A/N: 1. Unen-em-hetep is an Egyptian goddess who was the protector of the dead. 2. All Egyptian names are actual names of ancient Egyptian nobility, but I only used the names, no facts about their lives or anything. In fact, I don't think any two of them were alive at the same time. 3. There is an excavation at Abydos of the first confirmed Mayor's residence in Egypt. I know nothing about it other than that. I just needed a place name.
Disclaimer: (boring recitation mode on) I own nothing pertaining to Highlander. I have no money. Suing would just waste your time. (boring recitation mode off)
Seacouver, Present Day
She felt the sign that another immortal was near even before she opened the door of Joe's Bar. As she stood there, she considered just turning around and walking on until she found another establishment. After more than three thousand years, one didn't take reckless chances with one's life. All she wanted was a drink or two, and that certainly wasn't worth a fight to the death.
But she didn't turn and walk away. She couldn't explain it, but something felt familiar about the presence she sensed. Placing herself on guard, she pushed the door open and stepped through.
Adam Pierson, otherwise known as Methos, had been thoroughly enjoying his conversation with Joe Dawson. Joe had made the mistake of commenting on the accuracy of Homer's rendition of the Trojan War to the seemingly younger man. That had led to an animated dissertation by the five thousand year old man that was now running into its second hour. Dawson saw the look on Methos' face that signaled the approach of another immortal and heaved a sigh of relief. The lecture would now end, and that was more than fine with him since he had the distinct feeling that Methos was making up half of what he was talking about and enjoying it and Joe's torment more than anyone should.
Methos turned from the bar toward the door on the barstool where he was sitting. He expected MacLeod or perhaps Amanda to walk in. But no one did. And the person did not go away. This raised his awareness level from curiosity to concern. He was about to get up and investigate when she walked in.
She was about average height, but the wide heels on the black leather boots she wore added another five inches, making her almost as tall as Adam's six foot three inch frame. She wore low-slung blue jeans and a black vee-cut sweater, both of which left no question as to the curves and tone of her trim body. The black coat draped carefully over one of her forearms shifted slightly allowing the two men to glimpse the glint of the sword concealed within. Her curly brown hair hung long and loose down her back, and a few stray strands framed her tanned face. She appeared to be only twenty-five or so, but both men knew better...
As he and Joe took in her appearance, her green eyes looked straight into his hazel ones. She gasped at the sight of him.
He looked just as she remembered him. He still had that tall, lanky body that could sprawl comfortably anywhere, and the jeans he wore definitely did it justice. The white cable knit sweater he wore hid what she assumed was still a well-muscled chest. His dark hair was shorter now- but that was a sign of the times-and it accented his handsome angular face.
As recognition dawned on his face, he relaxed on the barstool and propped one of his Doc Marten's on the rung of the stool next to his. He saw the flash of pain in her eyes quickly replaced by a mask of casualness and offered her a tentative smile.
"Care to sit?" Methos gently inquired gesturing to the seat next to him.
She flashed him a room-brightening smile as she sat. "I had you figured for long dead..." Her voice was a mix of accents from thousands of places and thousands of times, just as his was.
He gave her a grin of his own as he answered, "Well, you know me. I'm very hard to get rid of."
She nodded. "Very true. I should have known that you would hang around as long as you could."
"Joe, how about another beer for me, and..." he looked to her for a response.
"I'll take a scotch. Make that a double."
"Sure thing, Adam," the gray haired man said as he went to get their drinks.
"So it's Adam these days? That's a far cry from Metjen, isn't it?" she asked in a voice low enough so no one could overhear and gave a glance at the owner of the bar.
Methos followed her gaze. "Oh, you don't have worry about Joe. He knows. And, yes, it's Adam Pierson, perpetual grad student. You?"
"Jocelyn Hannigan, novelist, at your service." She gave him another smile.
"Well, Jocelyn isn't anything like Khama'at, either..." He retorted teasingly. As Joe returned with their drinks, Methos made introductions, "Jocelyn, Joe Dawson, proprietor of this fine blues establishment. Joe, Jocelyn Hannigan, an old friend."
