Four stories about Methos

by Nirva1

Different genres, the same character

Title: Four stories about Methos (gen)

Author: Nirva1

Characters/Pairings: Methos, MacLeod, Amanda, OC

Rating: PG-PG-13

Warnings, of any: -

Author's Notes: Different genres, the same character.

English is not my native language. All mistakes are mine.

DRAMA

Title: Genius and villainy are two things incompatible.

Characters/Pairings: Methos, Claudia Jardin

Rating: PG

Warnings, of any: -

Author's Notes: MacLeod's protégé comes to Methos for help.

Methos realized that he'd dosed off only when the TV remote control fallen out of his limp hand landed on the pile of the empty beer bottles beside his armchair. At the same moment the telephone rang making the sleepy immortal jump with a sophisticated curse, which was in use in the days of the siege of Troy. A bad habit. Wondering who would want him this unholy hour if the Boy Scout has just left for Paris, the immortal dragged to the kitchen where the piercing ringing was coming from. It could be Joe who wanted to remind him about the promise to fix his computer or his landlady who was going to demand payment for lodging. Again. Trying to invent more or less convincing excuses he picked up the receiver. The voice turned out to be female fortunately not that of the evil harpy, and vaguely familiar. Nevertheless it took him several minutes to remember who this Claudia actually was. The pianist, MacLeod's protégé? Methos opened his mouth to ask who'd given her his number and immediately closed it, dumbfounded by the invitation to meet her in the park in two hours. A challenge? Thanks, but no, he's already eaten today. Need help? Ask MacLeod, it's his job to help damsels in distress.

But after a couple of hours he found himself pacing up and down the deserted alley in a coastal park, and desperately cursing himself for stupidity, Claudia for importunity, MacLeod…for his incredible talent to make him (Methos) help not only himself but his friends as well even those whom he (Methos) barely knew. His hand fingered a pistol in his pocket, the dagger in the leather sheath nicely warmed his waste – sure, he trusted MacLeod's friends but he would not have lasted for five thousand years, being careless. Actually his first impulse was to stay at home and let her get out of the troubles on her own, but there was something in the girl's voice that spoke of the unpleasant prospect to make excuses to MacLeod should he refuse to help.

Claudia Jardin appeared exactly at the appointed time. Watching the miniature woman coming to him from the distant Methos suddenly remembered the circumstances of their meeting. That day he talked to Alexa for the first time. Claudia also experienced a dramatic moment in her life, she has gained immortality and has nearly lost her gift. Not that it terribly bothered Methos. After all MacLeod's protégé was MacLeod's problem, not his. However when the girl came closer it became evident that something was really wrong – she looked awful, a pale shadow of her former self. Besides she obviously had no sword.

And her eyes... Methos has seen such lackluster eyes way too often… in the mirror. But she was young and young ones weren't supposed to wither like this, they rarely lacked fire.

" Hello, Adam. I, I ... excuse me for disturbing you. But there is nobody else I can turn for help. Joe Dawson gave me your telephone number, she smiled faintly, I fear he thought that I intended to make a pass on you. " She blushed.

Methos of course knew better than to believe in Joe's naïvety, but he didn't want to disappoint Claudia
" And he was wrong? I am hoping, you know…"
But the gallant remark was lost upon her… The smile disappeared from the girl's face.
" Not exactly, Adam. I came to ask you ... I came to ask you to kill me" gasped Claudia looking into his eyes.

Methos' jaw dropped. He's expected that she may have had problems with her immortality but to solve them so radically and ask a stranger for such things …

" Excuse me, but I fear I can't help you. It's not in my power. I haven't taken heads for a very long time (he concealed the fact that last time was less than a year ago. And it was a head of a woman) and I am not going to start, you know? What exactly make you think I am capable of it? Wielding a sword doesn't make us murderers. I can't just take your head it's not fair. I'm sorry, Claudia, but you have to ask somebody else. If you can't do it doesn't mean that I…"

Methos stopped abruptly, surprised by his own violent reaction to her request. Death usually satisfied such requests when asked without going deeply into causes.

