This is my first Highlander fic, so please be kind ;)
Seriously, though, constructive criticism is always appreciated and an offer to help beta is even better!
Based on a random plot bunny hopping through the garden of my mind...or something...
Disclaimer: I don't own Highlander or anything affiliated with it. In some cases, this is a blessing coughthesourcecough
Methos had been enjoying himself at Le Blues Bar, drinking his beer and relaxing with his friends, until he felt it. That indescribable sensation of having another immortal in very close proximity: the Buzz. Who the hell had MacLeod pissed off now? For someone so nauseatingly pure and kind, he sure had a knack for making enemies. His hand slowly moved to rest on the hilt of his sword, hidden away by his long overcoat. It was purely reflex--it wasn't as though he could use it in a crowded bar--but it made him feel better. He kept his eyes on the doorway and waited, knowing that MacLeod would be doing the same thing beside him.
His expression changed from wary to shock as he watched a woman enter the bar. She stood about five and a half feet tall with long brown hair and pale green eyes that came to rest on him after scanning the bar.
As he stood in the crowd gathered at the rostrum, listening to Caesar speak, his attention was drawn by a woman watching from a near-by hiding place. She watched quietly, taking in every aspect of the speech, her green eyes alight with keen interest. Looking back up to the rostrum, he saw those same green eyes on the speaker and smiled to himself. Slowly he made his way through the crowd toward her, taking note that she was too engrossed in the speech to notice his subtle approach.
"He truly is a gifted speaker," he muttered, settling against the wall opposite her. It tickled him to see her jump as high as she did. Upon closer inspection, Iulia Caesaris actually was as beautiful as the rumours said...not like Helen. A thousand ships my ass, he thought. "I bet you don't have much opportunity to see him like this."
"You know who I am?"
"You have your father's eyes, though, thankfully your mother's looks," he replied with a grin.
She smiled, seemingly at ease. "I doubt history has seen the likes of him. It is almost as though he has known all along that he was destined for greatness, destined to lead Rome to greatness. It would be a shame not to witness such events simply because I am a woman."
"He certainly is a rarity," he agreed, deciding it might be best not to bring up the other great men he has seen nor to say how they have fallen. They lapsed into silence and continued to watch the speech from her hiding place.
"Methos?" Mac's voice woke him from his reverie.
Without even acknowledging the Highlander, he stood up and crossed the room to where she stood. "Iulia."
A delighted smile melted onto her face. "Julia," she corrected. "Nowdays 'Iulia' just doesn't have quite the same ring to it." She paused to take him in. "Unless of course you still use 'Marcus Vitus Tertius'? Or perhaps 'Methos'?"
"Depends on the company," he replied, grinning like an idiot. Five thousand years old and he felt like a giddy teenager! "How have you been?" It was a question he already knew the answer to--hell, he'd been a Watcher, of course he'd looked her up!--but he couldn't help himself.
"Nearly a thousand years and you ask how I've been?" Her laughter rang in his ears pleasantly. "It's been up and down."
Before he even knew what was happening, she launched herself into his arms and hugged him fiercely--or at least that's how he thought it had happened; it was entirely possible that he had moved first.
A subtle coughing coming from the direction of the bar cause him to pull back and finally acknowledge his other friends. "Oh, right," he muttered, placing his hand on the small of her back and guiding her toward the bar. "Iulia, this Duncan MacLeod"--a sudden poke to his ribs reminded him--"sorry, Julia." He cast her an entertained glare out the corner of his eye.
"Hi," she greeted as she reached out and took MacLeod's hand.
"And Joe Dawson." He waited as she shook Joe's hand, then continued, "Joe, Mac, this is Iulia Caesaris. I know, please don't poke me again, but it was that or Julia Caesar."
"As in 'Julius Caesar'?" Joe ventured.
It was interesting to watch her features as she took in what was being said and realized that Joe knew about the immortals. There was barely a reaction visible and if he hadn't been looking for it, he probably would have missed the slight quirking of her left eyebrow.
"Dear old dad," she muttered, barely missing a beat. "I was so glad for future generations when people became more creative in naming their children."
"Wine?" Methos offered. It seemed to him that all the Romans ever drank was wine and Julia was no exception from what he remembered.
"Rome was a long time ago," she replied with a smile, seeming to read his mind. "Beer's fine."
