THE ELIZABETH SERIES
CHAPTER SEVEN
THE NEW MILLENNIUM
By JoLayne
EnyaJo@aol.com
RATING: PG
CHARACTERS: DM M J A OC Elizabeth Bennett
SUMMARY: Elizabeth's gone, Methos' trying to write and meets up with an old friend.
SATURDAY DECEMBER 23, 2000
CASA SEGURA
Even though Logan would leave Elizabeth alone for decades at a time, he always kept track of her. There never really was a time when he didn't know about where she was and what she was doing, how many heads she'd taken, if she was married again. He was her personal watcher, with a staff of good people who liked to keep secrets and be well paid. He didn't know that there was an entire network of watchers out there keeping tabs on all immortals.
While in New York, Logan couldn't get the thought that it was Elizabeth's time to die out of his mind. Nine was his lucky number. She got away from him. He had to take her now, enough was enough. He thought about her entirely too much, and that brought back thoughts of what that butcher had done to him. Every time he got out of bed in the morning and saw his stump, he vividly remembered how that butcher so callously ruined his beautifully strong body. Had ruined his chance of winning the game. She should be easy to take. But, for the first time, she was surrounded by immortals.
Why did he have to make the 9th visitation the one? Why not the 8th when he had fun killing that Australian husband of hers? Elizabeth begged him to take her head. But he didn't, only because she begged. After that mortal woman got married in New York City and went off somewhere with her husband, Elizabeth also disappeared. Logan wondered if he should just stay in Denver and live his life, wait another 20 years, get her next time, she may not be surrounded by immortals then... but he couldn't.
He reviewed everything he knew about her life and time in New York. He knew that Elizabeth had quit her job at NYU. She wasn't at her apartment, even though a mortal who was outfitted daily in denim, some man not hired by Logan, hovered in her neighborhood, and Logan wondered why. The mortal friend and her husband came back from their trip, but didn't have physical contact with Elizabeth.
He got on his plane and searched in every city he knew she had ever lived, starting with the place where their shared history began, Gettysburg, PA. Then on to Los Angeles. Then to Dallas. Charleston. Minneapolis. Miami. Everywhere he looked, nothing. It was like the women fell off the face of the earth, at least in the United States. Logan even went to Australia, the scene of their last meeting when he was able to have his way with her. And was able to slice her husband. It did no good, the world was too big.
If Logan was going to find her, he'd have to start with the people she knew. He thought about the immortals she surrounded herself with during her last week in New York. Through his minions' research, he got nothing. None of the three immortals were still in New York. Getting more and more angry, he decided to turn to the old man they all seemed so concerned about, Joseph Dawson. After watching his comings and goings, there had been no contact with her. One of his men asked if they should take him. That would draw Elizabeth out of her hiding place. Logan debated his options. That might work, but the man didn't have legs. Logan felt a bit of pity for him and figured he'd gone through enough.
Going back to the beginning, rethinking everything, he turned again to the denim clad man who continued to loiter around Elizabeth's apartment building, even though Elizabeth had been gone for weeks. Logan figured he would only get information out of the man by questioning him and knowing a pleasant chat on the sidewalk wouldn't do. Logan had the man kidnaped.
When Logan questioned the denim man, no answers were forthcoming so he decided to drop the pleasantries and had the man tortured. Only then did Darrell Foley confess that he was Elizabeth Bennett's watcher. A watcher? Logan had to have that explained, listening intently when the information about the watcher system flowed out of the crying, pain-addled denim man's lips.
It was amazing what a little pain could reveal. Foley truly knew nothing of where Elizabeth had run, and was himself in big trouble with the watchers for losing her. He also had to find her. Logan placed his cane on the tied up man's broken foot and leaned all his weight on it and asked, "Who are the other immortals?"
"Duncan MacLeod of the clan MacLeod," Darrell spouted in agony.
"He has a ponytail?"
Darrel nodded, his body worn out from the pounding at the hands of the brute standing just behind Logan's shoulder. There was another one, a smaller man, writing down everything he said
"The female is Amanda Montrose," Darrell felt himself slowly slipping away, uttering any sound was difficult, but he had to talk if he wanted to live. "She's an old one. Over a thousand years old."
Logan gasped at that, in awe that one so scrawny could survive that long. Maybe he had a chance in that game after all. "Maybe we can work together," Darrell hopefully offered, spitting out the blood that collected in the back of his throat. He knew he had broken ribs, maybe a punctured lung because it was getting harder and harder to draw even the smallest breath.
He made the mistake of moving his hand. All his broken fingers brushed against the chair he was tied to, making him scream in pain. "Let's work together... please," he pleaded with the immortal.
"What do I need you for?"
"The other one she spent the night with," another wave of wracking coughs escaped him. Logan pulled his head back by the hair and waited for him to continue. Darrell had trouble catching his breath, but coughed out, "Adam Pierson... he's a... researcher."
