TIMELESS-CHAPTER ONE

The streets of Paris were empty at five minutes to midnight. The little café on the corner was no exception. A lone girl moved within.

Music played from the hidden sound system; the soft tune made the empty café more comfortable.

"The way you wear your hat
The way you sip your tea
The memory of all that
No they can't take that away from me."

Darcy Grey swept under the last table; set the four chairs in their sleeping positions and grabbed a cloth. She had missed a spot earlier and wanted to get it now. As she leaned down to wipe the counter the door opened. Her heart sank at the thought of serving another customer. Everyone had been rude today; no matter what it was, it seemed Darcy was the target for everything bad. Now as the clock lingered a two minutes from midnight, she hoped this would the very last insult to her day.

As she lifted her head to speak; her breath caught as recognition flared in her soul, she knew this man. He was a stranger to her eyes but deep within she knew him.

He looked around the empty café and moved to go.

"We're still open," She called quickly, hoping that he knew English.

He paused and glanced at her.

Another spark of recognition. Those eyes! She knew them too.

He turned fully and faced her; his clothing was basic, jeans and a heavy sweater with a black turtleneck under that. He wore a long black coat and sensible shoes. There was nothing remarkable about him.

Until one looked into the eyes; they held eons of life and experience. His hair was dark and short, his skin was pale in a healthy way.

"Are you sure?" He asked, looking around again.

"Oh yeah, how can I help you?" She asked.

Her soul was screaming in recognition of him. But the rest of her was staring in wonder at the gorgeous planes of his face. The dark power in his eyes.

Darcy heard the song again,

"We may never, never meet again, on that bumpy road to love...But I'll always, always keep the memory of...The way you haunt my dreams
No they can't take that away from me."

They struck an odd note within her, why would she hear those lyrics now? She blinked and found he was watching her intently. Something in his expression said he recognized her. Darcy looked away first and placed her hands on the cash register. He blinked and looked up to the selection board.

His voice resonated within her as he ordered a coffee. Darcy rang it in and proceeded to make the order. Her hands were shaking slightly, she handed over the coffee and he paid in cash.

Their fingers brushed and she felt a jolt run up her arm into her spine. It was like being shocked by a lightening bolt. Her eyes met his and there was no denying the recognition between them.

But Darcy felt a resistance from him; a fear that was holding him back. She stared into his gaze and saw the eons of time within him. Within her mind she saw the scene unfold.

Rome under Nero, 61 B.C.

The sun scorched sand; the sky was blue and clear, the caravan moved slowly because of exhaustion. They had traveled for weeks now and were no closer to their new home then yesterday. The men doubted their leader.

Daria watched the riders approach her father's litter. She glared at the face of the captain. He was a traitorous liar.

The man reined in his horse and leaned in to speak with her father. She sat up and strained to hear what was being said. But the caravan was too noisy.

"My lady," Her hand-maiden coaxed gently, "Don't lean too far, you may fall."

Daria waved her off and still kept trying to listen. She peeked around the edge of the cloth enclosure. She saw the Captain ride away with his men.

Frowning at the dust cloud, Daria crouched for a moment and then sprang slightly. She balanced evenly on the support rails of her father's litter. The driver of the carrier looked up in surprise, but he knew better then to comment. She swept back her father's curtain and her breath caught.

"STOP!" She screamed and grabbed his unsheathed blade.

The caravan stopped and she looked around. The captain was still heading East, back to Rome.

"A horse!"

One of the men rode up and she jumped onto the horse. "Five of you, come!"

She spurred the horse into a gallop and chased after the men. At her back she heard the cries of women as the news was spread along the line. Her father was dead. Daria also heard the thunder of hooves as five men followed her.

Two weeks later she entered her home-city. Rome was bustling with people and activity. The shouts of the market, the songs of the theater and the roar of the Coliseum. It all was familiar and it did little to comfort her.

"My lady it is not wise to do this." One of the men said carefully.

