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Title:Eternal Cures.
Author:Rodlox.
Summary:Only immortality can end the plague...but none of the 4400 are Immortal anymore. Diana asks a friend for help.
Crossover:4400 / Highlander.
Disclaimer:None of the canon characters are my own; they belong to the shows.
Archive:Ask me first!
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Tuesday Midday:
Methos was driving without the slightest clue of his destination, a sour taste building in him every time a stoplight kept him from moving forward. One line fluttered in his mind, bright colours making it impossible to ignore: "We will feel an irresistable pull towards a faraway land, to fight for the Prize." Every Immortal knew that part of the tale, recognized through that phrase how to know when the Gathering was at hand. But one thing that was not common knowledge, Methos knew, was that every now and then, small groups of Immortals would feel irresistable pulls towards places sometimes far and sometimes near...this sort of phenomenon had led the Watchers to coin the term False Gatherings, though some, like Joe, called them Rehearsal Gatherings. And that pull was gripping him now, moving his hands, his feet without him knowing where he was going.
On the radio, somebody was giving a speech directed to all the 4400s of the world. The Watcher in the world's oldest Immortal listened with half an ear, knowing how important the 4400 were to the history of Immortality.
Glancing at the compass bobble swaying on his dashboard, he pulled over to the gravel roadside. As the sourness increased, Methos willed his taste buds to go numb. Centuries' experience with torture and poison come in handy at times like this. Pulling his map from the glove compartment, he did the math, if I'd kept going, where would I have ended up? Where's the Gathering this time around? The line he drew arrived at the North Pole...the magnetic north, not the true north. But the line passed through a single government facility, one that was part of the North American Threat Assessment Center. "NTAC"?
The news seemed more interesting now, and the bile grew slowly more toxic as he turned his car around and headed back to Joe's.
--
Tuesday Afternoon:
Inside NTAC:
"Marco," Diana said, stepping into an almost-empty theory room. "I'm glad I caught you," before you left for the day.
Looking up from where he was presently conquering tetris, "That makes two of us," Marco said. "Something I can do for you?"
"Actually, I wanted to d- to say thank you. For everything." For making the faux diary, for accessing and relaying the information Burkhoff needed, for being there when I needed a shoulder to lean on, for everything. "Thank you."
"Hey, what are friends for?"
Diana hesitated. He hadn't asked that dismissively or shrugging it off, but he didn't sound like he was about to start penning sonnets either. Just what I deserve. "If there's ever anything I can do, you'll let me know, won't you?" feeling safe since she didn't think Marco was the sort to wheedle or cadge mercy dates from people.
"Your thanks is praise enough," Marco said. "But the offer is appreciated." More that she made the offer than the offer in and of itself.
--
In The Woods:
April Skouris stood on the stone-lined riverbank, a stick in one hand trying to fish something out of the river. "C'mon," she said to it, trying to get the strap to slide from the half-submerged branch to hers. They transferred me from Denver for this? she asked herself. No sooner had she arrived in Denver than the local division commander had told her that the Seattle division wanted her back, didn't give her the time to ask why before being pushed back on the bus, bag lunches in hand. If sis knew I was back in town, oh she'd have a conniption. Maia probably knows I'm here.
"Gotcha," she grinned as the slide finally happened, her stick lifted carefully to extract the bag from the river. And her phone picked then to ring. Figures. "Skouris," Spril said.
"This' Joe Dawson."
I recognized your voice, but I get that there's a need for formality, particularly at this point in time. "Hey Joe."
"Hi April," Joe said. "The boys up here're wondering if you've come across anything suspicious."
Nodding, "Funny you should mention that," looking at the zipped-up bag. "This have anything to do with the 4400?" and could hear Joe taking a deep breath in, considering how to answer, I know him.
"We're hoping not," her old teacher said. "But there's only one way to find out." Unspoken, just don't open the bag til you get here, just in case. "Come up to the bar," the door won't be locked. "Want me to pour you anything?"
"Club soda," April said, and could just picture Joe nodding.
"One mug of the usual, coming right up."
"Oh, Joe, I got a question." No chance to watch tv or grab a paper when I was in Denver, and since then they've had me keeping an eye on some guys they think're suspicious, and doing that I saw this bag here.
"Go ahead."
"Did I miss any headlines? Immortal, 4400, anything?" There's not exactly a Seattle Weekly Woodland Examiner on the corner of every stream.