" Turns out that I can! " shouted Claudia "That's the problem" she added softly and looked down.

Ah, so trivial. It seems that the girl has managed to kill someone in a fight and now feels the pangs of conscience. Just what he needs. Damn.

"You'd better explain everything to me. I want to be sure that your life is really so unbearable, that there is no other alternative but to take it. " Methos sighed. " Then I may change my mind. "

Like hell he will. He knew that if something happened to the pianist, MacLeod would hardly be willing to listen to his explanations. But if Claudia talks to him now the problem has a good chance to resolve itself.

The evening promised to be a long one.

Claudia nodded and they headed to the nearest bench.

" It's not a murder." she managed after a long silence " It's a mercy. Music is my life, Adam. Always has been, since childhood. People breathe the air, I breathe the music. Breathed. Until recently. Perhaps Duncan told you what had happened to me. Strange as it seems but the fear of death brought me back to life. " Claudia fell silent. She quietly sat on the bench looking at her hands folded on her laps as if they were some peculiar creatures.

"So, what's happened? " asked Methos after the long pause.

" I killed…"

" Yes, I guessed that. But Claudia, it was inevitable. You were challenged, you fought and won. You've chosen life. It's natural. You'll learn to live with it. We all have. "

Shit. No, he is not Freud.

" No, you don't understand. I wasn't challenged. I killed the mortal, Adam. "

For the second time this evening her words left Methos speechless.

" A mortal? But how did you..? "

"Police considered it self-defense. He attacked me when I came out of the nightclub. I used to go there all alone, incognito. No paparazzi, no fans, you know. He jumped at me from behind and put a knife to my throat. I began to fight back. Walter once persuaded me to learn a self-defense technique, to win a couple of seconds for escape, when, if… challenged. I don't exactly know what had happened, but the robber ended up with his own knife in his chest. "

" Well, you are not the first to be robbed, and of course not the last, and it doesn't mean that…"

" Don't you see? " she cried desperately "When the terror had passed, I liked it! Not the killing, no! But I managed to defend myself. I was stronger. Me, who has never even slapped a man in the face! I was stronger than a bandit with a knife! I laid down my sword because I needed a fear to play, to feel. The fear of death. It's still there. But I thought that when my time came, I'd just kneel before him and it would be over. But I can't now. I realized suddenly that I could fight, that with the same hands that pulled sounds from the dead pieces of wood I would spill blood. Because ... because I can't surrender. Not anymore. Not without a fight. But I can't play now. How can someone who is ready to kill be a creator? I cancelled four concerts. I'm already dead, Adam. After that accident my immortality has deprived me of life forever. I'm suffocating. And I don't want this half existence. Duncan would rather cut off his own head than agree to do me any harm from his point of view, of course… Walter… He invested too much in the project 'Claudia Jardin'.

But you, you don't know me and I don't want my essence to be lost even if I had no time to earn much. I've already written letters to my friends, they won't condemn you, I promise.

"

She fell silent again but continued to stare at Methos' face with an imploring look.

" Please, Adam, do me a favor, end it. "

It was he, who had to drop the gaze this time.

He knew all too well what was happening now in her soul. And the words of Russian poet came to his mind involuntarily: Genius and villainy are two things incompatible. How else would you call the Game if not the villainy on a cosmic scale? Poor geniuses who were forced to choose. Although he knew the man who'd tuned up his lyre so that the music of death was no longer so frightening. With the force of his talent he managed to melt the violence and cruelty of immortality into something beautiful. Into poetry. And perhaps he still does it.
Methos raised his head and looked at the darkening sky.

Titan! to thee the strife was given

Between the suffering and the will,

Which torture where they cannot kill;

And the inexorable Heaven,

And the deaf tyranny of Fate,

The ruling principle of Hate,

Which for its pleasure doth create

The things it may annihilate,

Refus'd thee even the boon to die:

The wretched gift Eternity

Was thine − and thou hast borne it well.