As they shook hands, Joe noticed the way her eyebrow shot up at Adam's use of the word friend, but she made no attempt to correct him, so he left it at that.
Adam and Jocelyn talked comfortably the rest of the evening, reminiscing about old times and finishing drink after drink. Joe was amazed at the woman's ability to keep up with Methos. He'd always out- drank everyone Joe knew, but she was matching him glass for glass. After round fourteen—or was it fifteen?, Joe couldn't remember but however many it was, it was enough— both were speaking in a language that he assumed was one dead for centuries and giggling incoherently at everything the other was saying.
It was at this point that Joe decided to break up the party. "Alright, you two, I'm cutting you off. Go home and sleep it off."
Jocelyn, to Joe's surprise, was the one about to protest when Adam cut in. "Now, now, we've done enough damage to my bar tab for one night. Let me walk you home."
They got up, using one another for support, collected their jackets for protection against the chill of the cool October night, and left Joe to the task of collecting up all their empties. Once outside, Methos turned to her, "So where are you staying?"
She looked into his familiar, now alcohol-glazed, eyes. "Your place?" she inquired.
One corner of his mouth lifted in a sly grin as he answered. "Whatever the lady wishes." He placed his right arm around her shoulders as he steered them towards his apartment a few blocks away.
As soon as they reached his apartment and stepped inside the door, Jocelyn sobered. Adam turned to face her, a smile and a joke upon his lips, but before he could register what was happening, she slapped him with all the force she had in her lithe frame.
His hand went to his cheek in pain and shock. He stood with his mouth and eyes wide open, as he, too, began to regain full sobriety. "What was that for?" he asked incredulously.
"You know damn well what that was for," she stated angrily. "I've been waiting thirty-five centuries to do that."
A puzzled look appeared on his handsome face as he tried to recall what had prompted her outburst. Suddenly, the alcoholic haze cleared, and all the memories came flooding back to him, and he knew he deserved what he got and more.
Abydos, Egypt, 1500 B.C.
Metjen, less known as Methos, sat on the railing of the balcony outside the main dining hall, looking out over the banks of the Nile and thinking. He was so lost in his thoughts that he didn't notice the servant girl, Khama'at approach him until she timidly reached out and touched his arm. It startled him, causing him to draw the dagger hidden in the folds of his tunic. Instinctively, he grabbed the arm she had extended toward him, spun her, and pulled her against his chest, the blade against her throat.
Khama'at dropped the jug of wine she had been carrying and let out a tiny shriek of terror, and by voice alone he knew who it was. Metjen released her and concealed his weapon once more. He gently took her by the shoulders and spoke in a soft voice, "Are you alright?" She nodded meekly at him without meeting his gaze. He hooked one slim finger under her chin, drawing her eyes up to his own, and nearly got lost in their brilliant green depths. "I'm sorry. Don't be frightened. You shouldn't startle me like that."
She again nodded. "I'm sorry, Master. I-I didn't mean to..."
Khama'at looked to be on the verge of tears, and the last thing he wanted was to see her cry. He ran a finger down her smooth tanned cheek as he thought of the many times he'd watched as she performed her duties around his home.
It had been nearly a year and a half since his marriage to Menkara that brought Khama'at and several dozen other servants to his household. He couldn't stand his wife. Their union was one of political and economical convenience. They barely ever even spoke to each other.
The one he wanted was Khama'at. She was trim and curvy and absolutely beautiful. He watched her whenever he could, damning the fact that servants wore less transparent clothing than their masters.
Looking down into her still frightened face, he pulled her into what he hoped was a comforting embrace. He buried his face in her soft brown curls deeply inhaling her scent while the feel of her warm body through the thin linen of her simple shift nearly drove him mad with desire.
When Metjen finally released her, she looked down to the floor and blushed. It was all she could do to speak. "I'll bring you more wine," she gestured to the broken jar and liquid on the tile.
"No, that's okay, Khama'at, you should go help with the preparations for my wife's feast," he replied with a look of distaste on his face. He always hated when Menkara invited half the town over to get drunk and make a mess. Khama'at left hurriedly.