"Like you?"
Darrell Foley collapsed, his coughs grew weaker from lack of lung power. Before he could tell Logan more about Adam Pierson, he died. Logan glared at his corpse, pushed over the chair that he was tied to, making Darrell fall and lay like a lump on the floor, that Logan just stepped over, disgusted. Nothing was going his way. A researcher of what? He thundered at his men, "Throw him in the East River and get me information on Duncan MacLeod. Now!"
~~~~~
A week later, Logan found out Duncan MacLeod had residences in Seacouver, USA, and Paris, France. "Finally, Logan muttered, "Something I can work with!" He hoped Duncan MacLeod wasn't the type who met up with an immortal and then went his way, not seeing them again, or if he did, not for decades or centuries. Logan didn't have that much time. He had to take care of Elizabeth so he could finally put his mind to rest. If he could kill that butcher, Carlton, again, he would. Gladly.
He prepared his plane and went on the trail of Duncan MacLeod. He found him in Paris. Like a moth to a flame, MacLeod and Amanda led Logan right to Elizabeth's door. Nice place she was living in. When he looked through binoculars at her and who he assumed was the researcher of something, Adam Pierson, and their guests entering their house outside of Sintra that evening, he seethed. Elizabeth looked happy, walked freely without a care in the world. Something he couldn't do, because of her and her jumpy friend.
Every smile she produced for her guests made him more angry. He hated that woman now, even more then when he first laid eyes on her. He'd come to her house alone, his men were back at the hotel. He was just going to walk back to his car and get them, to formulate a plan of attack on the two immortals with her, when Elizabeth came out of the house alone for what Logan thought was a walk in the woods. He impulsively shot her.
Elizabeth laid still on the ground. Revenge filled Logan's head and he didn't think about the others inside the house. This would be so easy, so quick. He'd be enjoying her quickening before they could even get outside. He walked to her on his prosthetic leg. The one she and her friend made sure he lived with for the rest of his life. Fake legs had gotten better over the years. He started out with a peg leg. Then a wooden one in the shape of a real leg. Then a steel rod that was lighter and more mobile, but was obviously still fake. Then plastic. After his last one was broken in New York, he purchased a new one. A good one. Molded plastic over a computer chip enhanced robotic inner structure. It cost him more than his plane had, but he didn't need to use a cane, it actually felt like a real leg once again.
When Logan reached down to pull her head up to take it, he got the surprise of his life. Elizabeth had pulled a gun out of her jacket and held the barrel to his forehead. He moved back, just as she shot up from the ground, with the gun trained at his head. His bullet had grazed her side and she was recovering from it, but was mad as a rabid dog. "Give me a reason," she sneered. "I'm in a really pissy mood right now! Please do something to make me shoot your goddamn head off!"
Logan dropped his gun from the surprise, she kicked it away. They both felt buzzes. Three forms advanced on them from the house. Duncan ran up and got Logan's gun that he dropped on the ground. Elizabeth didn't flinch. She only said, "We're going to fight this out. You and me, fairly. I learned a lot over the years, maybe it's time you saw what I can do, Logan. I'm done learning. You do remember how the game is supposed to be played, don't you? Joshua?"
Logan stepped back. She noticed he was moving better. Looked down at his leg, it could bend at the knee. He no longer needed a cane. Elizabeth asked, "Duncan? Is there anyone else in the area?"
"It's just us," he glared at the man.
She handed Duncan her gun and took the sword out of her coat. "Come on," she told Logan.
Logan violently shook his head, stepping back, keeping an eye on her, and the other immortals. "I take your head and they'll take mine." He cursed himself for being impulsive, for putting himself in this position.
"That's assuming you take my head," Elizabeth said. "Let's make a deal. They're all pretty truthful over there." When she cocked her head in Methos' direction, Methos snarled at her because of the dig. Not that she noticed. Her eyes didn't leave her opponent. She vowed, "If you happen to win this duel, they will promise to let you go. You won fair and square."
She looked at the other immortals. They didn't return her gaze, saw only the little coward who had Joe shot. Elizabeth continued, "All you've done in the past is the past, all the innocent people you've killed... you have to work out with God. It's just you and me here."
"He shot Joe," Amanda reminded her. There wasn't a chance in hell they'd let that man go free.
"You're under the assumption I'm going to lose," Elizabeth told her.
"That's true. That was a mistake. I'm sorry. You go girl!" Amanda stepped back to stand by Methos, who stepped away from her, angry that this whole mess started because she unthinkingly spouted off his name.
"Just get it over with, Liz," Methos told her, losing his patience.
The wound on Elizabeth's side healed as she inquired of Logan, "You do have a sword, don't you, Joshua?" Elizabeth moved toward him and opened his coat. He pulled it out and held it in a threatening manner at her face. She stepped back and lifted hers. Logan put his sword down and shook his head. It was only at that moment that he realized that Adam Pierson was an immortal. What did an immortal have to research?