" ... Yes, it's a wretched gift" whispered Claudia, "and maybe I don't have the courage to bear it well. Adam, will you do as I asked? "
" Do you think, Claudia, that the author of these words has never known pain? Do you think that a man, who'd believed that the true immortality was in his poems, took his own for granted? You think it was easy, to write after the bloody fight:

In moments to delight devoted
"My life" with tenderest tone you cry;
Dear words! on which my heart had doted,
If Youth could neither fade or die.

To Death even hours like these must roll,
Ah! then repeat those accents never;
Or change "my Life" into "my Soul"
Which, like my Love, exists for ever.!

For the first time this evening, Claudia looked at him, without desperation in her eyes.
" Adam, are you telling me that Lord Byron ...? "

Methos shrugged.
" But ... "
" He's never separated his immortality from his art, why should you? Because the clashing of blades drowns out the music? Listen again, they are merged together. It's the music of the swords, Claudia. What kind of a musician are you, if you fail to hear it? "
Methos rose from the bench.

" You are the one who hide your talent in a napkin when it can flourish with a new will have a unique experience, just think about it. How many musicians can hear the Buzz, feel the wild joy of a battle, or the unspeakable happiness when the death has once again passed by? And have a true talent to express it.
Try it at least. And then if you are still sure that immortality is not for you, come to me again, but next time, please, don't forget your sword. Show some respect to your opponent. "

The motionless hands on Claudia's lap clenched and unclenched. She raised them to her face, carefully examined each finger, as if appraising the value of a rare musical instrument.

" I will have to take lives and to make people happy with the same hands", she said.

" Yes, you will. "
" And if I can't…"
" The choice is yours, Claudia. But before making it, please remember that unlike death life can be changed. By the way, as far as I know Byron in some way is your colleague now, although I doubt that you would appreciate his music.
Good luck to you, Claudia Jardin. "

With these words Methos turned and walked away rejoicing in his heart that he'd avoided mentioning the role of opium in Byron's attitude towards immortality.

ANGST

Title: Last temptation of Methos.

Characters/Pairings: Methos, MacLeod

Rating: PG-13

Warnings, of any: -

Author's Notes: This story was inspired by a certain movie and a story by Maya

" You have one last chance, Brother. "

The heavy hand claps on his shoulder, the cruel laughter fades away. One last chance. Surprisingly, the words have nothing to do with that voice. One last chance. The toothless mouth, the wrinkled face and the sightless eyes of the Delphian oracle. Pythia. The mad old woman, whispering mad words into his ear. One last incense rising toward the ceiling, the otherworldly visions. Is he drunk or lost in reverie? The abandoned submarine base is not the most comfortable place to sleep. The filthy mattresses are sagged, but he can't resist the dreams. He has one last chance. The Angel sitting on his shoulder, bears the stamp of a hidden vice, but he is to follow him, because there will be no other chance. He'll go now.

" You have a choice, Methos. "
" And you have twenty-four minutes to defuse the bomb. "
MacLeod so naively turns his back to him. The shot rings. No thoughts, no regrets, only a great goal ahead. Sharp metal tears the flesh, breaks the bone. The Scotsman is dead, and he can start…

And I looked, and behold a pale horse: and his name that sat on him was Death, and Hell followed with him. And power was given unto them over the fourth part of the earth, to kill with sword, and with hunger, and with death, and with the beasts of the earth.

His snow-white robes flutters behind him like wings and no one can stand up against him, neither mortal nor immortal. And his brother rides alongside him, and the other two follow behind, the worthy servants. And those who dared to rebel prostrate before them because there is no force in the world like the Four Horsemen.

It all happened as it had been predestined. Waters became wormwood, and mortals died. All of them. Men, women and children. The kings of the earth, and the slaves. Immortals died too, consumed with the madness of the Gathering, started by the Four. When two of the brothers had died, the third one who imagined himself to be the first realized all too late the depth of his delusions. And looking down at the barrel of a gun aimed at him he laughed at the irony. What else could he expected from Death, but the death itself? And he died with a wolfish grin on his face.
A moment later, the hand of the winner of the Game pressed the button, the stars of heaven fell unto the earth, and the world disappeared in a flash of a nuclear explosion.