The feasting had been going on for hours. Metjen had put in his mandatory appearance, and now was his chance to make an escape. Not noticing the pair of eyes watching him, he made his way through the dark hallways and rooms up to his chamber and sprawled himself out on the soft bed.
Khama'at slowly and quietly opened the door to her master's chamber and closed it behind her as she crept in. She made her way to the end of the bed on the far side of the room where she could see Metjen lying with his eyes closed. Remembering the welcome she had gotten earlier that day when she had surprised him, she decided to speak while still out of his range of attack.
As she opened her mouth, he spoke, "What are you doing here, Khama'at?"
She gasped, his question startling her, since he still had his eyes closed, and she was sure she hadn't made a sound. "Master?" He opened his eyes to look at her and she became shyer. "I, uh, I w-wanted to make sure th-that you had everything you need... Is there anything I can do for you, Master?"
Her innocent question nearly made him groan. Oh, what couldn't she do for him... He stood and slowly walked toward her. "Shouldn't you be downstairs helping with the festivities?" They were now less than a foot from one another, and she had to crane her neck upwards to answer to his face.
"A few of the guests have gone home, and Teye, the head of the kitchen, let some of us go to bed. So," she was now feeling braver "Is there anything you want, Master?"
He couldn't take it anymore. He tangled one hand into her silky hair and pulled her lips to his. At first she stiffened in his embrace, but soon she was returning the kiss. He poured all of the long-pent-up passion and longing into this one kiss, and was amazed when she wrapped her thin arms around his waist and raised up on her toes to reach him better.
Reluctantly, Metjen pulled away from her, and she let out a small noise of disappointment. He smiled at her as he took her hand and led her to his bed. Setting them both down on the edge, he began kissing her throat as his nimble fingers worked to undo the ties on her shoulders holding up her plain dress. She began emitting little sighs as he nipped and licked at the tender flesh of her neck. "Oh, Master, I..." she began before he moved his lips to her ear and cut her off.
"No, Khama'at," he whispered. "Never call me that when we are alone. I am Methos." He saw the confusion in her eyes as he pulled back to look into her face. "It is my true name. The name I've used before Metjen and the name I will use after it. No one else in Egypt knows me by that name. It is a special gift to you."
She smiled briefly, but it faded as she searched for his reaction to what she would say next. "I love you, Methos."
He saw the hope mixed with fear playing across her features as the grin broke out across his own. "Oh, I love you, Khama'at..." He kissed her again, and they tumbled back onto the bed together kissing and touching as they went.
In the morning when he awoke, she was gone. He had the horrible feeling that he had dreamed the previous night's encounter. That is, until he looked at the table beside the bed and caught sight of the necklace made of leather cording and a simple turquoise pendant that Khama'at always wore. He took it in his hand and held it to his chest while he lay remembering the night before. A devilish smile spread across his lips as he did so.
It was later that day that he glimpsed her in the courtyard garden. She hadn't noticed him and was going about watering the plants. He approached from the opposite side of the shrub she was watering and made sure to make enough noise when he walked that he wouldn't frighten her.
She looked up when she heard him coming and a smile lit up her face. "Khama'at, I was hoping to see you today." He kept his statements neutral in case anyone was to hear their conversation, "I found this in one of the rooms and seemed to recall it belonging to you."
She reached out to take it from his hand and their fingers lingered together briefly. "Oh, thank you, Master. I've been looking for it and couldn't remember where I left it." She winked as she spoke to him.
She never wore the necklace again. It became their signal for her to come to him, if she chose. She would leave it on his table each morning that she left him, and he would place it under the blankets of her bed in the servants' rooms when it was safe for them to be together.
Nearly two years passed that way before it ended.
One morning, Khama'at didn't wake before sunrise to leave as she normally did. She unfortunately chose the wrong day to do so. Her naked body was sprawled across Metjen's, her head resting on his shoulder and his arms wrapped tightly around her.
And that was how Menkara found them.