Joe pulled out two bottles of beer, then Julia shook hands with Joe and MacLeod again before Methos steered her away to a quiet table in the corner of the bar to talk. "What are you doing in Paris?" he asked as he slid out a chair for her, then pulled up another one for himself and sat down.
"Wandering," she replied with a shrug. "What else is there to do when you're two thousand and eighty years old with no family or friends to tie you down?"
"Not married, then?"
After drawing a long sip from her beer, she shook her head. "No point. Any relationship with a mortal wouldn't last, and every immortal I've met seems to want my head. And you know how well the first one worked out."
"Haven't seen him since then, I take it?" He couldn't help the smile that slid across his face. It wasn't that he didn't sympathize with her--he had been there to watch it--it was just seeing her again after all these years, he had almost forgotten how much he missed her. Almost.
"He killed Quintus, you know," she muttered softly. "He was a good man and Gnaeus killed him."
Methos's smile turned sympathetic, though he couldn't help but notice how she had avoided answering him. It wasn't something he wanted to push her about now, but it was definitely a question he would ask again later. "After he killed you, I more or less figured."
"How about you? Any marriages?"
He wanted to ask her more, but decided not to push it. "I've been married...let's see...sixty-eight times in my life? That would make...ooh...eleven since we last met."
"You've been busy," she observed, taking another sip of her beer. "After all that time spent married to mortal women it never occurred to you to, maybe, have a relationship with an immortal?"
"Too much of a commitment," he answered shortly.
Julia laughed in response, making him smile inwardly. "How is it any different to be married to an immortal versus a mortal? Seems to me you're averaging at least one or two mortal marriages per century. Why not just one person who makes you happy?"
"Guess I've never met anyone who makes me that happy," he shrugged.
"Either that or you bore easily."
"That too," he acknowledged with a short bark of laughter. "You know, I thought I was supposed to be the cynical old grouch."
Julia smirked. "You were the first immortal I met after dying--it rubbed off."
They fell into an awkward silence, each one staring at the other shyly and looking away when caught. It was Julia who had the nerve to break the silence first; it shouldn't have surprised him. "Did he find you?"
"I have to leave." He started packing a few personal possessions into a small sack. "You'll have to fend for yourself for now."
"But I don't want you to leave," she insisted. "What could be so important?"
Methos sighed and turned to face her. "There is a man coming for me, a very dangerous man. If I stay here, you are in grave danger."
"And if you leave, I'll be safe?" she asked incredulously. "What if this 'dangerous man' finds out that you and I are companions?"
His demeanour changed suddenly and he approached her a little too quickly. "How old do you think I really am? How well do you know me?"
Iulia's expression was a mix of shock and confusion and he couldn't say he blamed her. "I know you well enough."
With a sigh he reached out and brushed a lock of hair from her face. "Run, Iulia. Run and hide. And if you ever hear of a man named Kronos, run faster." He turned away and started packing his things again.
"Tell me." He felt her come up behind him and felt her hand come to rest on his shoulder. "Please?" There was no way he could deny the pleading tone in her voice; he turned around and began to tell her everything about his past, about the Horsemen.
Bringing himself back to the present, Methos shook his head to clear it; he didn't have to ask to know who the 'he' was meant to be. It was a question she asked everytime she had seen him after long periods of absence since that night. "Yeah."
"And?"
"He lost his head." It was almost comical the way her eyes sprung out of her head in shock, and if he had seen the look not ten minutes earlier, he would have laughed. She knew all about Kronos, and knew that he himself would never be able to take the man's head. "MacLeod took it, not me."
Her expression softened and turned almost sympathetic, though he wasn't sure why. Even after five thousand years women still were a mystery to him and none more-so than Julia; her attitude toward him never quite made sense.
"I'm not sorry," she said firmly, the sympathy still in her eyes.
"Nor should you be."
At that moment Joe wandered over and asked if they wanted second drinks.
"Sure, thanks, Joe." The smile on his face was forced, but Methos didn't care. Talking about Kronos, even if only for a moment, put him a little on edge. His eyes followed Joe, then dropped to the ground.
"Everything okay?" Julia's concerned voice drew his gaze in her direction.
"Fine." Again the fake smile took over.
