Disclaimer: I don't own anything even remotely related to the TV show Highlander. This has been purely written out of fan-appreciation and because the episodes centered around the Four Horsemen have always intrigued me. Liz Gilbert is a creation of mine, other than that I've been thoroughly uninventive concerning the characters. Methos, McLeod, Joe, Cassandra, Kronos - they all belong to Mr Davis and Mr Panzer who I'd like to kindly ask not to sue me.
He walked down the dark alley and she followed at a respectful distance, always clinging to the shadows. Once upon a time she had been quite good at this whole cloak and dagger stuff. Once upon a time, now she still was good at it, but she sort of lacked the practice. There had been a couple of close calls and this seemed to be another one of them.
He paused for a moment. She detected a certain tension in his shoulders, which indicated that he thought about turning around. Liz clasped her hand over her mouth, suppressing a gasp and took a few cautious steps back. Her back pressed against the cold brick wall to her left. The stone was wet and cold. The wetness soaked through the fabric of her coat and let her shiver, but she held her breath, because now his head pointed in her direction. She didn't dare make a sound.
There was hardly anything she didn't believe Methos capable of. For a few seconds she even entertained the grotesque thought he had night vision and saw her lurking there in the dark. But luckily except for his immortality he didn't seem to have any other supernatural abilities. After a second he turned around and started walking again. Only after a couple of moments had passed, she dared to let out a long drawn stifling exhale and finally continued following him again.
She didn't have a lot of experience tailing another Immortal. Well, to be honest she had sometimes sneaked after Amanda in their time together. But she had only done it because her friend was anything other than the epitome of trustworthiness. Anyway, keeping a distance of about 20 meters from her target proved hard at times, especially with one individual as aware of everything and anything as Methos. If she got too close he would notice her, if she let him skip ahead too far she would end up losing him. With his constant alertness, he made things difficult for her. She shouldn't have been surprised by his behaviour, after all she knew him long enough to be acquainted with that particular trait of his character.
Perhaps he had a right to be suspicious, she was after all spying on him, but just because her gut told her something was wrong. What made that impression even stronger was the particularly shifty behaviour he had displayed in the last couple of days. He had ever so often been absent-minded and at times prickly to the point of losing his temper whenever she had dared to tease him. Now one needed to know that teasing presented a quintessential ingredient to their relationship. One thing they both seemed to agree on was that the world was a too serious place anyway. So why take everything, including themselves so goddamn serious? Needless to say that his change of attitude, which had expressed itself in number of tantrums, had shocked her. He had said 'sorry' every time afterward, but that just didn't cut it. Her world had become off kilter and he couldn't just fixed that with a simple 'I'm sorry'. She would have liked it much better if he had just told her what was going on. Instead he had kept his mouth shut and his problem to himself. So in the end he had forced her hand. Yes, he had forced her to do this.
She followed him down another alley as he wandered deeper and deeper into the dodgy part of Seacouver. And his presence here already confirmed part of her suspicions – he was up to no good. The knot in her stomach tightened a little more. It had been there for the last couple of days and now with each minute her disappointment and dejection increased and weighed a little heavier on her heart. A constant nauseous took a hold of her and it intensified when she ducked behind a dust bin at the end of the alley to watch him make his way to some deserted factory building that lay ahead of them. It looked intimidating the way it loomed ahead in the darkness. Its smashed windows stared at her like gaping black holes, the huge chimneys on top resembled the stretched out fingers of a hand, ready to drag someone down. She reached underneath her coat, searching with a shacking hand for her rapier. Touching its leather bound hilt reassured her the tiniest bit and she closed her eyes for a second, trying to calm herself.
She knew, if she tried really hard, she should be able to detach herself from her emotions. It wasn't that difficult. Close the lid, shove them back to where they belong. She would repress them for a couple of minutes and once she found herself in a safer environment she would invite them back in. Yes, that should do the trick. Again she pressed her eyes shut and took in a few calming breaths to focus herself. She couldn't afford losing any more time, because Methos was already making his way towards the entrance of that decrepit, run down building. Once she lost sight of him everything would be over. She wouldn't allow that to happen. So she followed behind quickly, her movements a soft rustle of fabric in the shadow, nothing more. Her feet were almost soundless thanks to those rubber soled sneakers she wore.