"My father was murdered you fool! I will not rest until his murdered is dead." She kicked her horse forward and headed toward the Colseum.

"The Captain is..."

Daria spun on the men, her horse reared slightly. "The Captain has killed your Senator. If you find him and fail to kill him, I will kill you." She stared into each of them and they knew she meant it.

No one argued with her again.

Daria handed her horse over to stable hand and swept into the Coliseum. The crowd roared around her, cheering as another fight ended. Daria reached the peak of the stairs and spotted the Captain. He was seated next to her sister; drinking wine and laughing with Nero.

"My lady I really do...

"Leave me!" Daria marched her way through the crowd.

The guards around the Emperor's box recognized her and she wasn't stopped. Her sister looked up at her entrance and was startled.

" Daria, I thought you were with father, is he here?"

"No," Daria shifted her gaze to the Captain, "Might I have a word with you Captain?"

"Not now, Daria." Caesar waved a gilded hand, "We are celebrating our guest of honor." He indicated a tall slender man; he stood, his gaze held hers.

The crimson robes he wore were edged in gold; his hands carried golden and ruby rings. He wore the seal of a noble. The sandals on his feet were the finest money could buy. He stood with power and confidence. Any man who could stand that way around the Emperor was a man to watch.

Daria found herself unable to look away from him.

"Daria, why do you carry father's sword?" Her sister's voice trembled slightly.

Tearing her gaze off the stranger, she looked down at her left hand. She gripped her father's sword.

"He was killed, Lucilla." Daria stared at the Captain for a moment, his gaze showed the appropriate amount of shock.

"I will look into this," He said quickly and swept out of the box after bowing to Caesar.

Many days later, Daria found herself attending a party. Again it was in honor of the stranger, who's name she learned was Methos. He was a scholar and a trusted friend of the Emperor. Not much else was known.

Daria held her glass in one hand, watching the room with distant eyes. All the faces were familiar and boring. She had put up with the parade of people who had come to say they were sorry. But they weren't. Her father had been exiled from Rome for his opinions. He was too powerful to be assassinated in the city. That's why the Captain had killed him in the caravan, in the desert. There was no one around to strike back...or that's what he had thought.

Absently Daria brushed her free hand across the hidden blade. The dagger was tied to her hip and there was a slash in her dress that would allow her to reach it. The only problem was the Captain wasn't here. But the stranger and Nero were.

Nero waved her over. Daria pulled in a breath and made her way to him. She knelt on the cushion before the Emperor.

"Great One," She murmured.

"See what I mean Methos, beautiful shoulders."

Daria grit her teeth as she lifted her head. "You are very kind, Majesty."

The Emperor was called across the room by a group of Senators. He left and Methos stepped up to her. His pale, slender hand dropped down. He helped her stand.

Methos was watching her intensely, "Tell me Daria, do you carry your father's beliefs?"

She regarded him coolly. His dark eyes were older then his face. "Why do you ask?"

He shrugged, his shoulders moved gracefully. "I came to Rome to meet your father. I had many questions I wanted to ask him."

Daria never looked away from him. She stepped around to face him fully, "You know where my father's house is?"

He gave a slight nod.

"Be there at dawn." She said simply and left him.

Dawn broke across the city in crimson and orange fire. The great buildings of Rome flared in the fresh light. The streets were flooded by the burning yellow rays. The last of the night's dangers fled as market's slowly began to open.

Daria looked up from the desk; the glow of candles was replaced by sunlight. She heard the shuffle of unfamiliar steps followed by a knock on the door. At her nod, the guard opened the door.

Methos stepped in and bowed his head.

She nodded again and the guard left the room. The door closed behind them with a gentle thud.

"This is a magnificent house," Methos remarked as he crossed the black stone floor. His sandals made the softest sounds.

Daria looked up at him as he stood taller than she. She was over come with an odd sensation, to grab him and kiss him. To tear off his robes and kiss his body. She clenched a fist instead and sat down.