She didn't particularly care for her husband. He was cynical and sarcastic. And she was aware that he was always mocking her when they spoke to one another, but he did it so well that she couldn't ever call him on it. She married him because her father told her to, and because she knew he was wealthy enough to make her very comfortable for the rest of her life.
So it wasn't love that was causing the fury to build up in Menkara's body, it was a sense of ownership. Metjen belonged to her because she paid the price of dealing with him when she didn't even like him.
She was deciding what to do when she caught a glint of metal out of the corner of her eye. Lying amidst the piles of discarded clothing was Metjen's ever-present dagger. Menkara retrieved it from its sheath and re- sheathed it in Khama'at's back before either of the sleeping pair had time to wake.
Khama'at awoke to searing pain and let out a scream of fear and agony as Menkara pulled the knife from her ribs. Metjen opened his eyes to see his wife coming at him with his own dagger and moved to defend himself.
He grabbed the knife and twisted it out of her grasp, slicing through his palm in the process, and threw it across the room. Menkara tried to use her nails to injure him, but he backhanded her and she fled the chamber back to her own rooms on the other side of the house.
Metjen had stopped his wife from harming him, but the damage had already been done. He turned to Khama'at whose blood had stained nearly half the bed a deep crimson. She grimaced in pain as he lifted her up to him and tried to staunch the flow. He called for his servants to fetch the surgeon as he tried to reassure her, "Just hold on. The surgeon will be here soon, and he'll fix you right up. I promise." He saw the light in her eyes beginning to fade. "No. Khama'at, stay with me. Don't, don't leave me."
She closed her eyes, and her shallow breathing stopped. Metjen began to sob, clutching her head to his chest.
When the surgeon arrived, he tried to convince Metjen to let him take her to the embalmers, but he would have none of it. He washed her and dressed her in the finest linen he could find in his home without raiding his wife's wardrobe, and carried Khama'at into the desert. He buried her there and cried the entire way back to his home.
He'd been drinking for two days (and nights) straight. Metjen stumbled into his chamber after another silent and liquid dinner with his wife and felt the presence of another immortal. Then he heard something moving about in the shadows. Before he could draw one of the swords he kept nearby, Khama'at timidly stepped towards him into the river of moonlight coming in through the window.
"Khama'at?" she nodded. "You're alive." He took in her disheveled appearance. Her clothing was torn and both they and her hair were covered in sand. He knew she had had to dig herself out of the sand of her own grave before walking five miles out of the desert to get there. He'd never detected her pre-immortality.
"Methos, what has happened to me? I was dead, but now I live. You are the only one I could think of to come to..." She was on the verge of tears as he took her by the hand and led her to sit next to him on his bed. He patiently explained about Immortals and the rules of the Game. "So you will teach me to defend myself?"
"No, not I. Too many people here saw you dead. I will send you to a friend in Thebes. She will train you. When your training is finished, she will send me word, and I will come to you there," he told her gently.
"And then we can spend eternity together?" she inquired hopefully.
He smiled at her. "Yes. Then we will be together."
Thebes, 1505 B.C.
Khama'at had trained dutifully for two years with Metjen's friend, Radji. Radji had finally decided that Khama'at could use a sword well enough to hold her own against other immortals, and two weeks earlier had sent a servant to tell Metjen it was time.
Khama'at had watched for the return of the messenger for hours each day. Radji could only smile at her youthful exuberance. "You're going to go mad staring at that road all day," she teased.
"I can't help it. You would think after two years that another week or two wouldn't matter..." she admitted. It was then she caught sight of the servant coming over the hill in the road. She ran out of the house and out to meet him. "Well? What did he say? Is he coming? Am I to go to him? What?"
A cloud fell over his face. "I'm sorry, Mistress, but I could not find him," he explained carefully, fearful of punishment.
"What? Did you go to the residence of the Mayor like I told you?"
"Yes, my lady. The house is abandoned. There is a new Mayor who lives on the other side of the town."
By this time Radji had joined the pair on the road and had heard the last part of the conversation. "You asked if anyone knew the whereabouts of Metjen?" she inquired.