"Balance Power Plant" a rusty old sign read that was hanging in an odd angle from the cyclone fence that had once warded off unwanted intruders. Now it wouldn't hold off anyone anymore as cut up as it was in several places and with the huge padlock that had before sealed the gate shut lying in the dust. Right next to it were some heavy chains, all brown and weathered, coiled up like a snake.
She saw him enter the place after he had experienced a moment of hesitation. Good, at least he wasn't that sure about whatever shifty thing he was doing. By now it had become clear that he wasn't planning something as charming and harmless as a birthday surprise for her. In fact Liz prepared for the worst.
Now that he had entered the building, he had effectively left her her sight. Under no circumstances was she to lose sight of him permanently. If that happened, the last half an hour would have been a complete waste of time. But that wasn't the worst of it. She could unwittingly give herself away. And that would without a doubt be the case if he stopped walking again now. Imminent detection would be upon her and of course also his wrath. Unfortunately being detected wasn't quite as easily avoided as Immortals came equipped with their own little proximity warning system. For once she cursed her own immortality that would forever make her unable to sneak up on other Immortals as easily as on Mortals.
With bated breath she approached the door that, big surprise there, was also rather rusty and had seen better days. Liz scurried inside and hid behind a huge container right next to the entrance. She allowed her eyes only a brief second to adapt to the new level of darkness inside the building. Emergency lighting illuminated the abandoned power plant. Some dim lights bathed the place in a strange, sort of creepy bluish hue. She strained her ears and detected the distinct echo of footsteps on metal grates. She risked a glance and saw Methos climb up to the upper levels of the power plant, walking down gangways and climbing up several flights of stairs. He was heading towards some kind of ladder that led up to... well, somewhere. Somewhere he needed to get to quite urgently. Without any warning he turned again, his head whipping to the left and the right, almost like a foxhound on the hunt or some other creature trying to sniff out its prey. She barely had the time to dive back into cover. She tried to calm her racing heart, praying silently she hadn't blown her cover. Yes, praying to whatever god inclined to listen to a person like her that hardly believed in a higher power and had lived a life which would be called depraved and sinful by any devout man.
When finally she decided to sneak a glance around the corner of the container that served her as a hiding place, she saw him climb up the ladder. Shortly after Liz set into motion again and hurried to get to the bottom of the ladder. From there she intended to overhear whatever secret meeting was about to take place over her head. At this point she was ready to hope it would turn out to be another woman, because it seemed to her the most harmless scenario.
Of course she had no such luck. The talk she overheard, cowering at the bottom of the ladder Methos had ascended mere minutes ago, positively let her blood run cold. It consisted of threats and not only that. Methos came pretty close to losing his head judging by the bustle and commotion she overheard. At this point it cost her immense willpower not to interfere. She had to trust in his ability to survive. And even though right now she didn't trust in much concerning him anymore, this she was sure of. He would somehow manage to survive this. So she waited, her muscles so tense they ached. The situation overhead seem to calm down somewhat. But the words "calm down" in themselves were ironic, considering the current conversation topic of two men.
As she waited, she overheard a story of ancient horrors and of the Four Horsemen. A tale that let chills run down her spine and nausea rise inside her stomach. A taunting, unfamiliar voice described Methos' blood drenched past not with horror, as a sane person would do, but with something akin to nostalgia. The account of his many terrible deeds dating back to his past as a Horseman suddenly seemed very real, very tangible. Probably because the person who talked about this long gone past, had actually been there. The way the other man called Methos 'brother', let her suspect as much. The gruesome story created pictures before her mind's eye. She thought she almost heard the screams of the people he... they, the Horseman, had slaughtered. She gulped heavily, suppressing an onslaught of what exactly? Disappointment? Grief?
