Appropriately it was raining when her flight landed at Seatac. She hadn't called ahead, hadn't told Joe she would be arriving, though it wouldn't surprise her if he had assumed or guessed that she would be. Joe Dawson struck her as an intelligent man. She half wished she'd taken the time to run a quick search on him before heading to the airport. As the aircraft taxied to the terminal she played with the idea of calling Garcia for a check but decided against it. Garcia had enough black marks on her file for the higher ups to hassle her over, Prentiss wouldn't add another.
Once off the plane and out of the arrivals terminal she considered her next action. She didn't know where Methos was, didn't know what the fucking problem even was, so…
"Taxi!" She called. A green and white cab with Sitka Cab company scrawled on the door oozed to a halt at the curb in front of her.
"Joe's bar in Seacouver." She said getting in. The driver grinned. It would be a healthy fare.
She dozed as the cabbie drove, not caring if he screwed her fare by looping the I-5 corridor – he didn't- she noted on waking. When Prentiss roused she glanced out of the cab window at the rain bright streets of Seacouver.
"You alright lady?" The cabbie asked.
"Long flight." She replied automatically noting his hack license on his dash, description and name. Old habits.
"Do you like Seacouver Anton?"
"Eh it's got its charms I guess. Prefer Seattle m'self."
She smiled tiredly. "As a cabbie or a citizen?" She asked.
"Heh, good question, probably both, though the best fares are at Seatac."
She nodded and fell silent.
Joe's, it turned out was a somewhat charming largish bar in the downtown area. She thanked the cabbie, tipped him generously, and got out. She shifted her overnight bag on her shoulder and felt a shiver as the misting rain settled on her skin.
"Come on Emily." She muttered to herself and walked to the bar entrance.
The bar had about twelve small tables settled in front of a low step-up stage with booths lining one wall. She could see the entrance to a banquet room near the hallway that held restrooms. The bar itself was a rich highly polished dark wood of some kind. A twenty-something heavily muscled brunette with extremely short hair and a hard look to her eyes was tending the bar. Prentiss adjusted the bag on her shoulder again and approached the bar.
The 'tender glanced up at her.
"What can I get you? House special is Pyramid Heffeweizen on tap." She said leaning against the bar top.
"Sounds good, is Joe in?"
The woman froze and examined Prentiss with hot predatory intensity for a few seconds.
"He's in the back, what'd'you want with him?" Again the rapid slurring of words common to the nearly neutral west coast accent.
"Just tell him Prentiss is here."
The bartender's green eyes widened a hair, Prentiss wasn't certain she'd even seen the reaction, but the thinning and tightening of the woman's mouth was unmistakable. The bartender nodded, a tight jerking motion and flung a bar towel over her shoulder. Prentiss watched her pour the pint.
The woman wasn't tall, on the short side of average. She moved with a very physical confidence and while she was muscular enough that her physique was clear from across the room it wasn't the bulging steroidal musculature of a dedicated bodybuilder. Prentiss suddenly wondered if the woman was an immortal. As the thought occurred to her the bartender put the pint in front of Prentiss and disappeared through a door marked private behind the bar. Prentiss guessed it lead to storage, maybe an office or possibly a small kitchen.
She tasted the beer and was surprised by its light almost fruity taste. It was quite good she decided and drank down half of it. The bartender returned a few minutes later and filled the tickets of three waitresses for their tables then served a handful of newcomers at the bar before returning to Prentiss.
Prentiss noticed that the waitresses bantered easily enough with the bartender but none of the newcomers bellied up to the bar offered her anything but polite conversation. She thought that was odd as the bartender seemed fairly friendly and was attractive enough.
"Refill?"
"Actually do you serve food at all? Just got off a flight and I'm famished."
The bartender smiled a thin amused smile. "Mike makes a decent burger."
"Okay, beer and a burger then."
The bartender nodded.
"Uh wait, is Joe?"
"He'll be out in a bit. You here about Adam?" The bartender asked pulling a second pint.
"Sorry, who?" Prentiss asked carefully.
The woman grinned.
"My name's Max. Adam's an old friend, if you get my meaning." She said setting the fresh pint next to the half-finished one in Prentiss' loose grip. Prentiss stared at Max and the pieces settled into place.
"I thought you might be."
"Oy! Max! Need a hand!" A burly man shouted from the other end of the bar. Max made a face.