Joe hesitated, and April could hear the muffled whispers of unintelligable conversation on the other end of the line. "One thing. I'll tell you firsthand."
You're talking to me right now... Oh, a firsthand. Few things in the Organization were serious enough that they could only be said face to face. Graduation and being stripped of authority were two reasons for a firsthand, being reassigned to a particularly difficult subject was a third. "Are Diana and Maia okay?" she blurted, having to know. Deaths in the family were a fourth reason, the most important.
"They're both alive," Joe said. "They just got out of being in a hostage situation."
Di probably ended that real fast. Of that, April was positive. "Much appreciated." April shut off her phone and pocketed it, moving the bag to rest on the stoney bank next to her before picking it up by hand, shouldering it. Heavy. Who left you here, hm? And what's your story?
----
Wednesday Mid-morning:
"Hey sibling," April said when Diana finally showed up to greet her here in the initial corridors of NTAC, the same corridors that a year ago had seen Ryland's ultimatum to Tom, and a year before that had seen Tom being informed of what power Shawn had. "Thanks for -"
"I thought you were in Denver," Diana said.
"I was," and tilted her head slightly. "You know what I do, right? My job?"
"Tattoos." If ever there was a no-brainer, that was it. But April's never been one to ask no-brainer questions, Diana knew. So the answer has to be more than that.
"That's what I do for a living," April said. "Like I told Maia, I'm an artist."
"Then what's the answer?" Diana asked.
Did the temperature here just drop a few degrees? Stupid, shouldn't have mentioned Maia...now her hackles're up an' she's not going to have half the open mind she would've a few seconds ago. "You're going to want to sit down for...wipe that look off your face, Di. I'm part of a secret society, one whose job throughout history has been to observe and record."
"A secret society, of course. And let me guess, you were going to ask Maia where you could find the Holy Grail?"
April shook her head. She's not going to make this easy. Still, a job was a job. "There is no Grail, sis. But there are Immortals..."
When April had entered Joe's Bar, she saw only familiar faces...Joe himself, whatshisname Pierson, and Mike who helped Joe with the bar. Pierson patted the barstool next to him, and Mike held up the clear mug of soda water. Sitting at the bar, facing Joe, "What's this about?" April asked.
Before Joe could answer, "The 4400," Pierson said. "They're all ill."
"No matches or line-ups," Mike said. "Not a single correlation." It was a mathematical equation the Watchers had taken note of long before the returnees had been let out of quarantine. Ten percent had been drawn from the Watchers; eighty-eight had been pre-Immortal, only a first-death away from being full Immortals; and two percent who had been full Immortals; one hundred percent returned, every one of them completely mortal, every one...and the Watcher returnees having no memory of being part of this ancient organization.
"Not all of them," April said, refusing to accept that every one of them could be sick. Maia, Maia has to be okay. "The ones I was watching, they were perfectly fine." All three of them.
Pierson chuckled. "Trust Kronos not to fit in."
Joe nodded, though April wasn't sure whether he was nodding to her comment or Pierson's, or to both. "Nine out of every ten, though, did. They've all been sent back to quarantine..." though there were a few holdouts of the healthy who refused to go with them. "We were hoping you could help us here..."
And so she was standing here.
"Immortals?" Diana repeated. April nodded. "What're you doing? Hm? Bear in mind I'm not about to buy the insanity defense."
"Di, if ever there was a time to believe me, now would be good."
"Proof without evidence? This isn't church, sis."
Nodding, "I can do proof," drawing a plain envelope from her purse, holding it out to Diana. "Show these to Maia. She'll recognize him." April'd warned Joe that Di wouldn't buy an explanation from her, so Pierson - Adam - had handed her this envelope, telling her what she'd just told Di. But that would mean... her mind still balking at the idea of an Immortal lurking amongst the Watchers. Its handy right now, but even so...
"Who is it?" Diana asked.
"Adam Pierson," April said. Maybe that is his real name, maybe not. Save that question for later. "He used to babysit Maia, back when she lived in California." In the '40s.
"So he's one of these 'immortals'?" opening the envelope. The question she was going to ask next - just how old is he today? - died on her lips as she looked at the photos. One was of a grinning college student reclining in a plush library armchair, the book 'The DaVinci Code' in one hand. Another photo was of the same student, only this time the image was black-and-white, with him standing alongside Maia and her Maia's parents. The third and final photo was of the selfsame student, only this time garbed in a Confederate offier's uniform, blood-covered surgical instruments in his hands. She looked back up at April, surprise warring with suspicion.