Methos looked down to the desk, "Your father's scrolls."

"I challenge you to read them. My father did not use the Latin here in the city." She watched as he read.

"He speaks of equality, of peace."

She arched a brow in surprise. "That he does. So you can read it."

Methos surprised her by speaking the language. "I have traveled extensively, my lady."

Daria watched him critically, answering him in the same tongue. "You are a scholar but you are also a warrior." He was surprised and she smiled gently. "I am a woman of Rome, Methos. I know a warrior when I see one."

He switched to Latin, "Why did you ask me here?"

Daria grinned at him, "A clever man; that will serve you will here."

"I am not staying in Rome. The man I came to see is dead; there is no need for me to stay."

Her smile faded and she stood swiftly. Her dress from the party swirled as she stepped around the desk. He didn't move and she brushed his body. He was solid muscle. Her hands ached to touch him, instead she pointed a finger at him.

"They tell me you are here as a friend to Caeasar."

Methos grinned and shocked her by grabbing her. His kiss was deep and hungry. The grip he used was strong but not threatening.

He pulled back a fraction; she pulled him back down.

Present day, Paris.

Darcy blinked as the taste of his mouth lingered on her lips. She pulled her hand back, rubbing it.

"Well have a good night." She said stiffly and had to hold the counter to keep standing.

He saluted with his coffee and left.

Somewhere in the street a clock chimed midnight.

She stared at his silloutte on the street until it vanished.

The door locked under her hands and she felt his name on her tongue.

"Methos," The speaking of his name sent tremors down her spine. "I remember you."

The clock chimed eleven as Methos walked with Mac and Joe. They were chatting like old friends do. Joe laughed several times as Mac related a humorous story. Methos listened half-heartedly; his mind was lost in other things. Like the memory of green eyes framed by black silken hair. The cream color skin and the sweet taste of her lips.

His body tingled at the thought of her; it still remembered her touch, her kiss. He had never forgotten her, not in all these centuries.

"Methos?"

He blinked and looked up, Mac was watching him with curiosity. "Yes?"

"You just muttered something, it sounded like another language."

Mehtos shrugged, "Old age, I guess."

Mac grinned at him, "Sure."

They neared a familiar corner; Methos paused as he recalled the café. He'd been here last night. Mac helped Joe cross the slick stones as they walked up to the business. Methos followed. Part of him longed to see if she was here. Another part of him wanted to run.

The café was nearly empty at the early hour; Mac chose a table near the door. Methos paused, looking carefully at the staff. She wasn't here. His emotions were mixed as he sat next to the Highlander.

A pretty blonde came over and asked for their order. As she left, Methos felt a shiver go up his back. He turned and felt his heart skip a beat. There she was!

Darcy paused as she entered work; she wasn't on today, but her pay was waiting. Lifting a hand to brush back her wet black hair, she smiled at her co-workers. Making her way over, she was keenly aware of the limp on her left side. The pain was still there after all these years.

"Hi, I didn't know you worked today."

"I don't, but I do get paid."

The girl smiled as she disappeared into the back. A moment later she came back with a sealed envelope. "How was it last night?"

"Dead, we had a handful of people after nine." Darcy nodded at the other two.

"Do you want iced coffee?"

"I'd love it, but its needs to be go to."

"Sure,"

Darcy rubbed her eyes absently, another sleepless night. Seeing Methos had made it impossible for her to rest. For some reason meeting him last night; had stirred other past memories, a large majority held him.

"Here you go, have a good day."

Darcy turned and someone waved at her across the room. She returned it and moved to go.

The sudden flood of customers made her have to detour. Unfortunately she didn't see the shopping bags until she was tripping over them. She saw the floor rushing up when strong hands grabbed her upper arms.

She was saved but her drink wasn't; she watched it spill down the beige front of a tall man. Looking up her breath caught in surprise.

"Hello," he said gently.

