Chapter Two

The outside of MacLeod's dojo looked the same, somewhat seedy and deserted. Methos was very thankful for the deserted part right now. The last thing he needed was a parade of clan members, calling on 'the MacLeod' for help. It was going to be difficult enough to convince MacLeod to help him without an audience. This problem required privacy and delicacy to resolve.

The long walk from the abandoned power station had given Methos some time to formulate a plan. The wager was made, but Methos knew Kronos was not above stacking the deck in his favour; that just meant that cunning and guile would be necessary. Methos was comfortable with that; he hadn't survived five thousand years without embracing some underhanded methods himself. If Kronos wanted to stack the deck, he would soon find that his 'right-hand man' had a few wild cards up his sleeve.

Five feet away from the doors of the dojo, Methos stopped. It was better to stay just out of sensing range of MacLeod; Methos did not doubt that Kronos would follow him. Hopefully, his seemingly random twists and turns on the walk over had muddled the trail sufficiently. Ironically, the slow physical twists had paralleled the rapid mental twists required by the situation. Slouching a little further into his long coat, and once more marvelling at the pristine state of his sweater, Methos reviewed his plan.

"The important thing now is to convince MacLeod to help me. I can't possibly handle Kronos by myself anymore. He's grown more erratic with the passing years. He never would have taken me down in public like that five hundred years ago." A passing pedestrian shot a worried look toward the strange man talking to himself, but Methos didn't even notice. He had bigger problems than being thought odd.

"I'm going to have to tell the Boy Scout at least some of the truth; but not all of it. No, the Highlander cannot accept who I once was. He only needs to know that a dangerous man is threatening the world, and I cannot stop him alone. Friendship, and the terms of the wager, should take care of the rest." Unfortunately, the plan provided precious little comfort now that the time had come to implement it.

Swallowing his fear, a somewhat damp and harried looking Methos strode slowly into the dojo, where an equally harried looking Duncan MacLeod met him. Opening his mouth to invoke the protection of Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod, Methos was summarily cut off by the one question he didn't want to hear.

"Methos, glad you're here. Have you ever heard of an immortal named Kronos?"
The Old Man's vaunted air of detachment failed him utterly. "K-Kronos? Um, why do you want to know?"

The calm, cool, sardonic part of Methos, the part that had served him so well during his recent confrontation with Kronos, struggled to control the atavistic fear that coursed through his limbs. He had a sudden urge to confess the whole truth to MacLeod, and deal with the fallout afterward. What is it about MacLeod that throws me out of character so badly? It's a wonder I'm still alive after spending so much time with him, Methos thought.

MacLeod, meanwhile, continued awaiting the information he was sure Methos could provide. Methos opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Drawing a deep breath, and calling on some calming mantras learned on one of his sojourns to Tibet, he tried again.

"Kronos is a very old, very dangerous immortal. He has little regard for human life, and a horribly inflated opinion of his own worth. He is a megalomaniac, with a flair for the overly-dramatic … and he is the reason I came here today."

Duncan MacLeod was completely flummoxed by Methos' short speech. Although the tone had been that of his friend, the honesty underlying the words contradicted everything he knew of the world's oldest immortal. Part of him instinctively distrusted Methos' sudden decision to give a straight answer to a simple question. The greater part of him, however, responded to the vulnerability and fear he sensed oozing off the older immortal.

"I need a favour, MacLeod," Methos continued. "Kronos is here, he has a plan to do harm to untold numbers of people, and I need your help to stop him."

Stopping for breath, and to keep from revealing more than MacLeod needed to know, Methos was transfixed by the sensation of another immortal. Turning to scan the room, he noted that the elevator from the loft was about to disgorge its occupant.

The lift doors opened, and a woman who looked like she had been crying stepped out. "Look, Duncan, I know I said I'd wait upstairs, but I have to help. I have to do something," she stated as she walked into the dojo. As she did, she caught sight of Methos, who had frozen in place.

"You!" Cassandra screamed, drawing her sword. MacLeod instinctively stepped between the two immortals.

Throwing his hands in the air, Methos reverted to sardonic type. "Great, it never rains but it bloody pours, doesn't it? Do something MacLeod, your guest seems determined to skewer me." A note of desperation coloured the last words, ruining the image of unflappability that Methos was trying so hard to project.

MacLeod, his arms full of a very angry and determined Cassandra, thought he was doing something. He turned to advise Methos to run, but what he saw on his friend's face made his words stop in his throat.

Methos had all but collapsed on one of the dojo benches. He was shaking his head, and had an air of complete defeat. Looking up, Methos stared directly at Cassandra. "Hello Cassandra, you're looking well."

