring to the Paris office of the Coopers and Hills Publishing House for whom she was now a coveted editor.
"Where were you?"
"Off the Champs Elysees."
Nadya's face took on a horrified look. "That public of a place, someone is bound to have noticed."
"I heard the sirens as I left."
Nadya closed her eyes and sighed as she pressed a bandage over Methos' abdomen. "That will stop the bleeding until you heal, which will hopefully be soon."
Then she rinsed her hands in the bowl of water and gathered up the stuff to head to the kitchen, taking Methos' sweater with her.
"Hey, what are you doing with that?" he wondered.
"There's no way you can wear this again; it's rag pack fodder!" she replied, tossing it in the garbage and pouring the soiled water down the sink and washing her hands again with antibacterial dishsoap. Soon, she returned with a plain, dark-green button down shirt. "Here."
Methos looked at the shirt and then at her, his eyebrows raised. "And you just happened to have this around?"
Nadya shrugged, tossing it at him. "Don't even think it. It was mine; I like to wear it around the house but it's yours now. Now I should go get some clothes on, too." With that, she moved towards the bedroom.
It was only then that Methos noticed that she was only clad in her short blue brocade robe. "What do you have on under there anyway?" He knew it would get a rise out of her.
"A gentleman wouldn't ask such things," she replied with a smirk and shut the bedroom door most of the way.
"Afraid that MacLeod would walk in and get the wrong idea?" the ancient couldn't resist teasing; it was a part of his nature.
"No, the heater shut off ten minutes ago. I'm cold!" came the reply from the bedroom.
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A good 45 minutes later, the drone of a jet engine could be heard for a moment over the New York landscape, but only for a moment before the Blackbird shot past the speed of sound, beginning its arch over the upper Atlantic Ocean.
The professor looked out his window at the white trail of jet exhaust trailing after. He was still staring out the window when the trail had dissipated into the atmosphere.
"What could have done something like that? And more importantly, why?" Xavier pulled himself out of his musings and turned his wheelchair to leave the room and start the repairs on Cerebro. Perhaps then he could find some answers.
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Nadya came back into the room where Methos reclined on the couch, flicking on the TV on her way to the kitchen. Methos, grunting in disgust as the annoying marvel of the 20th century blared to life, propped himself up on one elbow and opened his mouth to call after Nadya…only to be interrupted by her.
"Yes, I know you want a beer, but, of course, I don't like that stuff in my house." She turned and placed a hand on her hip as she rounded the island in the middle of the kitchen. "I'll brew you some coffee in a minute...or some tea?" she offered as she opened the refrigerator door.
Methos suppressed a smirk. The small figure was clad in a long denim skirt with a slit up the back so as not to slow her down. Covering the upper part of her frame was a violet colored sweater, worn more for looks than for the chill of the mild September that Paris was having this year. Her feet were shod in her light-blue fuzzy house slippers...the ones with the little bows.
Methos' smirk became a smile as he responded, "Actually, I am aware of that and was going to ask for the tea to begin with."
Nadya poked her head around the door to look at him. The old man gave one of his boyish grins that annoyed the life out of her...except for the fact he looked so cute when he did that.'Must be feeling better if he is in the mood to play,' she thought before saying, "It's from India—Princess Gita." With that, she ducked her head back behind the fridge to hide her smile at the upcoming reaction.
"...can't you have any decent tea?"
Nadya wasn't sure what language he had slipped into but she remembered his rants about Indian tea--namely, the British obsession with it and, specifically, Byron's obsession with it, among other things. She knew he hated the stuff.
".....bloody nasty stuff!" Methos paused to get a breath, ending his tirade for a moment. "Could I have coffee instead?"
Nadya composed her face and peeked around the door again.
By then, Methos had remembered his manners, "Please."
"Of course! I keep some just for you." She moved toward the cupboard.
"I know." Methos grinned and lay back down on the couch. Nadya was about to respond when the television drew her attention, followed by the old man's.
The television portrayed a protest in the streets of Washington D.C. The crowds of people holding signs and yelling were lined up behind barricades along streets in front of Capitol Hill. Fists were raised in the air, along with signs proclaiming the country's growing concern about what some were so bold to call a world wide epidemic. Mutants.
"Today, the streets of Washington belie what the Congress voted just the day before: that the United States will not require mutants to register nationally. Yet, apparently, the public has not had its concerns met by their representatives," came an anchor's voice over.
The camera panned away from the reporter to fan the angry crowds. Some were even chanting, "Death to mutants!" The newsfeed cut back to the newsroom and the anchors closed the story then as they looked to another camera, appearing to leave the turmoil that was gripping the world at large and focus on a public interest story.
"If only it were that easy," Nadya said as she moved over and turned the television to the French version of A&E.
She and Methos shared a sympathetic look before she asked, almost in a whisper, "Aren't you...?"
"Afraid they will come after us next?" Methos finished as he looked down at his wounds, almost healed by now.
"Yes." Nadya clinched a small fist at her side. Her concern for her friend was evident; not just for him but Duncan as well. And all the others."I have seen far worse." Methos replied, mostly to alleviate her fears. If only she knew what he had not only seen but had done. His mind flashed back to a year ago and his own involvement with the bunch of racist...'no, speciest jerks'. He should have felt guiltier about being involved with Stryker, but well...
'Well what, old man? You wanted that adamantium! You wanted to keep your own head! You are selfish...yes.' Methos thought to himself. 'But, when you have been Death, nothing is too hard. And morals...well, morals are fickle things.'
Methos didn't regret his time spent playing the bad guy…only that it had proved useless in the end.
"You have?" Nadya asked.
Methos nodded. "The world has seen far worse than this...and I suspect even that will one day be surpassed. Humanity lacks no limits to the depths to which it is capable of descending," he said as he sat up, his wounds finally closed.
"That...is an awfully pessimistic attitude," Nadya answered, a somewhat sad tone to her voice.
"Well, what do you expect?! I just got attacked by a bloody big, powerful immortal, almost got apprehended by the authorities, walked several miles with a gaping hole in my side, AND, to top it all off, there is no beer in the place I sought refuge at!" He threw his hands up in a gesture of 'why me'."I...Ithink some tea would calm you down," Nadya murmured as she moved back to the kitchen. Her tone was flat and low; he could tell she was hurt by his outburst.
"Nadya...wait! No, I'm sorry. Please, no tea; I've suffered enough," Methos staggered to his feet, cursing himself, and followed the small woman to the kitchen.