Darcy was speechless for an instant. Methos was staring at her from inches away; his hands held her and she felt weak kneed.

"Darcy?"

She jumped and looked at the concerned face of her co-workers. "I'm fine." She pulled away from Methos. "I just tripped."

"Are you sure?"

Darcy nodded, "Yes."

Methos was watching her, he still hadn't moved.

Darcy ran her fingers through her hair and looked down at his table. A large man was standing now, he looked back and forth between them. There was an older man he nodded to her. Darcy noticed the cane he had discreetly rested against the table.

"Well, thanks for saving me." She said lightly and moved to go. She caught the motion and felt his hand touch her arm.

He looked at his hand as if it were foreign to him. Reluctantly he released her and Darcy left the café.

Methos stared at his hand and turned quickly. He ran out the door and stepped into her path.
"Tell me your name,"

Darcy was startled at the desperate tone. "What?"

"Please, tell me your name." His eyes were bright with energy as he stared at her. "Tell me your name."

"Darcy." She muttered and watched his face.

"Darcy..." He whispered it slowly, as if savoring it.

"And you're Methos."

He flinched slightly and stepped back, "How do you..."

"I remember you from Rome, and from Egypt. I was there when you rode with Alexander."

Methos watched her, "You remember that?"

"Perfectly," She looked up at him, "You haven't changed a bit."

"Neither have you." His gaze slid down her body.

Darcy laughed softly, "I don't know about that. What should we do about this?"

Methos was amused at her relaxed attitude. "I want to talk to you. But not now," He reached into his coat pocket and drew out a little black book. Quickly he wrote something down and handed it to her.

Darcy took the slip of paper; the writing was in hieroglyphs. It took a moment but she finally understood them. "Seven it is."

Methos smiled gently, "I look forward to it." He stepped around her and headed back to the café.

Darcy turned and called after him, "You know how this will end up, right?"

Methos turned to her but kept walking, "Perfectly."

Darcy finally gave up on her hair; she went with leaving it in a braid. Her dress was a simple black number. It wasn't fancy or even remotely sexy in her opinion; but it was comfortable. She added a long black coat and left her apartment.

Methos paced the exterior of the restaurant. He kept smoothing a hand down his shirt front; he would look up and down the street, then pace again. As he rounded to start another routine, a taxi cab pulled to a stop. He reached for the door and opened it with hope.

He grinned at the woman who stepped out. She was radiant.

"Good evening Darcy,"

"Methos." She looked him over before accepting the arm he offered. "You look nice."

"Thank you."

Methos held the door aside, allowing her to enter first.

A table was open near the window. He took her jacket; his breath caught at the sight of her bare shoulders. The dress sat off the shoulder allowing a clear view of her back.

His memory was flooded suddenly; his skin burned with the sensory memory of her body.

Methos swallowed tightly, hanging up her coat on a near by stand. He left his own coat there as well. As he sat across from her, he was hit with another memory.

332 .B.C. (approx) Camp of Alexander the Great

Great bonfires roared against the chill of night; the stars flared in the deep blue sky above.

The camp was noisy with celebration at their latest victory over King Darius III. A great tent sat near the middle of the camp. Many shadows threw themselves against the material walls. The soldiers that were able sang and laughed at tables laden with food. Music was performed by slaves and there was some drunken dancing.

The great leader, Alexander sat in his chair. He was smiling and laughing at the displays. He leaned to his left and turned his head. The brilliance of his blue eyes was emphasized by the glow of firelight.

"Methos, my friend, you look upset." The king placed a hand on his shoulder. "Don't tell me you are longing for that girl already."

Methos grinned at the king, "Majesty you know me well."

Alexander waved him off, "Go then, waste yourself."

Methos placed a light hand on the muscled arm, "Women are never a waste, my friend."

The King snorted, "So says you."

Methos didn't stay any longer. He left the tent.

The ground was warm after the scorching heat of the day. Methos crossed to his tent; swiping the cloth back he paused.