She didn't have enough time to process what she felt, even despite the fact that she had sworn herself not to let anything get to her. She heard Methos claim that he had changed, pleading with his conversation partner to understand that he had overcome his violent past. Oh, how she wanted to believe that! But in the end the other one, a man with a voice that was pleading, threatening, seducing, but also instilling fear, backed him in a corner figuratively speaking, perhaps even literally speaking.
They mentioned the name of a woman. A certain Cassandra. Obviously that woman wanted Methos dead. They seemed to go a long way back. Nevertheless she had never heard that name, but then another name followed, one she knew quite well. McLeod. Her eyes narrowed. Of course it all came down to this one name. McLeod. Always McLeod. The eye of every storm. At the center of every catastrophe.
Methos was supposed to kill him and the other man promised to kill that Cassandra person in exchange. Was that supposed to be a favour? Probably. At any rate this Cassandra seemed to play an important role in this whole muddled up, messy situation. What was that woman to Methos anyway? A former lover? A wife even? She would wreck her brains about that later because right now those thoughts seemed to be a bit too dangerous to pursue further. Again they scratched at the thin wall behind which she had sealed away the confusing, overwhelming mass she nowadays called her emotions. She couldn't afford emotions right now, so she pushed those thoughts away.
"Kill McLeod!" the voice above her head sneered again and again at Methos who seemed to be not too keen on that proposal. He refused, calling McLeod his friend, either trying to be brave or stupid. Momentarily she couldn't decide which on. Of course it was the right thing to say, seen from a moral point of view. But she wished he hadn't. After all, despite of how disappointed she was in him right now, she still wanted him to survive. The other voice grew louder and more threatening. It insisted that he swore an oath to kill McLeod. She waited for the dices to stop rolling and fall. It did. Methos' whispered a somewhat hoarse, "I swear", which signaled her that the conversation was over. It made her leave, or to be more precise, actually flee from the abandoned power plant as if the devil himself chased her.
Liz ran and ran, until her sides ached, until her breath came out as gasps. She finally stopped, unsure where she had ended up. The streets looked unfamiliar, but at least this part of town filled with people, so she must have put quite a distance between herself and that abandoned power plant. People. The last thing she needed right now when she knew herself to be seconds away from having an emotional meltdown. Strong emotions could only be suppressed for a certain time. After that all bets were off.
She battled against the rising and rather overpowering sadness that flared awake inside of her. There were two options right now. Let it happen, let it all pour out or channel it into anger. But anger needed energy and she felt drained. So it was going to be sorrow. She took a few more steps, then slumped down on the steps that led up to the entry of some unfamiliar house with a sigh. Today she felt those one hundred plus years in her bones.
The house looked well kept, geraniums decorated the window sills, curtains shielded the inside of the house from curious glances. But she didn't lose any more thoughts on the house. Some liquid ran down her cheek. Gingerly she touched her fingertips to it. She was crying without making a sound. Angry with herself, she tried to blink those tears away. She hadn't cried over anything or anybody in a good long while. All because of him. Because she bloody cared for him and now that he had managed to get himself in danger she couldn't help but worry. No, scratch that. Worry would have been putting it mildly. She was terrified.
When it came to him, one needn't lose any sleep over the question of whether he could hold his own in a dangerous situation. Methos embodied all those qualities of a survivor. People sometimes quipped about who would be the last living things on the planet after a nuclear catastrophe. Some bet their money on cockroaches and Cher. Personally she agreed with 50 % of the statement. Her version was cockroaches and Methos.
While his chances of survival didn't have her worried, though it did play a rather huge role in her thoughts, she was more concerned with what he was willing to do in order to survive. For this reason alone she spilled tears she hadn't cried in what may well have been years. A sob strangled her windpipes and she buried her head between her knees, trying to take some calming breaths.
McLeod was his friend. Would he be able to kill him? Would he do it if his options were shrinking down to two alternatives: Him or his friend? She couldn't answer that question and it terrified her. The thought what he would allow himself to become in order to survive was even more terrifying.
What she had heard back there about the Four Horsemen, now that was something even someone like her had some trouble digesting. She was a liar, a fraud. In her time she had used sex as a weapon. She had used it to silence the voice of protest, to make money, to gain an advantage. Hell, she had stolen and conned her way through Europe with Amanda for the better part of the Victorian Age... As a consequence she couldn't afford to be all uppity and point the moral finger. But then again she had never murdered someone in cold blood. Injustice especially towards children and women appalled her, because it struck a nerve.
