Disclaimer: I own nothing and no one

Well, made my decision about the next story obviously

Was leaning towards "The Evil that Men Do" at first

But I've done a lot of writing in the DC/MK Fandom lately

Time to take a short break. Don't want to burn myself out.

That is what happened when I finished the Saga of Hiraku Kazama

Those of you who follow my plunnie corral will notice this isn't the original idea

Did some thinking and decided that this one should be written as the prequel

Will write the modern day one under the title of "And Carry A Big Stick."

Until that happens though, hope you like this

My brain really does need an off switch

Speak Softly: Chapter One

A string of vicious curses, passing through a slew of obscure, and in some cases extinct languages escaped the lone traveler's lips. The ground rolled beneath his feet, causing him to stumble. Another might have thought it was an earthquake. However, Peter Helm, formerly known as Ben Adams, likewise known as Daniel Peirce, Alexandro Vargo, Jacques de la Ponce. Well, you get the picture. For simplicities sake, let's just refer to him as Methos.

Whatever his name, it was fair to say the ancient immortal had been around the block a few times. He knew the difference between a natural Earth tremor and one caused by an explosion. He had witnessed both phenomenon many times. Too many, to be honest.

Thus Methos was unsurprised to see the dark plume of smoke, rising in the distance. Dusting himself off, he retrieved his pack from where it had fallen, slinging it back over his shoulder. Oh well, whatever was going on, it wasn't any business of his. He didn't want it to be either.

The immortal had only made it a few steps when he paused, sneaking a look back at the sight. His mind flashing backwards in time to the one and only person he had seen today. This area was not well traveled, one of the reason's he had chosen the route he had. Methos was fairly certain the headhunter who caused his abrupt exit from the America's hadn't followed him. Still, there was no reason to take chances. He had gone out of his way not to leave witnesses behind him.

Truth be told, Methos had been surprised to see anyone on this path at all. It barely even qualified as a trail. A few more years and it would probably be swallowed back up by the wilderness. The man had been tall. Slender with sharp features and a pair of piercing amber eyes. He had also been pre-immortal. Had been being the operative words.

Groaning, the traveler turned back the other way. Walking towards the sight of the explosion. In spite of Methos' best efforts to portray himself as a heartless bastard, there were certain lines he did not cross (not as long as there was another option anyway). Hey, he was a survivor, and the oldest living immortal wasn't about to apologize for that.

Getting back on topic, on that list of dos and don'ts was a section devoted to leaving clueless young immortals to their own devices. All sorts of nasty things could happen. Nasty for him as well. He still remembered that young idiot who had tried to set himself up as a god. Needless to say, it hadn't ended well.

It had been a couple of centuries since Methos had last had a student, so perhaps he was due. Granted, there was no guarantee the other had been in the building when it blew, but he wasn't about to hold his breath. Optimism not being something that came naturally to the five thousand year old man. There was no guarantee the man hadn't been either.

His private opinion of the matter did not change when he reached the still smoking ruin. The brunette looked right, then left. No one, and given the pre-immortal had been wearing a police officer's uniform, there was really only one place he could be. Under that mess.

Once again, Methos dropped his pack. This time on purpose. He was not especially found of manual labor. There were far more intelligent ways to make a living. But, the immortal knew from personal experience just how unpleasant being buried alive could be. Though that knowledge didn't stop the immortal from complaining bitterly about the situation as he reached down to shift the first stone.

Several hours later the ancient was tired, sweating, and somewhat peeved. Was it too much to ask for the object of his search to be under the first pile of rubble? Or even the second? "This would be so much easier," he snarled to himself. "If I could sense him."

Unfortunately being temporarily dead was the sole way for one immortal to hide from the senses of another. Ramirez had been of the opinion it was a survival trait. A built in safeguard to protect their bodies while they were helpless. Whatever the reason, it was a pain.

Methos was on the verge of giving into temptation and just waiting for the buzz when he uncovered one blue clad leg. "Finally," he said, knocking the board aside. Quickly, the immortal uncovered the rest of his prospective student, taking little care. The man was dead after all, at least for now. Only to receive another surprise.

There were two bodies. The pair laid close together, practically in each others' arms. A wealth of red hair cascading from the smaller man's scalp to spread over his companion's chest. Both figures' eyes were glazed over. A silent testament that neither had flinched as they met their fate.

Considering the method of their deaths, the bodies were in relatively good condition. A brief survey of the area showed why. They had tried to shield each other. Several beams having been cut straight through before the building collapsed. If circumstances had been more favorable, they might have managed it.

This told Methos two things about his new charge. One, that the wolf-eyed man was more than passably familiar with a sword. And two, that he wasn't a quitter. No matter how long the odds. Two things that would stand the other in good steed over the course of his new life.

It occurred to the ancient at this point that he should move the body. Before someone else happened along. Someone mortal. The smoke from the explosion had to be visible miles away. It was inevitable that an investigation of some sort would ensue.

Methos was just about to do so when he jumped back with a startled oath. Nearly tripping over his own two feet. Eyes wide as two disparate buzzes rang in his metaphorical ears.

The two men inhaled simultaneously, chests rising and falling in unison. Meanwhile, Methos just stared. Really, what were the odds? Soon enough though, a wry grin crossed his features. "Another man," he said dryly. "Would ask what they did to deserve this." As for him, well, he already knew.

SSSSSSSSSSSSSS

Well that is one chapter complete

Have the rest of the story outlined

More or less at least

We'll just have to see how things go