"Be right back." She said not unkindly.
Prentiss finished her first beer and watched the bar crowd. Max helped the burly balding man unload several cases of imported beer then deftly mixed drinks, pulled pints, and even poured a few soft drinks for the milling crowds and waitresses. She returned a few minutes later with Prentiss' burger.
"Right, so you good?" Max asked.
Prentiss noticed a tattoo barely visible on the immortal's upper right arm.
"How can you have a tattoo?" Prentiss blurted.
Max glanced toward it and smiled. She gripped the sleeve and pulled it up. The tattoo round with a triangular design laid over stylized bars with a reverse slightly more opaque triangle underlying it and winglike projections. Behind it was a half circle and above it all the initials SGC.
"Military?" Prentiss asked. It vaguely reminded her of the unit patches military personnel often wore on their non-dress uniforms.
Something flickered over Max's face.
"Something like that. See a tattoo isn't really an injury, it's more like a really painful injection and skin scraping."
"So you heal as soon as the needle moves on?"
"Yeah, Adam says I'll probably need to get it touched up or it'll fade and eventually disappear."
"Interesting. SGC huh?" Prentiss poked.
Max drew down her sleeve in a decisive gesture. The woman was dressed in dark jeans, what Prentiss guessed were jump boots, and a black short sleeved fitted shirt. On her shoulder lay the ubiquitous bar towel. Her hair was just short of fashionable but Prentiss guessed it was a utilitarian rather than a fashion choice; short hair was harder to grip in a fight.
"I don't talk about that part of my life." Max said simply. Prentiss nodded, willing to accept that. She had her own secrets after all, besides something told her antagonizing Max wouldn't be the best course of action, and in the end she was too tired to give a damn. She set to eating her burger while Max kept working.
Joe appeared half an hour later as the bar traffic was dying down – it was a weekday after all. Max and Joe exchanged a swift glance and Max called for last orders.
Once the last of the patrons were gone Joe approached Prentiss. Max followed on his heels.
"You look surprised." Prentiss said by way of introduction.
Joe was a sturdy looking man though he used a cane and limped heavily. He was dressed simply and neatly, he wore a beard but it was trimmed impeccably.
"You came to see Adam?" It wasn't really a question though he phrased it that way.
"Where is he?" She asked cold steel in her tone.
"He has a room, I'll take you." Max volunteered. Prentiss watched Joe's face, it was hard, stony but he nodded finally. Prentiss got the impression that Max didn't really need Joe's permission but preferred to have it. She followed Max outside.
"Got a car?" Max asked her. Prentiss blinked.
"No –"
"S'alright we'll walk." Max interrupted. She slipped on a heavy hip length leather jacket. It looked like a motorcycle jacket but lacked some of the fittings. The way Max held it and handled it made Prentiss suspect it was quite a bit heavier than it seemed. Once the jacket was on she slipped a hand behind her back as though scratching an itch on her spine. Prentiss frowned but the gesture was so swift and automatic that Max didn't twig Prentiss' observation.
Max set off down the uneven sidewalk apparently content for Prentiss to trail after. Prentiss caught up to her new guide.
"So how do you know him?" She asked. Max smiled at the way Prentiss avoided using his alias.
"He…well he was a bit of a mentor."
"Your teacher?" Prentiss asked. Methos had explained the concept of mentor/mentee pairs in the immortal world.
"Sort of. It's kind of complicated." Max said and paused to study an intersection they were approaching, seemingly satisfied with what she saw, she cleared her throat and continued, "See, I died a violent death like all the rest of us but mine, well, it was a bit more traumatic than the usual. Did a number on my skull. He and Duncan sort of set me straight."
Prentiss thought about that. Violent deaths, by and large, were extraordinarily rare in the modernized West. The ways a young woman could die violently weren't necessarily that different from the ways a young man might, but Max's mention of trauma settled like a weight in Prentiss' stomach. She had a terrible feeling that she had a good idea of just how Max had died. Why she was so militantly and clearly dedicated to surviving? Because she'd failed to, because someone had murdered her. Prentiss knew that statistically speaking the odds of being targeted by a sexual sadist or other killer or becoming the victim of a stranger assault weren't high but somehow, she knew that was what had happened to her new companion. Prentiss swallowed hard, stomach suddenly roiling.