" Adam, oh, God, we've overslept! Wake up, you, sleepyhead, they'll be here in a minute! "
Through the lowered eyelashes he sees the fuzzy silhouette of a woman. Who is he, where is he? Why does she call him Adam? Who is this woman? He can open his eyes to look, but doesn't dare. Whom will he see?
" Aaadam! " she begins to shake him. " Come on, they've already called; you have ten minutes to shower. "
That voice. The pain shows through the fog. The absurdity of the answer strikes him like a hammer in the head and his eyes flies open to see the impossible. The face of the woman who'd died so long ago, and whose life had been so short that her existence left nothing but a needle in his heart. But the needle so sharp that at the last moment before the end he made a wish ...

" Are you crazy? Don't press me like that! Adam, what has come over you? You're hurting him, let go! "
Him? Alexa's body really feels differently, too big, too soft, too round. For a few seconds he looks at her blankly and then the light dawns…

" Oh, no, you're not going to sleep any longer" She's desperately trying to pull the pillow he clutched at. " Get up now or I'm not going anywhere! It's the last warning! "
But how can he do it if he's spent all his strength to conceal the sobbing? A child. Even in his wildest dreams he couldn't imagine such happiness. The happiness, he's paid for with the millions of lives. But it's not his fault; he's just used his chance. The world still exists; it's here: in a silky fabric under his cheek, in the sunlight pouring from the windows, in the smile of the beloved woman, in the delicate scent of her perfume, in the narrow gold bands on their fingers. It was just a dream. Reality is here, now.
The doorbell interrupts the flow of his joyful crazy thoughts.
" Cover yourself at least, you, lazybones! " Alexa throws over her shoulder and goes to open the door. The fatigue in her voice makes Adam jump from the bed. He finds himself in the hallway, fully clothed in less than a second.

The door swings open, laughter and loud cheers fills the hallway. The amused exclamations fall thick and fast. 'You are not ready yet? We'll get stuck in a traffic jam. Alexa, don't let your husband work so late at night, look at him; he is dead on his feet! '

And he wishes he were dead because there, standing in a narrow corridor is Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod. Smiling broadly, he never suspects looking in the eyes of his killer. Behind him, blue-eyed blonde whispers something to Alexa, a boy about five years old happily plays with the bell of Alexa's bicycle leaned against the wall making an incredible noise.
And his hands still remember the warmth of the hilt, the momentary resistance of the flesh, when the blade sank into the unprotected neck of a helpless man. His only close friend in many, many years.
It's too much, too much…The icy fingers squeeze his throat, suffocating him…

"Adam! "

He's got accustomed to this, of course, even learnt to look in MacLeod's eyes without flinching. The Scot could not understand the reason of the strange behavior of a friend he'd known all his life but seeing his apparent reluctance to explain, just waited for the clouds to clear away. In this world, they've never fought, had no major difficulties. They were pulling to each other like two magnets, the two parts of a whole. So different, so similar, they both were married to the women they loved, and they both… were fathers.

Alexa had easy labor, the girl was born healthy and perfectly in time. Adam balanced on the edge of madness from the moment he took his wife to the hospital, and about a week after he brought her home with a child. MacLeod tried to calm him down not knowing about the feelings the hospital room had aroused in his friend. A year later, Tessa gave birth to a second child, a girl, as blond and blue-eyed as her mother. Both families knew no hardships, no grief and little by little Adam began to forget.

It began with a strange feeling. At first it was just irritating, as a speck of dust caught in a shoe. An attentive look, a strange question, an ambiguous remark. From time to time Adam caught MacLeod looking at him with a strange expression as if he was trying to remember something unsuccessfully. At last both women, having sensed the strain, demanded explanations.
But they could not explain.

Against all odds, the picnic was going to be fun. Children ran and played with the dog, Duncan had given his elder son for Christmas, Alexa was setting the table, Tessa fascinated by the beauty of this place, went to the grove to make sketches.

Adam and Duncan, carried away by a dispute about the latest sensational archeological discovery in Syria (Adam insisted that the city had been founded about five hundred years earlier than the scientists believed, but could not clearly explain why he was so sure), suddenly found themselves near the old ruined church. The remains of the fence marked the place once occupied by a cemetery. The bones had been removed elsewhere, and only a few broken marble tombstones peeked out from the thick grass.

