XIV – Untitled.

Methos went for a walk. Being locked up in the house dulled him. MacLeod had been in a dark mood since Anne's death. The tension between Nick and Alex was threatening to burst every second. Amy played mum with the girl.

He needed to think. So he had walked out into the empty streets of New York City. He felt followed but pretended not to notice. It was probably Kenny, who had lately seemed uncomfortable in the girl's presence. It was evident to everyone, but unbeknownst to the rest, so did he.

Then the buzzes blasted his head. He recognised that buzz. He could recognise it anywhere. Cassandra was around... but she was not alone. He drew out his broadsword and readied for the rendezvous he would have postponed in other circumstances.

"YOU!"

It was a deafening squawk coming from the left. He glanced. Cassandra was there, her face a mask of hatred, her body moving dangerously close to him, sword in hand. Methos parried her blow and took distance. Again, she charged forward in a hardly good way. He glimpsed at her companion. He didn't know him, but seemed green. Too green.

Her blows danced up and down, never connecting with flesh, always with metal. At one point, Methos kicked her away. She staggered to the floor but rose up soon, gritting her teeth in rage.

"Cassandra..." Methos spoke calmly. "We mustn't fight. We need you to defeat Him."

"Shut up!"

Blinded by hatred and tears, she launched another flurry of attacks missed. The air whistled upon the dance of the sword.

"Stop it, please!" Methos continued. "MacLeod will need your knowledge..."

Upon Duncan's mention, she halted, measuring up her opponent. Methos spoke truth, that she could know at first sight, by the strangest sense a woman has, called intuition. But there was more. She received faint signals from his brain. How much, or how terrible, she couldn't know.

"LIAR!!"

He saw it in her face. She wouldn't believe him. But they needed her... MacLeod needed her. He gulped, tossing his sword away, and went down on his knees. She froze, trying to guess what he (and herself) would do next. She approached, the tip of the sword grazing the floor. She stood by him, eyeing his pathetic self with contempt.

"The Highlander needs you, Cassandra. But he also needs what I know." Methos sounded so sincere it panicked her. "But if you want to do it, go ahead. The Quickening will show you what I know... and you will pass it on to him."

She tightened and arched up her sword. She glanced at John, who was bewilderingly frozen. Like he had been when she had showed him some of the things she had incorporated to her sexual knowledge over the centuries. He was young and stupid. Stupid as all youngsters. Too young, but even younger... when life is measured in lifetimes.

She channelled all her strength to her arms and sent the blow. The blade fought against the air, which cried upon the cut of the sharp weapon, approaching its goal, which never stirred or shivered.

Methos opened his eyes. The blade was at his neck, frozen. His eyes went up to Cassandra. She stared, pitifully weeping. What would be in her mind? He couldn't know. But he cared for her. As he had cared for many others. But she was special. She had always been special.

He stood up. She was a statue. There had been times... in the old days... when she would go into those fits of motionlessness. He leant and kissed her lips. As in a fairy tale, she seemed to wake up from the spell...

She slapped him.

"Don't you ever—!" she shrieked.

"I'm sorry." He apologised, unable to hide a grin, seemingly oblivious of the fact that she had almost killed him. "You always woke up like this."

"Son of a bitch!" she cried.

"Who is your friend?"

"I'm John." The man approached and sneered at Methos.

"I am Methos."

"No, you're not. Methos is a legend."

Young and stupid, Cassandra thought, but also belligerent and defiant. There was a purpose for her coming across him. And now they found Methos. Soon they would find the Highlander.

"I Am Legend." Methos joked.

"What?!" John queried in puzzlement.

"Your friend needs to read more, Cassandra." Methos commented casually, leading the way home. He felt her eyes stabbing his neck and smiled, internally glad to have her close.

Cassandra indeed glowered at him, but still followed. She felt John behind her. She knew the boy was too young to understand most of what was going on. But he had a business with MacLeod, and that had to be taken care of. She wouldn't let him challenge the Highlander. She would slice his head in pieces first, however virile he were.

Slowly, things were unravelling for better. Once again, her mind was flooded with memories that pervaded her tranquillity. Why, after so long, had she started having those dreams again?

-----

"What do you mean he's not here?!"

Methos was out of himself. They had agreed that only one person at a time would leave. It was the safest. They remained safe from external attacks (however unlikely they seemed) and also from themselves, should the Game bend them into fighting.

"What I said, Methos." Kenny argued back. "He said he was taking a nap and... voila! He's gone!"

Amy was at the sofa, the girl in her arms, nervous by the furious quarrel. Nick was detachedly reading an old magazine about the once popular singer Britney Spears' pregnancy. His quarry, Alex, was in the shower.

"This is indeed a bad moment for you to join us, fellows." He commented ironically at Cassandra and John.

"Have you considered checking his room?" Amy tried to make one of the quarrellers leave.

Methos sighed in distress and headed to the back of the house, where the Highlander's bedroom was. He returned minutes later. Concern was in his face. He gripped up his sword and hid it in his coat. He eyed the others and closed his lids.

"What is it?" Cassandra asked.

"This..." he showed them a piece of paper. A note was scribbled on it.

"Rose?" Cassandra suddenly seemed nonchalant. "He's having an affair and doesn't want you to know it."

"You don't understand, do you?" Methos snapped. "Rose... is Roxheanna." Cassandra's face muted into one of shock. "She's improved her abilities."

"Then I'm going with you." Cassandra sentenced.

"If you are, then so am I." John joined them uninvited.

"You stay." Methos denied.

"I'm going."

"Let him go." Nick called without lifting his eyes from the magazine. "With any luck, she will take his head."

Methos smirked at the occurrence. Cassandra drew closer to him and grasped his head. She leant closer to him and whispered something in his ear. His face was still but his body shivered and shook.

"Take the car." Nick handed the keys to John. "Don't scratch it... or not even one thousand immortals will save your ass."

"Yeah, sure." John chanted back defiantly at the old man. "So, where to?"

"Downtown." he hissed, as memories from a faraway day overcame him...