"For a five thousand year old man, you're a horrible liar. You'd think you would learn something during that time," she snickered. After moving the chair around the table until she was next to him, she leaned over and kissed his cheek as her hand slid up to rest on his arm. "Relax."
Before he could say anything, Joe returned with their beers and Mac, then pulled up another chair and sat down at the table with them. "You know, all this time I thought he was full of it when he said he knew Julius Caesar."
"Hey!" Methos exclaimed in protest.
"I have one word for you: vomitorium!" Joe shot back.
The memory of a discussion on immortals in ancient Rome flashed quickly into his mind. But before it could resolve itself into much detail, he saw Julia's expression change to one of disgust.
"The one thing I don't miss about Rome."
"Wait." Joe turned to her in disbelief. "Seriously?"
"Pappavimus, bibivimus, eructavimus."
A loud bark of laughter erupted as he remembered saying those same words to Joe in English. "We ate, we drank, we vomited," he translated, still laughing.
"Somehow not as poetic as 'veni, vidi, vici', but effective nonetheless," Julia mumbled with a fond smile.
"What was he like?" Mac asked suddenly.
He had been afraid that one of them would ask something like that. His eyes shifted to Julia to gauge her reaction and bail her out of the situation if needed. Even after two thousand years he was pretty sure Julia still missed her father--they were very close.
"He was a great man," she replied quietly. "Full of passion, and wonderful rhetoric. Not only could he talk a man into going to his death voluntarily, he could also make him think it was the most brilliant idea he'd ever heard." Admiration and love filled her voice as she stared off into the distance, smiling.
"You saw him speak?" Joe prompted.
"'Course I did. In fact, that's how I met this lump," she replied, indicating Methos with a flick of her eyes. "I saw Cicero speak as well, and dad could knock him out of the water with one of his speeches." The wistful smile became a proud one.
They talked long into the night about Julia's father, about her past, about how she'd met Methos. A few times they contradicted the history books, earning looks from MacLeod and Joe that suggested they weren't sure whether to believe them.
At three o'clock in the morning Julia let out a loud yawn and the group decided to call it a night.
"So, where are you staying?" Methos asked as they left Le Blues Bar.
"I've got a hotel room not far from the Eiffel Tower." Her hands were shoved deep into the pockets of her long black trenchcoat and she wore a wide grin that was, apparently, contagious as he caught Duncan smiling as well.
"I've got room on my barge," MacLeod offered. "Could save you some money."
Okay, so maybe the smile was more smug than happy, now that Methos thought about it. He cringed inwardly. Would it be wrong to sucker-punch a friend? Wait, what am I thinking? A hand threading its fingers with his interrupted this line of thought, and he turned his head to see Julia smiling at him. Rather suddenly he felt like a deer caught in the headlights.
"Thank you, Duncan, but I've already paid for the hotel room," she dismissed the offer, turning her smile back to the Highlander. "Seems to me it would be waste not to use it. Perhaps another time, Duncan, thank you. Methos, do you have a car?"
"Um, yeah." Good response, very clever sounding, he chided himself.
"Care to drop me at the hotel?"
Rather than tempt fate by trying to speak cleverly, he instead offered her the crook of his arm in response, smiling as she slid her hand through it, then guided her toward his car.
"Goodnight, Duncan. It was a pleasure meeting you," she called over her shoulder.
Opening the door to her hotel room and entering, Julia sighed. The night had been a good distraction from everything that had happened in the last few weeks. She smiled to herself, remembering the events of the evening as she shed her coat and dropped it onto the bed. As she picked up the remote and turned on the television she crossed the room and flopped down on the bed, flipping through the channels.
The sensation of The Buzz froze her to the spot. Did she forget something in the car? Had Methos come to return it? "God, I hope so," she muttered to herself.
A knock at her door caused her to reach for her still sheathed sword in the folds of her coat as she rose to answer it. Please let it be Methos, she thought to herself. She opened the door and almost immediately dropped her sword. For someone she'd heard historians describe as a "happy drunk", Gnaeus Pompeius Magnus didn't look very happy. Or drunk.
"Gnaeus," she whispered, backing into her hotel room. A small voice in the back of her head told her that it was a stupid move, backing into closed quarters with only one exit that a very large, very angry man was blocking, but her body wasn't listening to that voice.
"You're a hard woman to track down," he muttered, a wicked smile slowly spreading across his face.