" I wonder", said Duncan absent-mindedly, kicking a stone, "can it still be considered a holy ground? "
Adam froze, not daring to breathe or move. It cannot be. Absurd ... a coincidence?
" No, I do not know, maybe. "

A sudden silence, filled by the chirr of grasshoppers, weights heavily on his shoulders. All he has to do is to turn around. To make sure it was just an accidental slip of tongue.

And he turns.

The wide open dark eyes are staring at him with an unspeakable horror, the lips whispering the name he's hoped never to hear again. A cursed name. And as an ancient mural crumbles slowly, piece by piece, so his world falls before his eyes. A small, happy world, full of children's laughter and love, light and friendship. The ugly underside looks through the opened holes, filth and dirt and rotting corpses come out of the cracks ...

For the great day of his wrath is come; and who shall be able to stand?

Then he starts yelling excuses. The very same he's exhorted his demons with, all these seven years.
" I did it for us! Look, MacLeod, there is no violence, no deaths, isn't that what you always wanted? To live in peace, to have children? To bring Tess back? I gave it to us. "
" And how did you do that? Asks a cold voice, by destroying billions of innocents? Children, women? "
" No, it was an illusion, that world was an illusion. The reality is this − before your eyes, they are all alive here, nothing happened. "

" And you think it justifies your deeds? Pain and sufferings you've caused? "
" I had no other choice, I was given one last chance. To recreate the world by destroying it first. To bring back those whom I loved, and perhaps millions of others, our brothers, the victims of a bloody Game. Tell me it hasn't worth it, tell me ... "
" They died in agony, Methos. You built your world on their bones. I wouldn't want to live in such a place, I did not ask to bring me back. I think that if Tess had known she would have also refused. And Alexa ... "

" You won't tell them, MacLeod! Swear on your honor they will never know! "
"I won't tell them, they don't deserve such a pain. And they do not deserve someone like you. Get out of here! If I ever see you again, I'll kill you without remorse, as a viper. You know me. "

"But my daughter ... "
" It's not your daughter, she is the daughter of Adam, my best friend. What have you done to Adam, Methos? "
" I haven't ... And who are you? How do you know all this things? How do you know what happened when ... "
" Once you've killed me? I don't know and I'm not going to think about it now. Get. Out. "

And he left.

" You have one last chance, Brother. Rise and shine. "
The heavy hand claps on his shoulder, the cruel laughter fades away.
The abandoned submarine base is not the most comfortable place to sleep. The filthy mattresses are sagged, but he can't resist the dreams. He has one last chance. The Angel sitting on his shoulder, bears the stamp of a hidden vice, but he turns away, refusing to go where he's already been. Where the broken headstones sink in the tall green grass.

" Methos... What's about Cassandra? "
" One of a thousand regrets, MacLeod. One of a thousand regrets. "

HUMOR

Title: Three sisters or Leave the Horsemen

Characters/Pairings: Methos, OC

Rating: PG-13

Warnings, of any: -

Author's Notes: The real story of Methos leaving the Horsemen.

" Gosh, he is heavy..."
"Shut up and go, it's a long way off."
"Is it the bones that weigh so much, I wonder. "
"There is nothing else, it seems. "
"Then why did they order to catch this one? Could not find a better stag? "
" It's the fourth, the previous three were spoiled. "
" There is a herd in a nearby village, there are plenty to choose from, just come and take, and we've spent the whole day hunting this one. And now we have to carry him on our backs. "

" Those are ordinary, and the Chief wants an invincible one. She said if the daughters were like him no one would ever defeat us. "
" No one hasn't yet. "
"Shut up! We do as the Chief said…"
" What about the previous three? They didn't please her? "
" Don't you know? Ah, you've been in a raid. First we hunted down the big one. It took us three quivers of arrows to bring him down but we did it. The Chief seemed to like him at first, the girls would be strong, she said. But once he'd seen our herd, he forgot about everything else. She caught him in the morning ... he was kissing a horse, our best mare. We had to get rid of this muddle-head. He left, but took one of the colts with him."
"And the second one? "

" The second one... He appeared to be totally insane. The Chief woke up in the middle of the night and saw him standing over her with a spoon and a piece of cloth tied around his neck. She barely beat him off, he tried to bite her.