The Horsemen had killed women and children. And Methos had been one of them. She had known about his past, about the darkness that lurked in it. But never could she have imagined, it would be that pitch black. It made her reevaluate her attitude towards him, everything they shared and still she came out of those reflections with a devastating realization. She was stupid. Oh, so utterly stupid! She still loved him. Despite everything. Despite her better knowledge. Her love for him bore a terrifying resemblance to a chronic disease. Being an Immortal she had never been sick, but that was like she imagined it. Her emotions for him debilitated her. They made her too weak to just shake her head, stand up, say "no more" and proudly walk away. No, she would stay. She would get involved in this mess. Oh, how she hated him for that!
But how could she walk away now when this other man's presence posed a constant threat to his life? Join me or die. Those were Methos' choices and she knew how he hated to have his choices narrowed down to the miniscule number of two. Of course he would choose life. But what did that mean?
Evolution theory. Natural selection. Survival of the fittest. Despite her tears she smirked to herself, though that smirk had a rather bitter quality to it. In a hostile environment only those who were ruthless enough, who were cold enough would survive. Methos had without a doubt the ability to be ruthless and cold, but those were not two of his qualities she appreciated too much. Over all those months she had gotten to know him, she had quite naively entertained the thought that sometimes she saw behind his carefully crafted facade of deception and ambiguity. But now doubts formed in her mind concerning this ability. Maybe it had all been a terrible misunderstanding, maybe he had only let her believe what she wanted to believe. Of course that would have been a smart thing to do.
Had she fallen for a decoy? She felt ashamed. She should have been smarter than that. But then again she wasn't the only one willing to fall for an illusion. A lot of people did on a regular basis. There were whole trades based on that concept and it worked out fine for them. Stage magicians, politicians, actors... They distract their audience with flashy costumes and dramatic hand gestures while they deceive them. The audience only sees what it wants to see. Or to be more precise, what the illusionist wants them to see. Had he done the same to her? She wanted to believe so much that it wasn't the case. She wanted to. She needed to. If she didn't, what else was she to believe in?
She wiped the tears from her face with the back of her hand and got up. She had no time to be sitting around, moping in self-pity. There were places she had to be. People she had to talk to, now that she had a vague idea what was going on with Methos. She needed to find out more about that Cassandra person and more importantly she needed to talk to McLeod.
Joe Dawson was Methos' friend. He was a Mortal and a Watcher and she trusted him. Actually she had trusted him from the first moment she met him, which was a strange thing for her because she didn't trust other people easily. But what surprised her even more was that it had happened despite the fact that she knew he belonged to a secret society that monitored Immortals' activities and lives in general.
There was something about him that instantly inspired trust. He did vaguely remind her of her father. Also he didn't jump to conclusions or point his finger in accusation too quickly. Which was refreshing, considering that McLeod, though she considered him very likeable character, tended to quickly get morally all-uppity with other people.
That was probably why she sought out Joe first and not McLeod. The Scotsman often came across as too opinionated for her taste and she didn't possess the energy to deal with that right now. No, Joe presented a safer bet. She just hoped that she would be able to catch him alone.
When she climbed down the stairs to his bar, she found the place deserted. The lights were on and the stereo was playing soft blues music. She stepped closer to the counter and climbed on a stool to throw a look over it. There were wet glasses standing next to the sink that needed drying and the kitchen towel that could have been used to do that was lying next to them. So Joe was there, she concluded, but something more important than drying glasses had him otherwise occupied. Perhaps he was digging through his Watcher files. What if McLeod had been there earlier, urging Joe to do so?
She looked around some more. There was a curtain behind the bar which probably let to a storage room, all the chairs and were turned upside down and positioned on top of the tables. The bar was so empty now, it almost seemed ghostly.