The girl was dressed in a simple dress, it was held in place by a decisive fold of cloth. She knelt at the edge of the furs that made a bed. Her head turned as if expecting him. The glistening black of her hair slid around her shoulders and back. In the reflective glow of the bonfires, her green eyes were otherworldly.

She stood at his entrance.

Methos let the drape slide back. He didn't speak as he touched her shoulders. Her skin was warm; his hands were hungry to feel more. The dress fell silently to the floor and she stepped into his arms. There was no fear between them. No hesitation.

Methos jolted awake at a scream. "Maya?"

He pulled the drape aside and saw the source of the scream. Maya was being yanked around by soldiers. She tried to fight but they hit her to the ground. Methos swept out of his tent.

The soldier was run through as he reached for the girl.

There was a moment of stunned surprise, two more men fell dead. Methos stepped in front of Maya, wielding his bloody sword. None of the men moved.

Methos felt the presence of Alexander as the King marched from his tent. Five men followed him, "What is this?!"

"I am sorry Alexander," Methos said gently, "They were going to kill her."

Alexander looked down at Maya, "She is..." He paused and turned to the men, "What have I told you?" His voice carried across the camp, "What have I said about my friend?"

One of Alexander's followers spoke up, "That we were not to interfere with his business."

"And does that not include his women?" Alexander spun on the man who had spoken. "See to it that the men who had a hand in this are punished." He waved a hand and the men cleared away slowly. The five men rounded up those that were clearly involved.

Alexander turned to Methos, "You know, my old friend, there was no need to kill them."

Methos lowered his sword, "I don't question you about your actions."

Alexander smiled suddenly, "That girl must be something if you will kill for her." He looked again at Maya, "What is your name?"

"Maya," She replied. Alexander arched a brow, casting a look to Methos.

"The youngest daughter of King Darius," Alexander laughed, "Methos, I hope to have your charm eventually."

Methos blinked the memory away and stared into the modern face of his lover. Darcy was studying the menu closely.

"You'd think I'd know French. I can read and write Hieroglyphs but put French before me and it's hopeless."

Methos smiled gently, "You haven't changed."

Darcy looked up at him, "I think you said that once already. You looked distant a moment ago, where were you?"

"Alexander's camp, just after Issus."

"The night he met me for the first time," Darcy nodded slowly, "I remember. He was a very good looking man."

Methos shrugged, "He had his moments."

Darcy laughed, "Is it true that he's like you...Immortal?"

Methos looked into her eyes, "You think I'll tell you?"

She shrugged; it was a motion that looked like his. "I was hoping you would."

Thankfully the server appeared at their table; when he left Darcy was already on a different topic of conversation.

"It's really strange that I would meet you in Paris." She muttered. "I mean I came to Paris to get away from men."

Methos sipped his wine as she spoke. "What made you leave?"

Darcy sighed, "Aside from getting shot by my ex-boyfriend? Not much. I just needed to get away from the pressure of my life."

Methos was surprised at the reaction inside of him when she mentioned getting shot. It was a feeling he'd thought long gone. It was the urge to protect her.

"How long have you been here?" He asked lightly.

"Almost two years." Darcy looked across the restaurant. Her eyes lit up suddenly, "Do you play the ivories?"

Methos looked across and saw the vacant piano. "Can you sing?"

"Yes. That's what I used to do." She stood and crossed the floor. She spoke quickly with the manager and he nodded.

Methos sat at the piano. For a moment he stared at the smooth white keys. He looked up at her and again his breath caught. She turned and smiled at him.

"What will it be?" He asked.
"They can't that away from me, by ol' blue-eyes."

Methos played the opening chords to the famous Frank Sinatra song. He looked up as Darcy's voice filled the restaurant. The patrons turned to the music and listened attentively.

