Part 10 Last wills and testaments

"Why the hunting? You looked for challenges before but you didn't track down easy kills. For that matter, why the one-night stands, why the drugs, why Kamir?"

Rich glared at Joe, but the hate that flashed across his face when Duncan had approached wouldn't come. "It's none of your business, Dawson. Oh, I forgot who I was talking to. Everything's your business, isn't it watcher?"

"With other immortals, it's my job. With you, it's because I was worried." Joe put his hand up, "Don't give me any crap, Rich, I've saved your life more than once."

Rich was red to the tips of his ears, but kept his voice level. "Why, Joe? Why? Because I had to and because I could. I had to get stronger or I'd be dead now. I trained and I killed – maybe you've heard, it's what immortals do. As for the one-night stands, who cares?"

Duncan spoke softly, "Is that what you'd tell Tessa?"

Now Rich's face went white with fury, "No, I'd tell her to run while she could. Before you killed her. Like you killed Amanda. Like you tried to kill me."

Duncan started to shake, with rage or grief or both. He looked as if he was going to speak but no words followed. Connor didn't care about Rich and wasn't going to allow this to pass. "You know Amanda wasn't strong enough to survive the Gathering, Ryan."

"She didn't have to die yet. She could be here right now."

"And if she was, your teacher would be plotting to take her head."

"At least he wouldn't be betraying her!"

Silence fell again. Then Methos stood, "As much fun as this is during possibly my last few hours on this earth, I think I will go look for a beautiful woman to spend the rest of the day with. Failing that, I will go look for a beautiful beer."

This brought a smile to Rich's face, but a grim one. "Tell you what, MacLeod, buy me a beer and we'll call it even." The tone was of false camaraderie.

Unsurprisingly, it did not sit well with Connor. "Even? I was there when Duncan took you in, boy. You were a thief and a fool. You could have lost your head 10 different times. Instead, Duncan made you one of the best swordsmen in the world. So he tried to kill you – your life was his to take."

This didn't faze Rich, "You're right. And if he asked me to sacrifice myself, I like to think I would have. But he didn't ask, did he?"

It was Dawson's turn. "Rich, you've seen a lot, I know. But I'm twice your age and I've seen a lot, too. And Mac is almost 10 times my age. Methos is 10 times that. Do ya think that maybe things happened you don't completely understand? You got tricked by Ahriman, too."

"I didn't get tricked into killing anyone, Joe."

"How far away were you, Rich? Would have you killed the Horton that Ahriman made you see? Have you ever had a dark quickening? Hell, I know you've had quickenings that changed you. Why is what happened to Mac so hard to take?"

"You've seen a lot, Joe. Has someone you trusted with your life ever turned on you? And then did it again? If they did, would you go running back for a third round?"

Connor stood suddenly, "Duncan, stop wasting your time with this whelp. After last night, we both need rest. See you back at the hotel."

"He's right, MacLeod – you're wasting your time. You should be off saving a little girl's cat or something. What do you want from me, anyway? I'm not taking your head; just forget about that."

"Then I want you to forgive me, Rich." At Ryan's frozen expression, Duncan went on, "The last few days I've been forced to see how weak I am. I'm not as strong as Methos or Connor or Amanda or you. I'm not going to win the Prize and I don't deserve to. All I really want now is to help Connor if I can and to make peace with you."

"What do you want me to say, Mac? That it's all fine? It's not, it won't ever be. In a few days, it won't matter anyway."

"That's why it does matter, Rich. Look, I'm not asking you to go back to believing I'm a hero. We both know it's not true." Duncan audibly inhaled, "I'm asking you to believe that the man who tried to help you was the real me and the man who tried to kill you wasn't. The real me isn't a hero, has made thousands of stupid mistakes, but cares about you a great deal. Do you truly see me as a murderer?"

Richie stared, his face set, "No . . . No. But there's no way I'll ever trust you again."

Duncan seemed to shrink, "I understand. You can't trust me, I don't blame you. Can you forgive me?"

Rich put his eyes down, then looked at Joe. Finally, he turned back to Duncan, "Yes."

But this wasn't good enough. Duncan put his hand on his shoulder, ever so slowly, "Really, Rich?"

More firmly this time, "Yes."

At this Duncan seemed to reinflate. He stood and held out his hand, Rich stood and accepted it. "I know you can't trust me but however much of a friend I can be, I want to be. We're in the hotel across the street. Come now or later. If you want."

Rich nodded, though his face stayed blank. Duncan turned to Dawson, "I'm going back, Joe. Let me know if that phone of yours rings." He left, with what almost sounded like a song under his breath.

Joe was in the process of getting the biggest smile Rich had ever seen on that gruff old face. "You acted like a man, today, Rich. No matter what happens, no one can take that away from you."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," but Rich couldn't help responding just a little to Dawson's grin.