"It's not far now, 'bout three blocks. He isn't expecting anyone –"
"That's why you volunteered to guide me, you didn't want to surprise him?' Prentiss guessed.
"Yeah, nothing personal but it's not really a good idea to walk up to an immortal and shout boo, very bad things can happen. Look, I don't know how things ended between you or why, but I know he'd be annoyed if I let you get hurt because he was startled." Max explained as they crossed another empty intersection.
"Hurt?" Prentiss asked. Max just shrugged and picked up the pace. Four minutes later Prentiss got an idea of what Max meant.
Max was slightly ahead of Prentiss again, in spite of Prentiss' longer stride and good fitness and excellent health, she found it difficult to keep pace with the shorter woman. Max was talking about Adam/Methos' job at Seacouver University when a man lunged out of a darkened storefront a knife in one hand and slashed out at Max.
Prentiss automatically reached for her weapon – that she'd left in her desk in D.C. along with her credentials. Max's reaction was far more practical, and brutal. The smaller woman twisted and writhed away from the knife, kicked the attacker square in the groin with one booted foot while driving a savage right hook into his jaw. The man let out a strangled squeal and collapsed back into the doorway. Max picked up the man's dropped knife, leaned over him to check his pulse then riffled through his pockets. She found a nearly empty packet of cigarettes, a matchbook from a topless dancing club, and a battered out of date driver's license. She pocketed the license and lit a cigarette before tossing the matches and smokes back to the gasping and groaning man.
"Look friend, I've got your ID. I know your name and even though this is out of date believe me when I say I can and will find where you lay your pretty head at night. Get out of my city." She said and breathed a lungful of tar into the man's face, he'd begun to cry and whimper in fear and pain. She looked at Prentiss then.
The agent was still tensed for action empty hand hovering over her hip where her weapon usually rode, face transfixed by the tableau before her.
"Souvenir?" Max asked around the cigarette in her mouth, as she held the cheap knife toward Prentiss, handle first.
Prentiss took the knife, she wasn't sure why just that it seemed stupid to stand there staring at it. Max rolled her shoulders and took the cigarette from her mouth.
"Come on." She urged and started walking again, a rolling hip shot stroll. A satisfied strut Prentiss realized as she followed feeling numb and rather surreal. She held the knife in her hand until she realized it would look rather suspicious on a dark street so she carefully slipped it into her back pocket and shrugged her coat over it.
Two blocks later they arrived at a seedy looking brick apartment building. A drunken lump of humanity blocked the main entrance. As they approached the building Max frowned and shook her head as though suddenly remembering a forgotten chore.
"He's home?" Prentiss asked.
"Someone with a particularly long lifeline is." Max confirmed.
"I never asked, how old are you?" Prentiss asked.
"Uhh I dunno, twenty-something, thirty maybe? Been a busy few years." Max shrugged and stepped over the vagrant. She slipped a key out of her hip pocket and shouldered the door open.
"Frame sticks." She said absently and stepped into the building. Prentiss followed carefully.
"Why does he live here?" Prentiss asked. She thought she knew but she wanted Max's opinion.
"Dunno, security maybe." Max shrugged. She lead them down the hall to the right and unlocked a second door marked maintenance. This lead down to what Prentiss guessed was a basement.
"Okay, creepy much?" She muttered. Max grunted in agreement and flipped on a light switch.
"Hey! Adam! You in?" Max shouted, loud enough that it would be impossible to ignore her.
"Since when do you bother to ask?" The familiar drawl of her lover's voice was such a shock that Prentiss froze in place on the stairs.
"Since I feel like it you geezer." Max snorted and walked down the last of the stairs.
"Whose with you?" He asked with a hint of annoyance.
"Not Macleod, you two been bickering again?"
"The boyscout wants to know how I scarred my arm, doesn't seem to like my answer."
"I've brought a visitor."
"I know, who?" He asked voice edged with weary annoyance. Prentiss forced her knees to unlock, forced her legs to move. She walked down and as the edge of the upper floor fell away she saw more of the room. It was clean, well lit, a single bed, two bureaus, a draftsman's table, laptop on the cot and stacks of books against the wall nearest the bed.
Finally she saw Max, her back to the stairs, and…and Methos.
He looked healthy, strong, eyes bright, in need of a haircut, skin flushed with what looked like a tan. He seemed tired but when his eyes met hers she froze, she was overwhelmed with relief and the sharp sweet longing for his touch.