"Feel free to check them under whatever microscopes you want," April said before Di could make some sort of snap about the pictures being a hoax.
"What is this?" Diana asked sharply, her eyes flickering back and forth between the pictures and April.
"Like I just said, Immortals." Wryly, "Unless you think some of my friends have a time machine, one we use to play pranks on government workers." Plainly once more, "Sibling, I was told that something's up, something involving almost all of the returnees." Bit her lip, then asked, "Maia's okay, right?"
Diana looked at April, and the younger sister could feel the full weight of judgement once more in those eyes. "Maia was one of the first to fall ill," Diana said after a while.
"Theotokos," April said softly, her eyelids squeezing shut, "no."
"Regretfully yes. Now what does Maia have to do with these Immortals?"
Opening her eyes again, "I was hoping my niece, out of the whole 4400, is okay." Her and three others. That's not even one percent. Surely a tenth of one percent isn't too much to ask for, is it?
"Then -"
"I have a feeling you won't let the questions sit til dinner?" and saw the answer - No - in her sister's eyes. "Then lunch it is...they do let you out for lunch, yes?" When Diana nodded, "Just follow me, sis, and I'll take you to this place that makes the best crab soup...lots of answers there, I promise." Looking down at the envelope in Diana's hand, "You want to check the photos first?"
"I'll hear your story first," humor her, at the very least. She wants to bury the hatchet, fine. And if she's right, if she's somehow telling the truth, impossible as it sounds to hear it, I want to know. It doesn't sound possible...but then, Maia was born in 1938 and I adopted her
--
Shortly Thereafter:
The sign on the door had said 'All tables presently reserved.' Yet the waitress'd let them both in, ushering them to a booth where April'd said "Diana, meet Joe Dawson. Joe, my sister." Joe was a man whose face was just as forgetable as April's, and his only distinguishing characteristic was the cane he was leaning on as he stood beside the booth. You could walk right past either of them on the street without giving them a second thought, which is probably the point -- assuming April's not pulling my leg.
"Nice to meet you," Joe said as the waitress gave them each a glass of tea & then left them alone.
"Likewise," Diana said. "April tells me you're the person to talk to about immortals." Joe shrugged. "You can't be serious," and when he looked curious, "If there were really immortal people running around, we'd notice."
Joe nodded. "We have noticed. And we've been keeping tabs on the movements of the Immortals since the dawn of time."
"And who is this 'we'?"
"We're what you might call a secret society dedicated to studying the Immortals and keeping things from getting out of hand. Informally, we call ourselves Watchers."
My, what an imaginative name. "And formally?"
"We're the International Allying Fraternities Of We Who Track The Quickenings. I'm told it sounds much better in Assyrian."
"Of course. And what's a quickening?" Joe looked at April, who sighed. "Not five minutes, and I've already asked something you can't answer?" Diana asked.
"Something like that," April said. "See, we know how the quickenings are transmitted, their effect on Immortals and the world around them...but the exact composition of the quickening is something we can only theorize about so far."
"And how do the 4400 figure into all this?" Diana asked. "You still haven't explained -"
"10-88-2. That's the composition of the 4400. Ten percent, eighty-eight and two percents taken...one hundred percent returned."
"Basic math. And how did you get those numbers? Randomly?"
"Ten percent of the returnees were originally Watchers. Two percent were Immortals. And the eighty-eight remaining had been about to become Immortal."
"'About to become'? Either you are or you aren't."
"An Immortal starts out life just like anyone else -- able to get cuts and bruises, amputations, hurt feelings, et cetera. But if they die...from disease, gunshot, swords or anything else, then they come back to life. From that point on, they're Immortal, able to heal nearly any injury, immune to all disease, and almost unkillable."
"'Almost'?"
"Immortal is admittedly a bit of a misnomer," Joe said. "There's one way - and only one way - to kill an Immortal."
"How?"
"Trade secret. Now that we've told you about us and what we do, what can you tell us about what's making the returnees sick?"
"Does it matter? You said the majority of them were about to become Immortal anyway. We just need to treat the ten percent who aren't going to be immortal." That simplifies making enough of whatever we need to cure them...we just need to finish figuring out what we need to do that.