Methos' quest had almost immediately degenerated into a search for beer. Even that wasn't as easy as it sounded – the pull of the Gathering was stronger and the area in which he could move was smaller. Most of the remaining immortals, whether they knew it or not, could no longer venture more than few blocks from each other. Being 5000+ had many advantages, though, and one was the ability to withstand the force pulling him back, to find a bar serving acceptable beer at lunch time.

He was therefore surprised when he felt another immortal. The surprise didn't last long; Kronos may have lacked Methos' power but he had more will. "Hello, brother," he greeted cheerfully, pulling out a chair. "I was wondering whether you or Cassandra would find me first."

"She's probably boiling eye of newt in the blood of a raven." Kronos spun the chair around. He also kept his distance.

"Not going to join me?" Methos gestured to the waiter for two more. "It's MacLeod's money."

"In that case . . . " Kronos brought the chair a bit closer. They drank together, as they had three thousand years ago. "I'm going to reunite the Horsemen, you know. I'll kill you tonight, then I'll get Kaspian from MacLeod, then I'll get the quickening of that bitch who butchered Silas, from her head or someone else's."

"I don't suppose you could be persuaded to start with the bitch."

"Not so eager to fight, brother? You were, yesterday."

Methos paused for a moment, then drank. "I'm better than you, Kronos." It was said quietly and with no eye contact.

"No, you're not. Oh, I know you hold out on everyone you face. Always thinking ahead three centuries to when someone might become a genuine threat to the great Methos. And I know you think I can't beat you because I'm no better at hand-to-hand than you are."

Methos was discomfited; Kronos was being all too realistic. It was far better to have one's opponents deluded.

"But you have a weakness, Death. Guilt. Death is defeated by guilt – has a nice ring to it. You're guilty about betraying me, about betraying all of us, about Silas' dying when you might have helped him, even a little bit about Caspian. Your guilt will slow your body and mind. And I will kill you."

"You'd have a better chance taking a weaker head first. I have well over a thousand years on you, brother. I know how you struggled following me." Methos didn't know, but it was a good bet.

"Can't be helped. If it isn't me tonight, it will be the witch. And your guilt over her is so vast, she'll barely have to lift her blade."

Methos winced; Kronos was right again. He feared Cassandra more than anyone.

"That would be the end. Your power with her tricks – none of us would stand a chance."

Methos turned to look directly at Kronos for the first time, "You've been thinking, brother. I'm impressed."

"You may be the best planner, but you're not the only one." Kronos leaned forward, "For old times, then, who you are worrying over?"

"Oh, the usual. Kurgan, Grayson." Methos mentioned immortals he knew Kronos was familiar with. He saw the disdainful response. "Fine. Our host – Jerusalem."

"What? He was a boy scout 2000 years before MacLeod was born."

"And what if takes the head of someone particularly nasty?"

"You mean someone like me," Kronos interrupted with his slight smile.

"If he decided to break the rules, or even just bend them, he wouldn't have to raise a sword. He could have a small army on us with a phone call."

"Then we'd have to team up against him, brother. Just like old times." Kronos was now at full, feral grin. "What about the magician?"

Methos snorted, "Which one?" For a moment, Kronos' face flickered. So he doesn't know everything, Methos thought. Must not have gotten access to the full set of Watcher files.

"The more dangerous one."

Nice try. "I can't imagine which one you could mean."

"All right, Death. Kane."

"I honestly don't know. He's been out of action for a while. Connor MacLeod beat him before, but who knows what kinds of tricks he's come up with since."

Kronos rolled his eyes, "Are you going to tell me about the other one or not?"

Methos mused for a moment. Better Kronos win the Prize than that bastard Kell. And Kronos was one of the few who might take Kell's quickening and not join him in insanity. "Kell. Youngster but lots of heads. Unknown abilities but good enough to defeat Connor Macleod easily."

Kronos was surprised, "Then why is he still alive?"

"He's insane. He lives for torturing the Highlander."

"Then he's a fool. Never let torture get in the way of getting rid of an enemy. He'll make a mistake."

"Yes, but when?"

"Anyone else?"

"No, that about covers it."

"Brother, if you do beat me tonight, I hope it's you who claims the Prize. The Horsemen victorious at last!"

"I can't say the same, brother."

Kronos staggered backward holding his heart, "You wound me! At least tell me I'm not the worst of the lot."

"Not hardly, which is itself a scary thought." Kronos snickered and Methos finished his latest beer. He forced himself to turn to the mass murderer who had been his friend longer than any other in 5000 years of life. "We both know well that almost anything is possible but, Kronos, live this day like it will be your last."

"Don't I always?" Methos stood and extended his hand, Kronos took it, then slid his arm forward in a cross-arms link from days before Rome. They held the pose for a moment looking directly at each other. Then Kronos left, wordlessly.

The waitress watched them curiously – they didn't seem drunk. She cautiously approached, "You want another?"

"Definitely." As she turned away, Methos sighed. He would have to stop drinking soon. And while the waitress wasn't beautiful, neither was he.

end part 10