"Emily." He said it with warm surprise.
"Methos." She echoed and stepped off the last stair. Max might as well have been another bureau for all the notice they took of her. He walked to her, steps stiff, like dog circling an intruder. Her heart hurt to see that wariness in him, how badly had she hurt him?
"Joe called –"
"He doesn't much like the new me, neither does the boyscout." He admitted pausing in front of her. She stepped closer to him and reached for him. He drifted away, just out of her reach, but not far enough to end the conversation.
"Why are you here? Have you changed your mind?" He asked. The sound of a stair creaking under pressure drew his attention, it was Max leaving.
"Your friend is…interesting." She said by way of distraction.
"She's a serial killer." Methos said brushing past her.
"Wha-"
"Well, she would be if she weren't an immortal and she'd survived her first death. Well, that is to say, not died in the first place." He qualified with a small chuckle while sitting down at the drafting desk.
"Methos please –"
"Why are you here Emily? To hurt me?"
"What? No-"
"Joe is meddling." He said darkly and bent to a drawing on the desk.
"Methos."
"Are you here to stay? Do you want to get married? Make love by the moonlight?" He barked looking up from the drawing at her.
"What's wrong? This isn't –"
"Like me? Maybe because I'm not me, not anymore, I'm not him either I'm …what am I?" He muttered the last to himself more than her and started to draw again.
She felt clammy fear lock down on her heart. Was he mad? Had she done this?
"Methos stop it, just look at me." She demanded. His hand stopped moving over the paper. He straightened and turned in the seat to stare at her. His eyes were hard, flinty, she swallowed under that gaze.
"I was wrong, I love you, I do want children Methos but we could adopt –"
"No, no children, too many questions, too many hurts." He snapped and twisted back to the paper.
Jesus he was manic.
She licked dry lips and tried again. "What are you drawing?" She asked gently.
He paused and got up from the desk in one swift movement. She looked at his work.
He was using charcoal, his fingers were now black with it. The image was a self-portrait but it was dark and shadowed leaving half the face in doubt.
"That's very good, I didn't know you could draw."
"Don't know me at all really." He said sharply. She looked away from the paper to his face, he looked sad as well as tired now.
"Let me."
"You don't love me, you loved him." He spat.
"The man I love is in you, he's part of you, Death hasn't changed you that much Methos."
"How do you know?" He asked. She stepped close to him, leaned against his chest, and slipped her arms around his waist.
"I just do." She lied firmly.
After an eternity his strong arms slipped around her.
Max woke the vagrant with a soft word, slipped him a few bills and urged him on his way. With him gone she settled down to wait for Prentiss, or Methos, or both to leave the basement room.
She dug out her phone and started to play a phone rang, she fished it out of her pocket and checked the caller.
Jack appeared on the phone's screen. She groaned.
"Do you have any idea what time it is?"
"Shaddup I can see you're sitting on a sidewalk in skidrow, is this how you spend your leave?"
"You're using a satellite to track me?"
"I'm bored, Carter showed me how to do it." Max made a mental note to have a chat with Carter when she got back.
"Riiiiight and?"
"And you're still in Seacouver, your leave was up at midnight."
"I can't go back yet Jack, Methos –"
"I get that kid but regs are regs –"
She snorted at that, "Jack, how many regs have we bent and broken for a good cause in the past?"
Silence.
"Let me ask you this Holloway are you doing any good there?"
"Maybe." Max said stubbornly.
"You get another week Max then I'll drag you back myself."
"Thanks Jack."
She stared at the phone for a moment before putting it back in her pocket. Methos knew all about the SGC and he knew all about Max's double life. He was the only one she could really talk to about it all. Macleod and Joe knew of it of course but not the details, not the things that really mattered. She felt a yammering panic at the idea of losing her friend and mentor. The man that had risked everything to save her life, the man whose throat she'd once torn out, the man divided against himself and hiding in a basement like a diseased rat. She felt something hot on her cheek and wiped at it. Her hand came away wet.
Tears?
A/N ha ha ha ha ha ha! I couldn't help it. Old Maxie hasn't seen daylight in seriously like two years. Anyway if you want some history check out Hostile, the first sequel is super weird, the second less but it's an abandoned WIP. Hostile is complete though. *wanders off huming off key*