She could still sing. Her voice carried perfectly and she filled the floor with her presence. Methos remembered seeing her in a night club in the 1920's. They hadn't met that time, but he'd seen her. It was hard not to. She had a glow to her when performing. It was as if the light of the stage came straight from her. Not to mention having a sultry, sexy voice that could make men fall to the floor crying.

Tonight was no different. She held power when singing, her words became real emotion, the song lived through her.

Methos finished the last chord and the restaurant erupted into applause. Shouts for more came and they obliged.

Because of their performance, their meal was free and they were invited back anytime.

Methos held her arm as they left; the night had given way to early dawn. The air was chilled and they walked quickly. Without thinking it, Methos went to his apartment. It wasn't until they were standing in his living room, that he realized the surroundings.

Darcy was looking around at the furnishings with polite interest. Methos watched her. She still moved like the nobility she had been in many of her lives. The limp on her left side added a touch of realism to the whole thing.

Darcy turned as his presence, her breath caught at his touch across her shoulders. It was so familiar, so welcome. Her hands went to his shoulders and the kiss was deep. Darcy felt her soul blossom with love, light and joy. The touch of his hands on her back intensified the waves within her.

Methos pulled back slightly. He stared into blazing green eyes, eyes that he had seen for thousands of years. They had remained loving and passionate towards him, which was still true. He kissed her again; it wasn't just a kiss, it was pure passion.

Methos was yanked from sleep by the feeling of an Immortal nearby. He lifted his head and looked down at Darcy. She was deeply asleep in the circle of his arms. A sudden knock came followed by shouting, it was Amanda.

Darcy stirred, "Wh..."

"Shhh, it's a friend."

Methos crawled out of bed and shrugged on a nearby robe. Grabbing his sword on the way. He was tying the sash as he opened the door. Amanda stood there; dressed in her usual fine attire, only she looked worried. Not the most usual expression for her.

"What?" He demanded, not letting her in.

"What is with you?" She snapped. Her eyes slid up and then down, she peeked slightly around him. She couldn't see anything. "Have you got company?"

"Amanda, it's early, what do you want?" His tone was short.

"Oh fine, Joe was kidnapped late last night. Duncan is beside himself. We need to help him find the guy."

Methos sighed, "Where can I meet you?"

Amanda crossed her arms, "There is someone here. You've never been so anxious to help me before."

"Good bye," Methos moved to close the door.

"Alright, alright!" Amanda said quickly, "Meet me at Duncan's."

Methos shut the door and headed back to bed. Darcy was still asleep, he crawled in beside her laying the sword on the floor. She cuddled up to his warmth and he held her.

"Who was it?" She murmured.

"A friend, I'll have to go out later."

"Hmmm, I have to work at three."

Methos kissed her neck, she giggled, "I'll walk you."

"I'm sure you will." She laughed sleepily as he kissed lower.

As they neared work Methos paused, he stared at her. "Darcy, we've known each other for almost three thousand years."

Darcy nodded, "On and off."

Methos felt the words spill out quickly, "What happened to you?"

Darcy dropped her eyes, "Why?"

"Because I have no memory of why we ended, but I know we did." Methos cupped her face and lifted her chin. "Tell me what happened."

She drew in a deep breath, "I'm always killed by a rival."

Methos drew in a sharp breath, he hadn't been expecting that. "Darcy, are you willing to give this a shot?"

"Give what a shot? You and me?"

He nodded. "For some reason we are always meeting one another. We've been lovers for thousands of years. I've always loved you and I still do."
She stared at him, her green eyes bright with unshed tears. "What?"

"I love you." He said quietly, "That's not something I tell every girl."

She laughed gently as tears spilled down her cheeks. "And?"

"Stay with me. Let's see where this thing can go. This is the twenty-first century, things could be different now."

"Besides, I've already been shot." She mused as her tears dried. "Are you sure about this?"

"I wouldn't be asking it I wasn't."
She nodded, "True," For a moment she studied the ground, than looked up at him. "Alright, we can try."

END OF CHAPTER ONE