"It was the best of times. It was the worst of times." The famous line from "A Tale of Two Cities" was apropos for this point in time.

It was the twentieth Century - a time of technology and good life. It was truly the Golden Age for Man. However, for two people, it was the worst time in their entire lives.

Methos sat at her bedside watching her die, slowly. It was the ultimate torture. He felt no physical pain. His pain was inside - his very soul was crying out - refusing to accept her imminent death. He called to a doctor, hoping for some reassurance. " Doctor..."

"...How is he?" Arynn asked the Doctor, hopeful for some good news.

Dr. Jamilah didn't want to upset Arynn any further. Sometimes she felt that the patient's loved ones suffered more than the patients themselves.

"I have no good news," she said carefully, " but I have no bad news either. Your husband is out of intensive care. However, he has sustained extensive damages due to the accident. All we can do now is pray." She patted Arynn's shoulder and left.

Arynn sighed and glanced back at her husband, Alex. Whatever it was, she was determined to stay hopeful. The hospitals in Singapore were reputed to have one of the best medical technologies in the world.

At this point she didn't know which was more dangerous: having hope or losing it.

There was only one thing left to do - she bent her head and started to pray, hoping it would reach God's ears.

Methos didn't believe in gods and religions. How could he? He had seen countless civilisations grow, prosper and then forgotten -- along with them their various gods and religions.

But then Methos was old and wise enough to realise that there was a higher power - a more superior being. He hardly prayed nowadays. He didn't even know who to pray *to*.

But for Alexa, dear sweet Alexa - the Oldest Man prayed.

NO!

The two thoughts occurred simultaneously. No word could effectively describe their mental anguish.

// Alexa was dead. //
// Alex was dead. //

DEAD.

Methos stood beside her grave and gripped her tombstone as if his life depended on it. For one morbid second, he contemplated breaking his fingers. The bout of pain would temporarily help him forget his real pain - the pain of a broken heart. His fingers would heal and they would be as good as new. His heart on the other hand would forever be scarred. Alexa was one of many whom he loved and lost. In the end there would only be grim acceptance. Didn't someone say, "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger?"

If that were the case, Methos would be the strongest man on earth, wouldn't he?

Ayrnn prided herself as being a strong woman. She had to be. She glanced at her Watcher tattoo on her wrist. Alex didn't know about that part of her life - her being a Watcher, that is. She didn't, couldn't tell him about the existence of a race of people that cannot die unless decapitated. It took someone with guts to be able to witness two immortals dueling to the death without getting horribly sick all the time.

Immortals. The gravity of her situation hit her hard. It wasn't easy being an immortal; they were so lonely. Arynn could sympathize with them. She was all alone. Alex was gone and she felt a part of her soul had died along with him.

Two virtual opposites in different parts of the world - one Immortal, one Watcher, cursed immortality. For once in a very long time, they broke down and wept.

Despite that blatant show of emotion, the sun kept on shinning as if nothing had happened.