"Yes, Mistress. Everyone I asked told me the same thing. He packed up his entire household almost two years ago and left. No one knows where he went."
The servant left with the permission of Radji. She turned to her charge to comfort her, but Khama'at spoke before she could. "I'm going to Abydos," she stated matter-of-factly.
Radji had learned in her two years of training the girl that once she set her mind on something she would do it, so she didn't bother to try to talk her out of going. She simply packed some food and wine for her and watched as Khama'at set out alone on the road to Abydos.
Abydos
The servant had been right. The house was deserted and covered in a thick layer of dust. It had been years since anyone occupied this place. Khama'at's heart was broken. Methos had betrayed her. Sent her away and then skipped town to avoid seeing her again. She thought he had loved her.
Khama'at sat down on the floor of what was once his bedchamber and wept. She died twice from dehydration before she finally pulled herself together and made her way back to Radji in Thebes. She knew she would never see Methos again. After all, if he treated his friends this way, imagine what he did to his enemies. Someone would surely take his head in anger one day.
Seacouver, Present Day
By the time Adam pulled himself out of his reverie, Jocelyn was sitting on his couch glaring daggers in his direction. He moved to sit next to her, but as her eyes narrowed at him, he decided that the other end of the sofa was the best place for him to be at the moment.
"Jocelyn, I can explain..." he began, but she had turned her face away from his and refused to look at him. "Jocelyn, please." No response. "Khama'at..." Her head whipped around at the use of her very first name.
"You can explain?" she asked venomously. Her tone changed from anger to hurt. "You abandoned me, Metjen. And you didn't even have the courage just come right out and do that. You had to lie and send me away and slink off like a coward."
"I'm sorry, Khama'at. I didn't know what to do. Menkara died a few months after you went to Thebes. If you had come back to Abydos to stay with me, not only would there have been questions from those who saw your dead body, but there would have been the question of whether or not Menkara was killed by or for you to have me." He hoped she would be able to understand reason.
She let out a short laugh of disbelief. "I see. You couldn't leave Abydos with me. Leave Egypt even? You didn't want to give up your cushy life, huh? It was just too nice being waited on hand and foot." She stood, her back to him. "Why would anyone give that up for a romp in the sack servant girl, right?"
Jocelyn was making her way to the door to leave when his hand on her arm stopped her. "You were never just a good time to me." He spoke softly. "I was young, relatively, and stupid. I chose comfort over love, and you don't know how many times I've wished I made that choice differently." His voice was apologetic and filled with regret.
"Metjen, I know how you work. Why should I believe that you mean any of this? For all I know you're just covering your ass so you don't get your head taken off." She sounded weary and more than a little melancholy.
Her back was still to him, but his hand left her arm and she heard him move away to retrieve something. She had closed her eyes to try to regain her composure, and when she opened them, what she saw in front of her brought tears to her eyes. Adam was behind her again, but dangling from his hand in front of her was the turquoise necklace that had belonged to her so many centuries earlier. He spoke in a low voice, "This, my journals, and my sword are the only things that I have never given up over the millennia. I loved you more than any woman that I have ever known before or since."
Jocelyn slowly turned to meet his gaze. Tears were streaming down the man's cheeks as he clutched the necklace in his hand. "I am so sorry for what I did to you, Khama'at. I was afraid. You meant everything to me and you would never grow old and die. I didn't know if I could handle being with someone for eternity. I'm sorry." Adam looked absolutely miserable. It was then that she knew he was telling her the truth. And it was then that she realized she still loved him as much as she did when she was that mortal servant girl so long ago.
She wrapped her arms around him in a hug, and he returned the embrace. "Methos, I've missed you," she sighed.
Methos buried his face in her hair as he had done so many times before. "Oh, gods, I love you, Khama'at." He was now sobbing and using her for support.
She managed to steer them back over to the sofa and sit. She placed her fingers under his chin and forced him to look at her. "I love you." His tears subsided as he gently brought his lips to hers. Methos soon nestled his head in Khama'at's lap and they both fell asleep. A content smile spread across both of their faces as each realized that this time there was nothing standing in their way.
Finis.