"It wouldn't work," April said. "When they were released from quarantine, we found out that they'd all been stripped of their immortality. Not those who were already Immortals or the ones who were about to be, are going to walk out of the morgue."
Nice figure of speech at the end there. "And how did they do that?" Diana asked.
"No idea. We figured you knew."
Only one thing came to mind, and that was because it was the one thing all of the returnees had been getting ever since being admitted to quarantine. "There's a chemical. We've been giving it to the returnees for two years now." It suppresses certain glands, and, we think, their abilities.
"Did they say what chemical is being used?"
Despite having already taken the step of coming here, of talking with them, Diana hesitated and then glanced around. The restaurant was empty aside from them. Promycin Inhibitor."
Promycin Inhibitor? Joe wasn't an archivist or a chemist, but he'd heard enough to know about P-I. Methos and Mike probably each know a lot more than I do about it. He knew it was a drug that inhibited promycin production. And unless someone in Washington understands what promycin does, Joe knew, they were shooting blindly at the largest target they could find. Promycin was one of a handful of chemicals found in Immortals and not in mortals...until the day when the 4400 had shown up. Watcher chemists had kept notes on the chemistries of regeneration and regenisis through the millenia, invariably the work of rogue Watchers, but the records had always found their way back to the mainstream. Its almost enough to make a guy nervous. "This is bad."
"I already knew that," Diana said. "Any cure in your since-the-dawn-of-time society?"
"Only one. A fight on Holy Ground."
"Is that all?"
"Its not as simple as it sounds, sis," April said. "Both fighters have to be Immortal, and Immortals have a strong tradition of not fighting on Holy Ground -- for them, its neutral, a place for enemies to meet."
Based on the look on your face, there's more to it. "And? What else?"
"A fight on Holy Ground tends to devastate the surrounding area."
"We can hope the presence of all 4400 returnees," Joe said, "neutralizes that particular effect...but its still a shot in the dark."
"How much 'devastation' are we talking about here?" Diana asked.
"Remember when we visited Pompeii?" April asked.
Just then, something on Joe started beeping; likely a beeper or a phone. "They're ready for us," Joe said, standing up slowly and carefully; Diana realized that the cane wasn't to deceive or present a false impression, that it was genuinely needed. Joe led the way to the back of the restaurant.
"I don't think this leads to the kitchen," Diana said. It looked more like the door to a janitor's closet, situated at it was between the two bathrooms.
"It doesn't," and opened the door. Standing right there was a man Diana recognized instantly; he was in civilian clothes, but she knew it was him: the soldier who'd stopped her when she'd initially tried to get into NTAC, the one who'd informed her that the facility was locked down. "We're here," Dawson said, "let the party resume."
The soldier stood aside and the four of them entered the room, shutting the door behind them. It wasn't much of a room, just enough space to stand around in without crowding, while watching through one-way glass at the man from the photos questioning - It can't be, Diana thought to herself. "Who - how did he get here?" pointing to Kyle, seated in the neighboring room.
"We picked him up," said the soldier, baring his wrist to display the circle with the two angled bars therein: The logo of the Watchers, according to April.
"I'm not disputing that we picked you up for a reason," Pierson was saying in the next room, his voice carrying through the speakers. "But that's not neccesarily connected to anything else. So answer my question: Why should we listen to you?"
"I am...an echo, a voice from the future," Kyle said, though his voice was less varying in pitch and tone, bordering on monotone.
"And who would you be?"
"Were I to answer that, the every effort of the 4400 would be rendered moot."
"You think you're that important?" Nobody's that important, we're all replaceable if push comes to shove. People don't change in that regard. There was no answer forthcoming to that. Fine, lets try this another way. "Who are the 4400?"
"They are... No," the voice within Kyle said. "That answer is misleading. You used the wrong pronoun."
Great, just gre... "Fine. What are the 4400?"
"Pieces of the sum total, a fragmentation of the prize. Put them together, and there will not be one."
"There's one more thing you need to see," April said to Diana. "Or at least take it back to work with you."
"What?" Diana asked.
"A murder weapon with his fingerprints all over it." And the prints of Tom Baldwin, a guy she said she works with...but I'll wait until its just the two of us to mention that part.
--
Half An Hour Later:
At Marco's Apartment:
"I'm sorry for intruding on you," Diana said, having arrived only a minute ago.