But the third one caused the biggest problems. He managed to entice half of the girls with false promises to gather an army of women, and conquer the whole world with their help. The enormous spoils and all. Then someone informed the Chief. She was furious, I think they heard her in Athens. It's understandable; she's almost out slept the revolution. The most active followers of a new leader lost their heads and he himself was pushed off the cliff. I don't know how long it'd taken him to get out of the gap, but in a couple of weeks the scouts reported that the Four were together again. If this stag doesn't fit the bill, we'll have to look for an ordinary one to prevent the extinction of our tribe. "

" Just look at his body, I don't think he'll be able to serve the generals as well. Way too skinny. "

"It's no business of ours. We bring the male; they use him as they like. "
" And what is it with his face? The children will also be half-blue? "
" It's a paint, you, idiot! "
" Then let's wash him, there is a stream not far from here…"
" You are right, we all need rest. Can't feel my hands. "
" Why didn't we load him on a horse? "

" Forgotten your orders already, haven't we? We've been told to operate in secret. You can't hide a horse in the bushes. Okay, girls, let's put him here. "
" Are you sure, he'll revive? "
" If not, not a great loss. It's just a man; they are worse than animals and equally stupid. "
" Are you mad? The Chief will eat us for breakfast if we don't bring him alive. "
" Let's check then. If he doesn't revive, we'll just bury him somewhere and tell the Chief we couldn't catch him. "
" And if he runs away? The whole day of hunting was for nothing? "
" We can tie him up. "

" Oh, I don't like this. I really don't like this… Well, OK, give me the rope. "
" Bind his legs first. "
"Don't need your advice here. "
" Let's take out the arrows. Shit. Hold him tight! Ouch! "
" Carefully! Mine were poisoned. "
" Thanks for the well-timed remark! "
" If we loosen his ties just a little he'll be able to go by his own. I don't know about you, but I'm tired of carrying this sack of bones on my back. "
" Maybe you want to chase this sack of bones all over the desert one more time? I don't. "
" How do they do it, I wonder? "

" Do what? "
" Well…umm… serve the Chief and the generals…They make children somehow, don't they? "
" Who knows? The Chief is very tight lipped about the details; the generals prefer to discuss it among themselves. The less you know the better. "
" I asked a friend once. Her sister is a general's favorite maid. She says it must be very painful. Last season the male served her mistress for a week, and she screamed every night, poor thing. She thought he was killing her. "
" It's horrible! Thank Gods we haven't come to an age yet. "
" One day you will, and then…"
" Hey! Look, he is coming to. "

" That's a relief. "
" Give me your knife, I'll stab him again. Time to go. It's getting dark. "
" No, wait, I want to take a good look at him. "
" What for? "
" I've never seen a living stag so close. "
" You'll see enough of him, I promise. If the Chief likes him, he'll stay till the next moon. "
" Aha, in her tent. "
" She is right, we can always kill him, but let's look first what kind of thing he is. Can he speak? "
" Those three could. "
" Hey, you! What's your name? "

" I doubt he has one. "
" If he does he won't tell us. "
" Why not? "
"Don't you see how he's staring at you? His eyes are going to fall out. Must be scared to death. "
" What if he likes horses more, like the big one. Let's ask him if he's served women before…"
" Shut up both of you! I'll ask him myself. "
" Why you? "
" Because I am still your sergeant! Hide yourselves somewhere; it'll make him more talkative. "
"But…"
" Go! "

" Burr… It's cold here. What does it take her so long? I wish we'd taken some of the skins along, I'm going to freeze. "
" Yeah. It's been a long time. What if he…"
" What? "
" Killed her? "
"Not likely, I'm the master of making knots. "
" Ah, at last! Did you… Hey, what's wrong with you? "
" Umm, nothing, nothing's wrong. It was, it was… soooo cool! "
" What? You've left him there alone? "
" Don't worry, he won't leave. His legs are still bound. "
"What about his hands? "
"…"