"Joe," she called out to the empty room. No response. She got behind the counter and switched off the stereo. "Joe!" her voice boomed through the empty bar. The place had a very good acoustic. Again she waited for a response. She was seconds away from starting to worry when suddenly he emerged from behind the curtain next to her, making her jump in fright because of his unexpected appearance.
"Joe," she breathed, covering her chest with her right hand underneath which she felt her heart beating quite frantically.
"Liz," he acknowledged her presence with a smile that looked somewhat halfhearted, even exhausted. She could immediately tell something was up. McLeod had beaten her here. Her demeanor immediately changed. She instantly became more guarded and reserved. He knew. Of course not the whole extent of today's events, but enough. At least he knew enough to watch her with an air of pity and curiosity.
She decided not to lead with the fact that she was aware that McLeod had dropped by earlier. It would harden the fronts and make it more difficult for her to get the information she needed. Joe's voice ripped her out of her thoughts.
"You look terrible," he observed. True, it was kind of hard to miss the purplish shadows under her eyes that stemmed from a lack of sleep and her pale skin. What made those features perhaps even more noticeable was the absence of makeup on her face. She always wore makeup.
She flashed him a fake grin, unwilling to let him know that she probably felt as terrible as she looked. "Gee, Joe, you sure know how to flatter a girl..."
"You're worried because of him, right?" he asked, ignoring her quip which presented a feeble attempt at normalcy at best anyway. "So you've heard about what happened at McLeod's..."
His statement got her curious. She inclined her head a little to the left, trying to make up her mind about the fact whether his last sentence had been a question or a statement. "No, what happened at McLeod's?" she finally asked, deciding against lying to him in order to coax the information out of him. Right now she was too tired for lying anyway, especially lying to someone she liked. There were other ways of getting what she wanted.
She saw the surprise on Joe's face. Then a pensive frown replaced the look of surprise. It seemed like he was trying to figure out whether he should give into the urge to tell her what had happened or keep his mouth shut about it. "Joe...," she repeated his name in an imploring tone of voice. His eyes focused on her face inevitably." I need to know."
"It's not that easy, kiddo," he sighed. She resisted the urge to point out to him that she was anything other than a kid, in fact she had nearly 200 years under her belt. Definitely not a kid. Nearly four times his age.
"Believe me. I know. When was the last time anything was easy? Right about never, I suppose," she ran her hand over her hair, trying to smooth down those tendrils that had escaped her smooth ponytail in the last couple of hours.
"Look, all we have is suspicions. They might not even be true. Who knows..."
"But those suspicions regard him, don't they? So I have a right to know," she interrupted him. Her voice came out low and seemingly soft, but especially in her last sentence the underlying edge in it broke through.
He looked at her long and hard. His hand gripped his cane a little tighter. So tight in fact his knuckles turned white. She noticed all those things and decided to take pity on him. After all she didn't need to make this more difficult for him.
"Why are you hesitating?" she took a step closer regarding him with narrowed eyes. "Is it that you're not sure how to tell me? Or are you asking yourself how much I already know? There's a way around it, Joe," she threw him a reassuring smile. "Drop me a hint. If I pick up on it, then I know. If not, no harm done."
The expression on his face actually relaxed a tiny bit thanks to her words. Obviously he was actually considering her proposal. "Horse," he said finally.
That innocent, single word out of Joe's mouth hit her like a bucket of ice water. Of course. Pandora's box was open. Now she understood Methos' preoccupation, the fact that he had been so lost in thought the last couple of days. His dirty little secret had been revealed. The one he had never wanted to tell his friends. Especially not McLeod and Joe.
Duncan was loyal to his friends. He had high moral standards and lived by a code of honor. He lived in a world divided up in heroes and villains. How was Methos supposed to fit into that world, if a person as morally ambiguous as her had already given McLeod pause? He didn't have the same arguments going for him as Amanda. Also there was a considerable difference between mass murder and thievery. So in the end the question was not too hard to answer and it nearly caused her to panic. She needed to talk to McLeod to do some damage control. Soon.
Apparently Joe had seen the look of shock on her face. For once the capacity to mask her true emotions seemed to have eluded her. "Are you alright?" he touched her arm in a gesture of concern and reassurance.