Marco, standing there with a t-shirt on and a bathtowel wrapped around his waist and thighs, didn't seem upset or put off. "I know you wouldn't come by without a reason. And," he added pointedly, "its never an intrusion." I was just thinking about you. About how best to break to you that -
"Could you run these through the computers tomorrow?" Diana asked abruptly, holding out a folder. "I don't know why I didn't just wait until morning to ask...I'm sorry."
"Not a problem. I might have a few ideas between now and morning," accepting the folder and opening it...looking at the photos of Adam Pierson, aka Benjamin Adams, aka Methos. "So, you want me to verify these?" having a feeling that things were getting at once more complex and simpler for him. When Diana nodded, "I don't have to," Marco said. "Not that I won't," he added quickly, hoping she didn't get the wrong idea.
"Marco, its not just a matter of you believing me," Diana said.
Okay, so she got the other wrong idea. "Oh I believe you, don't get me wrong. But that's not why I don't have to check and see if these pictures are real. It doesn't matter."
"It doesn't?"
He shook his head. "I've met him. At the time, he was using the name Gilbert Ap-Daffyd based out of Cornwall," and took a breath, "when I ran into him in Saxony." Feeling her eyes on him, disbelieving what he was saying, not that I blame her, "Yeah. I'm one of them too. I suppose 'I was waiting for the right time' sounds a bit weak about now, yeah?"
Not exactly, no. But its a bit of a shock, particularly at a time like this. I suppose that's what he meant by 'the right time' at that. "And I've got bad news."
Based on the look that's come down on your face, its a doozy of bad news. "I'm here."
Diana smiled at that, appreciating the sentiment. "According to what I was told, the only known cure for inhibited promycin is two Immortals to fight on Holy Ground."
"Yeah, that's bad news," Marco agreed. "I'll do what I can."
"Marco -"
"This is for Maia," he told her. "And for all the ripples yet to be," a smile on his face, one Diana couldn't help but return. "But mostly for Maia," and for you, Diana.
"Where are you going to find an Immortal?" Oops. "Sorry, I mean where are you going to find another Immortal?"
I guess your newfound source didn't mention the Buzz. "I'm going to stop by work and pick one up," picking up a pair of pants and sliding them on without showing an iota of skin.
"I'm serious, Marco."
"So am I."
Diana startled. "Just how many Immortals work at NTAC?"
Pausing to think about that, "Two," Marco said. Though it would've been three if Park had aimed better. Nah, Jarvis' scary enough when she's mortal. "Once I pick up the other one, we'll head over to just outside Camp Dekker," Marco said, recalling an old Haida shaman telling him of rituals once performed on the spot. "Here's my password...just in case," penning two words on the back of a business card, handing it to Diana as soon as he'd finished writing.
A Chinese restaurant that serves take-out, Diana read one side, and the other read, Passagian survivor.
In all my years, I've never met another Passagian. He shrugged, it having become water under the bridge long ago. Dropped the towel, grabbed his sneakers.
"Marco?" Diana asked.
Almost at the door, he paused, looked back to Diana. "Yes?"
"Have you ever heard...I'm sorry, its probably nothing, but..." And when the look on his face gently prompted her to continue, "Have you ever heard the phrase 'Pieces of the sum total, a fragmentation of the Prize. Put them together, and there will not be One'?"
"Can't say that I have. My best guess, is that the powers of the returnees are the selfsame as the last Immortal would have, only all at once."
"The Prize?"
Marcus nodded. "And I guess the second part means that if the returnees pool their talents, the Game'll be at an end." Not sure that that'd be entirely a bad thing.
"I see." When he'd opened the door, "Marco?"
"Yes?"
"Be careful out there."
Bowing, "Thank you, and "Diana?"
"Yes?"
"Be safe," and when she smiled and nodded, he shut the door behind him.
---
An Hour Later:
He'd just finished giving the other Immortal the Reader's Digest version of what he'd learned. "Diana said this is the way?" asked one man to the other, the both of them in the woods just outside Camp Dekker.
"Best way, only way," Marco said, "this is the way she spoke of."
With a nod, "Then its good enough for me." I should've done more to help her, during this time of sickness...I suppose I've always been too cautious with my identities, being too careful, too much status quo. Even the Empire wasn't static. "Are you sure about this?" Max asked.
"Oh yeah," Marco said.
"Very well," said Maxentius Aurelii of Britannia. "Since you seem to be wishing for a reunion with your mediaeval kinsfolk, I will oblige you."