" Wait, Methos, you are telling us that you've never come back to Horsemen again? "
" Nope. But I've never got to the Amazon's camp either. When the girls found out there were… more, they refused to go back. "
" Who would have thought, you were such a Casanova, Methos. "

" They were almost naked, MacLeod! What would you do if three young and pretty ladies walk past you wearing only leather straps and quivers? Besides, they turned out the perfect huntresses and cooks. They could even make beer. So I lived with them like a lord for fifteen years. And they were so warlike that I felt no difference between brothers and sisters at first. In fact I was not going to stay with them that long. But I got used to this life, besides it's healthy to change your environment from time to time, you know? But after fifteen years they wanted more than just running around with the swords. They wanted home and children and all that crap. Women always do. By that time their tribe has grown into a small matriarchal state, at least they thought it was a matriarchy. And I also wanted to settle down, to live in peace. Three hundred years without a single fight... So it were women who'd changed me. According to their laws I had to marry every ten years but not that it hurt me much ... However, I've been very picky since then, because once or twice I got the brides so ugly I wanted to cut off my own head. What is it, Amanda? What did I say? "

DRAMA

Title: Endgame?

Characters/Pairings: Methos, OC

Rating: PG

Warnings, of any: -

Author's Notes: Is it an end?

The tall dark-haired man came out of the bar in a quiet Parisian street, and gently shut the door after him. He stood there for a while, wondering what to do next and then finally made a decision, quickly walked away. He went along the accustomed road and did not recognize it, peered at the faces of passersby and saw the otherworldly creatures. Even the usual sounds of the awakening city were strange.

He was incredibly, impossibly lucky. And although he didn't regard himself being the One as luck, he'd finally got what he wanted – the opportunity to live. The luck was that none of his opponents had been even distantly familiar. He did not have to lay the final blow, looking into the eyes of a friend or a lover, and it made him… uninvolved. Almost uninvolved in the madness that engulfed the world during the last month, when all personal relationships went down the drain, drowned in the Thirst without a trace. Well, quite naturally the Game was won by a person who'd managed to maintain his head on his shoulders longer than the others, literally and figuratively.

And those who were gone forever would return. But in dreams, not in nightmares.

The man came to the quay, looked around to make sure that no one saw him, and reached under his jacket. On view came a long broad sword with a golden handle. The sun, dancing on the blade made the man squeeze his eyes shut. Without opening his eyes he stretched out his open hands and the ancient weapon hang over the slowly rolling waves of the Seine. He stood there for several minutes, feeling his muscles grew numb, but did not dare to let the sword fall into the welcoming arms of the river.

The days merged into a year, years into centuries, he continued to glide through the life, as always, with his eyes wide open, soaking up time like a sponge, leaving his regrets behind him, without looking back, without halting. He was lucky − good friends, faithful women − he convinced himself that he was happy and he really believed in it. Every ten or fifteen years he had to change everything radically − his identity, city, loved ones – but he broke up easily, without curses and tears, without bitterness. Nobody knew who he really was ...

For the first time it happened after four hundred years. The dreams came. Dreams about the past. About the time when he had to look over his shoulder, when the desire to survive at any cost blinded his mind, forcing him to refuse even the everyday joys. But the dreams were serene as if everything bad was gone, burnt in the fire of the Gathering, together with the man he used to be. Suddenly he noticed that every time he came to a new city, he tried to seek out the familiar faces in the crowd. The faces of people gone long long ago but who'd left a trace in his life, one way or another. The dreams became brighter over the time, the images clearer, until one morning he realized that that illusory world had become much more real for him than the slowly greying reality. He would prefer nightmares.

He was reading the same chapter for the couple of hours, but could not understand a word from it. It was the only library in Europe, which contained the real books. A week ago the last of his kind returned to Paris. The city he didn't visit from that memorable night when the world of the Immortals sank into oblivion forever. He came to the library not to read but to breathe in the familiar dusty air, saturated with the smell of paper glue and old newspapers. He raised his eyes from the page and scanned the hall. Only the experts in the antiquities, students and historians who wished to look at the archaic media came here now. Most of the time the library was empty. He was a little surprised to discover that the librarian was a young woman, pretty and polite, who'd wasted an hour without a peep trying to find him a rare folio.

