Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters, and I didn't think them up. Other more clever and successful people did. I don't think I need to explain much to those of you who enjoy both "Highlander" and "Queen of Swords" to those of you who only know one this will not make too much sense, and to those of you who like neither . . . why are you reading this again?
Old Friends
Methos looked at the little Californian town. He didn't like it, it didn't seem safe. But if Chronos could send him a message, then he could find him, and if he could find him he could kill him. Better walk into a trap, eyes open, then stumble into it and lose one's head. At least that's what Methos had tried to convince himself on the way west.
"Hello Santa Helena," he said softly. Thinking briefly of the time he had met St. Helen and how she would have despised this little town, and the man who ran it.
The town was nothing, literally, for a person who had lived in Cairo and Babylon and Athens and Rome and Paris and London and Philadelphia, all in their hey day. Methos was a man for cities, they made it easy to hide, and easy to live. This was not a city. But Chronos had never been one for civilization, he had never valued the throb of life in a major metropolis, he usually wanted to end it. And he couldn't control a city, no government in history could do that, it was impossible. But in a little nothing town like this he could control people, he could have women and wealth and power over life and death. This was what Chronos loved, and it made sense that this is where he would be.
As he rode through town no one seemed to care. That said a lot. These people were used to strangers, white men, coming into town. They didn't seem to expect him to say, or they didn't care. He knew these people, he had been acquainted with hundreds like them over the course of history, maybe even thousands. That's when he felt it, a tightness in every one of his muscles, an oppressive heat, a freezing chill, a paralyzing fear, and a murderous rage all in one. There was another immortal nearby. Methos licked his lips and put his hand, nonchalantly, on the handle of his saber. Then he heard an all too familiar voice, slightly tainted by a Spanish accent.
"Greetings Dr. Helm."
Methos looked towards the voice, Colonel Luis Montoya was standing outside of his barracks with a wicked, familiar smile. Nervously, he dismounted and bravely, considering, went to talk to the man he had once called brother. "It's been a while."
"Indeed it has."
"Did you miss me?"
"I missed us."
"Is this a reunion or, ah," the ancient man licked his lips, "the sort of event where one is likely to lose their head."
"Which would you prefer?"
"I prefer to be non committal on that point."
Chronos, or Montoya as Methos quickly reminded himself, smiled again. "I would never kill you, brother."
"Unless I were to do something you disapproved of."
"Even then."
Methos finally smiled. That was a blatant lie, and they both knew it, but at least, for the time being, Methos, or Dr. Robert Helm, was safe. "Then it's good to see you again," he lied.
"Do you want to see my town?"
Helm glanced around, "I think I've seen it."
"You'll want a more in depth look at it."
Helm turned to his 'old friend' the question "why?" painted quite clearly across his classically roman face.
"Because this is your new home," Montoya said with a smile. "I know you'll love it, Doctor Helm."
Helm was quick and he knew the way Montoya thought. "You need someone who you can trust as town physician."
"I hear you have experience."
"How long have you been looking for me?"
"Since I got word that DePasqua tried to kill the Immortal who slept with his woman . . ."
"She was his slave," Helm interjected.
" . . . and the Immortal ran away."
Helm laughed, "You think only I could be that cowardly."
"I think only you could have that much self control, and discernment."
"I guess I'll have to take that as a complement," Helm said, after taking a deep breath. He was not at all happy about the situation, but he knew he could live with it. Eventually one of them would die, or not age if he was unlucky, and the would have to say goodbye, and Methos would not have to think about . . . not have to deal, with the past.
"Go," Montoya said. "Look around the town, explore . . . have you eaten today?"
"No."
"Get something to eat then, I have business here, but I'll join you shortly and show you your new office."
Montoya slapped Helm on the arm, roughly, as a brother, and then vanished into the barrics. Dr. Robert Helm took a deep breath, licked his lips, and looked around. Dust and poverty, that was it. No wonder Chronos liked it.
"Santa Helena," he said, forcing to make the best of the worst. "Home sweet home."
The End