"You know her?" MacLeod had gone from protective to puzzled. A part of his mind noted that this was not uncommon where the world's oldest immortal was concerned. He was even beginning to wonder if Methos did it on purpose, keeping everyone around him off balance to make surviving easier.

"Know me? Know me?" Cassandra shrugged out of Duncan's loosened grasp. "Of course he knows me, he was one of them, a Horseman. He was responsible for the destruction of my tribe and for enslaving me." As she spoke, Cassandra paced the dojo floor, arms and sword swinging wildly, each word driving her to new heights of anger and passion.

"He was Death, the brains of the Horsemen. He rode with Kronos, Caspian and Silas for a thousand years, killing, raping and pillaging as he pleased. He captured me, and then taught me to fear and serve him. He ruled my life; he was my life!" With a quick spin, Cassandra once again thrust her sword in Methos' direction. MacLeod followed her closely, ready to avert bloodshed.

"Death … it was the perfect role for him. I was convinced that he alone could bring me back to life; he alone had the power to deny me that final gift. All those I had loved were gone, and this," she gestured angrily toward a silent Methos, "was what replaced them. A thief, a killer, a rapist who thought of no one but himself and his brothers." The last was said with such distaste that Cassandra all but spat the word out like poisoned wine.

MacLeod, silent during Cassandra's indictment of his friend, turned to Methos with hope and fear in his gaze; hope that Methos would deny the allegations, and fear that he wouldn't. "Methos …?"

"I'm sorry MacLeod. Everything she says is true." Methos drew a deep breath, the only outward indication of how this admission pained him. Swallowing hard, he continued.

"I was the monster that mothers warned their children about. I killed, and I killed wantonly. No one was safe, not the people living in quiet villages, not the merchants in the caravans, not the soldiers defending those caravans. We were strong, and we took what we wanted." Resignation echoed in Methos' tone, the words rang with painful truth. Duncan shifted uncomfortably, and with a sudden burst of earnestness, Methos continued before MacLeod could interrupt.

"You have to remember MacLeod, the times were different then. What you had was what you could hold. The more you had, the harder you fought to keep it. We had power, and we did all we could to keep it. If that involved hurting others, well, that was the way of the world then." Closing his eyes briefly, Methos mentally strengthened himself with a meditation mantra. He then turned toward the woman who had inspired memories of desire and revulsion in him for two thousand years.

"Cassandra," he said quietly, "I can't tell you how many times I have thought of you over the years, always with regret. I cannot bring your people back, and I cannot change what happened then, but know that I have changed. Death is long gone, relegated to well-hidden journals. Your people live on in you, they –"

"Do you really think I believe any of your lies? You must remember that weak, cowed girl who lived for a brief smile from you, or a gentle caress of your hand." Cassandra was in higher temper now than she had been earlier.

"Don't try your tricks on me, Methos. I see the light of Death in your eyes when you speak of the past. I see your nostrils flare, filling with the scent of remembered blood. When I close my eyes, I can still see the look of disdain on your face as you allowed Kronos to take me from your tent. I screamed your name; I waited for you to save me." Cassandra stalked closer to her prey.

"After I stabbed Kronos and escaped through the desert, dying countless times, never knowing if this would be the last, I vowed to myself that I would never forgive you." Cassandra's sword was suddenly menacing Methos' neck, and he wondered if this was the end.

MacLeod quickly stepped forward, pulling Cassandra and her sword away. "Methos, I don't know --. Maybe you should --."

"Look, MacLeod, I know this is hard for you to understand." Methos could hear the impending dismissal in Duncan's tone, and rushed to disarm the Scot before he could show Methos the door.

"I'm not trying to excuse what I did, and I'm certainly not asking for your forgiveness. I have lived with my regrets for much longer than you have been alive. I have accepted who I was, and I have changed." Cautiously standing and turning toward Cassandra, Methos continued.

"You have changed over the millennia, don't you think it possible that I have also? You don't know me, not as the man I am now. Give yourself a chance to see that, then decide if I still need to pay for crimes two thousand years old."

Methos felt he had done all he could. He could still see the questions in MacLeod's eyes, and the hatred in Cassandra's. He wondered if Cassandra was right about seeing Death in his. While he hoped she was wrong, he feared she was not.

Finally, MacLeod spoke. "Why did you admit to this Methos? You could have run from here, disappeared off to Bora Bora, and never had to deal with any of this."

"I told you," Methos said calmly, "Kronos is back, and he wants me back too. I don't want to go back to that life MacLeod." Ignoring Cassandra's disbelieving snort, Methos continued, "I have a plan that would remove Kronos from all our lives, but I'm going to need your help to pull it off."

Turning unconsciously imploring eyes on MacLeod, Methos leaned back against the wall of the dojo to await their answers.