He sighed and closed the book feeling a bit guilty for making the girl search for a thing he'd never really needed. Oh, time. He had so much of this stuff. So much that he never noticed when it'd turned from the finest ether into a muddy pudding, where it was difficult to breathe and almost impossible to move. When did it happen? Why did he forget how it felt to be amused? When did he begin to roll back instead of moving forward, letting the ghosts of the past to dwell in his house? What had he won if his so desired life ceased to be a prize and slowly became a punishment, threatening him with an absolute loneliness?

The woman's voice made him jump. He barely understood the question, 'Do you need anything else?' No, no. Mumbling apologies for the inconvenience he almost ran out of the doors with the intention never to return. But he returned. And not because of books.

He could not coherently explain why that young librarian had attracted him so much but a month later he was seriously considering the idea of making her his wife number … well, it does not matter. He even decided to legalize the relations for he's already forgotten the last time he did so. But a happy family life threatened to be rather short due to the fact that she had a child. Children were usually much keener than the adults so the unnecessary questions could have begun pretty soon. It meant that he would be forced to disappear again one day, but this time the process promised to be more painful for he was really very fond of that girl.

Approaching the house of his fiancée, where he'd been finally invited to get acquainted with her daughter the immortal felt a strange nervousness. Even sitting in waiting on the soft couch with a glass of wine in his hand he continued to feel ill at ease, truly hating such 'bride-shows'.

But the next moment he forgot about everything. The sound of the breaking glass and the excited voice asking him if he were ok were suddenly swallowed up by a clear, high pitched sound, he's never expected to hear again. His vision blurred. He could see clearly only the child's face. The girl undoubtedly had no idea about the causes of his strange behavior but was quite amused with the impression she'd made on a big man. Pre-immortal. The child came closer. Blue eyes round as saucers looked at him with curiosity and trust.

'What's your name?'

He answered without realizing what he was saying. 'Methos'.

He came up with the stupid excuses and fled. His hands were shaking so hard it was a miracle he managed to get home without an accident. The first thing he did after locking the door and closing the shutters - he got a weapon. In order to find his old sword he had to search through the pantry full of stuff, he'd been collecting all these centuries. Few test motions told him that he wasn't even rusty, he was as good as dead. Half a millennium without a practice. Without any practice. What was he thinking about? What was he thinking today revealing his true name to a mortal and a potential adversary? He realized the woman had concealed the fact that the child was adopted. Only one pre-immortal, but there will be others. He could already imagine the mad crowds creeping through the windows and doors like cockroaches, sweeping all before them in a maniacal desire to take the head of the Oldest. And he dared to lament his fate. The night passed in training. In the morning, bone tired he sat on the bed for a short break, and … was woken by a sunbeam, falling on his face through the gap in the blinds. He stumbled to the kitchen and poured himself a glass of vodka from the bottle he'd forgotten on the table the day before. The warm bitterness burnt his larynx; alcohol almost instantly went to his head. He filled up the second glass, and was going to drink it, but suddenly froze, struck by a sudden thought.

They don't know… They can't know. He is the last one for whom the words 'There will be only one' make any sense. For those who comes these words will mean nothing. So let them stay in blissful ignorance.

He was wrong thinking that the permission to live which had been issued to him five centuries ago was that notorious Prize every immortal had craved to gain in the end of the Gathering. But who said the Gathering was over? It will end only when the last enemy is defeated. And this enemy is not another immortal, but ... time. The same damn Time. And it means that he won for real only now after almost giving up in the middle of the fight. And the Prize is waiting for him. The real one.

An opportunity. To make. His own rules.

... He stretched out his open hands, and the ancient weapon hang over the slowly rolling waves of the River Seine. He stood for several minutes, feeling his muscles grew numb and lowered his hands. Rolling over in the air, the sword fell into the bright blue water and disappeared in the deep without leaving a ripple.