She shook her head. "No," Liz said quietly. Her normal answer would have been that she was always alright, but this time it seemed unlikely anyone would buy that lie, especially not Joe. "Don't bother lying if it's not convincing" was one of her rules. She might as well go all the way now.
"Actually, Joe, I'm so far from alright, it's not even funny anymore," she smiled a sad smile. Her voice sounded thin and her eyes were shining, that was probably why Joe saw it fit to pull her into a hug. He smelled of Old Spice, fabric softener and cigar smoke – not an unpleasant smell. She let the hug happen, though under normal circumstances she wouldn't have allowed such an invasion of her personal space, which seemed quite silly now, because it made her feel even the slightest, most minuscule bit better.
"Thank you," she said almost shyly after he had let go of her.
"Don't make a big deal out of it," he smiled at her gruffly. "Sit down," he indicated the stool on the other side of the counter. "Have a glass of water." Those soft orders he issued expressed the concern of a friend and for that reason she went against her own nature and followed them with a nod, even though it somewhat ruined the tough as nails persona she wanted to broadcast to the whole world. Well, at least Joe would now sooner or later come to realize that she hid behind a facade on a daily basis.
He placed a glass of water in front of her. She took a tentative sip. As it washed down her dry throat it managed to sooth its burning. Her eyes focused on the glass. If you looked through it, objects behind it became magnified and contorted. The optical illusion was created thanks to the combination of water and glass. She sighed and forced her mind back to the unpleasant topic from which her thoughts always seemed to shy away.
"The Four Horsemen," she said, despite the fact that at this point this sort of acknowledgment was unnecessary. Joe nodded and stayed silent.
"How have you found out?" she asked. A moment of silence passed between them, only filled by the quiet and unobtrusive buzz of the air conditioning.
Again her question triggered hesitation on Joe's side of the conversation.
"Please, Joe, I only want to know," she threw him a pleading look.
He shook his head in quiet frustration. She sensed he wanted to help her, after all his behaviour showed that he at least sympathized with her. But his sympathy for her wouldn't let him forget his friendship with McLeod. He was only going to tell her so much. "There is this acquaintance of McLeod's that's after a guy named Kronos. He's one of the Horsemen..," he said after much hesitation. The fact that he didn't want to disclose the gender of this mystery friend of Duncan's gave away a lot already. She was ready bet her life on the fact that this acquaintance was female and went by the name Cassandra.
"Let me guess, this person has also identified Methos as one of them," she supplied.
Joe nodded. No use denying that. "Is it true? Is he really one of them?" he immediately asked. The way his eyes focused on her face told her that he desperately wanted to know. He wanted to know so desperately because he cared. In this very moment it seemed tempting to say no, in order to safe Joe from the delusion and heart-break of finding out about his best friend's gruesome past.
Should she do it? Should she come out and say it and confirm his worst fears and suspicions? She hesitated. It did seem kind of cruel even if it was the right thing to do.
"What if it was?" she asked after a while, deciding to take what she thought would be a more comfortable route for the both of them. Evasion. But just as soon as she said those words, she already experienced the first stirrings of profound regret. She shouldn't be sticking to half-truths. Methos usually did and that hadn't worked out so well for him.
"You sound like him," Joe remarked and that accusation alone made her want to stop beating around the bush and finally put her trust in someone. She would have loved to do the lonely hero bit, but after what she had witnessed tonight she lacked the strength for that. There was only so much she could take.
"Joe, listen, if I tell you the answer to this question, there will be no running to McLeod and spilling your beans to him, no scribbling it down in one of your files, understood? I'll tell you because you're my friend and friends don't deserve to be lied to," she said sternly.
"Alright," he held her gaze. The tone in his voice was solemn.
"I mean it, Joe. Swear it. Promise you won't tell a living soul about this," she reached out his hand to him, willing him to take it.
He didn't reach for it. "Why are you doing this?" he wanted to know.
"Because I need someone I can trust," she shrugged, still holding out his hand to him. "You're my friend. And I don't trust easily. That's gotta be worth something. Besides I need someone that has my back. If I'm supposed to tell the truth to someone, I'd rather it be you than anybody else."