"Don't be so sure about that," said Marco of Calabria, unsheathing his sword.
"So be it," Max said, drawing his own sword from his jacket.
Swing, slash, dodge, swing, parry, and onwards through the lethal dance which all Immortals did - the fight for their lives, waged with the effortlessness of centuries of practice and honing skills.
Then, a half hour or more into the battle, both of them starting to feel ragged and tired, neither of them about to surrender their lives, Marco struck...too hard, seeing his blade now embedded in the trunk of the tree. Max had moved out of the way just a second beforehand.
The tree fell, and Marco had an idea, letting his body drop to his knees so he wouldn't be overextended when the trunk hit the ground. A second after the tree hit, Max struck at Marco.
--
His gut calm and soothed, standing in the middle of quarantine, Methos felt the surges of power as the quickening rolled through the building. Unlike normal quickenings, this one was invisible, but it registered on other senses...Immortal senses. In his mind's eye, he could see this quickening blanketing the Earth in an atmospheric wrap, lasting just long enough to do what it had to do: fix, cure.
--
Deep in quarantine, the overhead lights flickered as main power went out, replaced immediately by the back-up generators. Diana swallowed the coffee she'd been sipping at, one hand around Maia, holding her close. Her coffee sank to the bottom of her stomach like a lead weight. Marco.
Clutching Lemon and mom with equal intensity, Maia tried to keep her eyes open just a little bit longer, she told herself. Soon, soon, it has to end soon. And I want to see it when it ends. Looking up, Thanks, mom, for being here.
Sitting in the middle of quarantine, they waited for whatever would come next.
--
Later:
It was a feeling she hadn't known since high school at the most recent: waking up slowly because somebody was standing right next to you, watching you. As her eyelids cracked open and her eyes gradually adjusted to the ambient levels of light, she saw "Marco," relieved he was alive. Relieved he'd come here...to her. He could've left, 401K or not, starting over in some other place.
Marco nodded.
"What time is it?" she asked. Brilliant. He risks his life to save all of the 4400 and specifically Maia, and the best you can do is "what time is it"?
"A little after midnight." Spying the one-third-full cup, "Want me to heat up your coffee, or just get you a new cup?"
She smiled. "I'd like it if you sat with," Maia's here, so it wouldn't be "me," "us. If you want to."
"I'd like that very much," taking a seat on the end of the bed, careful not to use -
"What's that?" Diana asked, her free hand coming to rest on his forearm just short of the sweatband wrapped around one wrist.
"Its nothing," he said. She had only to look at him, not even with skepticism, and he confessed, "Just a little cut. By morning, it'll be all gone." The end of any fight was always crystal-clear in his memory, and this one was no different. The tree'd come down and I pushed my blade as much as I could as the trunk struck earth. Max swung down, and I rolled away just in time to avoid decapitation, though he opened up my wrist a centimeter or two...what matters is I got my sword free, gripped in my other hand and dragged it towards me before lifting it as he took aim and swung at me again. I stopped him, disarmed him, and beheaded him. As we'd hoped, most of his quickening went skywards, radiating outwards like a blast wave.
"You're okay?" she asked him.
"I'm fine."
"I mean -" stopping when he rested a hand on her free hand.
"I know," Marco said. "I'm fine," smiling at her. A little tired, sure, but other than that... "How are you?"
"Good...now," relieved that Marco and Maia were both going to get through this in one piece.
--
Next Day:
"Astronomers worldwide are still attempting to explain last night's phenomenal aurora," the news reporter said on tv. "Thus far the most likely theory is that a solar flare of unprecedented size generated a magnetic storm which no satelite detected as it flew Earthwards. NOAA, NASA, ESA and other space and atmospheric agencies worldwide are working to prevent another such surprise," and the reporter handed his microphone over to a scientist.
"We got lucky this time," said the scientist. "Something as big as what happened last night could very easily have disrupted power to entire continents."
"Yeah," April said, sitting with the others, "lucky."
"We are," Methos said. "A quickening that stretches itself across the entire world..." shaking his head. "Something like that is exceedingly rare."
"How rare exactly?" having heard conflicting rumors during her time in the Organization.
"Toba and Pompeii." The Watchers and some of the Immortals present knew about Pompeii, how it was the last time two Immortals were known to have fought on Holy Ground. Joe, Methos, and April knew that Toba had erupted in the earliest dawn of Watcher history...seventy thousand years ago.
------
the end.