He sighed and reached out his hand to take hers."All right. I promise."
"Good," she nodded, then took a deep breath and met his eyes. "It's true."
Joe let go off her hand almost immediately. She had some trouble pinpointing the look on his face. Several emotions played across it in the short span of time of only few seconds. Hurt, delusion, acceptance, anger. A whole lot of that negative spectrum. Had she looked like that when she first found out, she asked herself? But she didn't have an awful lot of time to wonder about that. Joe surprised her with his level-headedness in a time of crisis. She should have expected no less of him. After all he had been through the ordeal of a war. Vietnam...
"I can only guess how you must have felt when you found out...," he said sympathetically.
She just shook her head, neither ready nor willing to talk about her emotional or mental state. "Let's not do this now, okay?" Her voice sounded low and imploring when she said those words.
"Okay," Joe replied in an equally low voice.
It was nice of him to be sensitive to her emotions like this, but she couldn't afford to be hung up on a sentimentality right now. Regrettably some blanks still needed to be filled. Liz got herself together and pushed through her sympathy and dejection, uncertain where she would end up afterward. To her own surprise she ended up feeling determined.
She finally raised her chin to look at the Watcher, her new found resolve shining in her eyes. "That woman McLeod brought here, her name isn't Cassandra by any chance?" The brief widening of Joe's eyes told her more than any verbal answer could have. He opened his mouth to say something, but she held up her hand to stop him. "No, on a second thought, don't answer that. I'm aware that Duncan's friendship is important to you, so if you don't want to say it out loud, that's okay. I've already got my answer anyway."
He was smart enough not to ask her how she had got her answer; instead he chose a much smarter alternative. He took the opportunity to ask some more questions of his own. "Do you know anything we don't?"
"Let's leave the 'we' out of that question, shall we? It'll make me more inclined to tell you," she said narrowing her eyes at him disapprovingly.
"Mac's my friend too," he reasoned.
"And he's mine. But for once I'm not putting too much trust in his ability to make the right call. He switches into tunnel vision mode once a friend of his is concerned, especially if it's a lady friend. We both know that Duncan's world is a black and white sort of place. There isn't much room for gray in it," Liz pointed out almost angrily. Having said those words, she got up from the stool in front of the bar. She needed to leave now. Maybe she had been wrong in believing Joe would take Methos' side in this. He would have found out about Methos being part of the Four Horsemen anyway. She just preferred it was from her, instead of an angry and opinionated McLeod. Perhaps she had been wrong to put her trust in him.
His next words however convinced her of the contrary, at least in part. "Don't you think I'm aware of that? I'm not that quick to judge..."
So she hesitated. In fact she hesitated for a long time. The temptation to tell him about the deal between Methos and... Kronos was big. It would take a colossal weight off her shoulders. But what would Joe do if the life of his precious McLeod was threatened? Would he understand that Kronos had forced Methos' hand? Would he defend Methos' actions? It seemed doubtful at best. After all even she had a hard time understanding them herself, let alone defending them.
"Yes and I'm glad for it," she said. "But what about Methos? Are you his friend too? Are you willing to choose a side? Because that's what it will eventually come to if McLeod acts his usual, narrow-minded, pig-headed self. Can you afford choosing sides? After all you're were a Watcher last time I checked. You're still entitled to an opinion of course, but your hands a tied. All you can do is talk and not act. I'm hoping you're at least willing to spare a couple of words in Methos' defense..."
"Sure but..." Joe's great misfortune he seemed unable to finish the sentence. He just hung his head dejectedly. Again she got her answer without having to hear the actual words. Even if he would argue in Methos' favour, he wasn't much of a help to her.
She shook her head regretfully. "Joe, I'm sorry. But no. I won't tell you. Not now anyway. It's too risky. I need to know the odds first. I need to talk to McLeod ." And with those parting words she left the bar without looking back.
Stopping by had not been a complete waste of time. She had found a sympathetic ear, someone to confide in. Someone who wouldn't judge. Well, at least to a certain point. And that was almost by default what bartender were good for, weren't they?