Methos wondered why, after all this time, she was calling him Joshua, instead of Logan, like she always had. Was it another dig at him, she had just found out his true name and she was rubbing it in, even though she was challenging an immortal and her mind should be on that? Or was she trying to humanize the monster? Make herself less afraid of him? Methos studied the man who was the cause of so much grief. There wasn't much to him. Methos could have taken the man in his sleep.
Elizabeth liked being in the position she was in. Funny... standing toe to toe with the man, he didn't seem that scary. Why had she let this go on her entire immortal life? She smiled, "You don't like a fair challenge? Can't fight? When was the last time you had a fair fight?"
Logan's eyes burned holes in her. "With that rebel."
"And you ended up on your ass."
"Because that butcher stopped the fight!"
"Because Carlton was a good man! He only tried to help you! He was Union through and through! You were one of us!" Elizabeth could have liked the Irishman who put himself on the line for her side during a war, even though it had nothing to do with his homeland. Yes, if circumstances were different, she could have liked Joshua Logan. She felt sorry for his situation, but hated his methods. She tapped his sword with hers. "Come on..." He stepped back. She lifted her sword and placed it at his neck. "I don't care if you don't fight. You can't run and I'm taking your head. The least you can do is protect yourself."
He flipped her sword blade away with his own. When they fought, Elizabeth let him get in a few nice swings, when he lunged she made him think he could actually win. She hadn't taken a head for years, but knew how to fight. That prosthetic of his was amazing. He was actually moving with grace and speed. But, when he got too cocky, he fell. Elizabeth stooped down and lifted him back to his feet.
"Liz, would you just take him!" Methos said, irritated at her politeness. This wasn't a practice session.
Elizabeth liked playing with Joshua Logan, tried to make him a worthy opponent. She cut him, fought, backed off, let him come at her, let him cut her, but protected swings to her head. Each slice of his blade on her body, was like each time he attacked her in the past and the pain didn't even register. She just savored the fact that she was finally going to take his head. When his sword cut her right arm, her fighting arm, her immortal instincts kicked in, the game was over in this challenge. Taking hold of his hand on the hilt of his sword, she jabbed her blade through his stomach, causing him to fall to his knee, breaking his new state-of-the-art leg. She yanked the sword out with a gruffness that was pure adrenaline. Only pausing for a second to look at the heaving man at her feet, she hunched over him and pulled his head back. What she saw on his face surprised, then thrilled her. Logan was crying.
Touching him made her want to throw up, but she leaned closer and sneered into his ear, "Do you remember Marcy's face? The last thing she ever saw was frozen in her eyes. It's just too damn bad that vision had to be you." She jerked his head as she seethed, "Do you remember it? What she looked like when you slit her throat? Or Paulie's face? As you had him executed? Did you enjoy that?"
"Yes, I did," he seethed through clenched teeth. "Every bloody minute!"
With a swing of her sword, his head flew into the trees as she yelled, "Burn in hell!" Elizabeth was still shaking with anger and exhaustion when the quickening hit her. Methos, Duncan and Amanda stepped back, out of the way of the light storm. Methos looked all over to see if any of their neighbors saw any of it, even though he knew they were to far away. He was pissed when the tail lights of the Bizzarrini shattered, relieved when the windshield and everything else on his baby remained untouched.
After it was over, Elizabeth picked up Logan's sword and plunged it into the ground. The three of them gathered around her. Methos said, "It's over. It's all over." He was relieved, thinking one of the reasons he was weary of getting closer to her no longer existed. With Logan out of the way, they could get on with living.
Elizabeth got to her feet, walking past Methos. Duncan held the gun out to her, handle first. "I don't need that anymore," Elizabeth said, and walked back to the house.
Methos followed her into the house, happy she was going back. She'd just take a nice hot bath, have a drink, think about it all, they'd have a little talk about his name and a little about his past and they could get back to living.
"Good job, Liz," he told her, following her into the bedroom. Elizabeth ignored him, started to change clothes. Methos said, "I'll run the tub for you."
When she was fully dressed, she put her coat back on and leaned over to pick up her suitcase. "I'm leaving."
"Just talk to me," Methos said.
"I do need one thing from you," Elizabeth swung around to say. "I sunk a lot of money into this place. Will you buy me out?"
"No," he called her bluff. She would see the light and stay, he knew she would.
"Thanks, buddy," she seethed as she walked past him to the door.
He grabbed her arm and said, "Liz, you belong here." He was angry she didn't take what he was saying seriously. "If you leave, we're through."
"You promise?" He was shocked. Let go of her arm. More shocked when she walked back out the front door.
After she was gone, Duncan asked Methos, "Do you like being alone? Because you do a very good job of pushing people away."
"I'm not the one who's leaving here," Methos said, staring at Duncan on the other side of the threshold to the bedroom. Not liking the condescending look he was getting. Methos slammed the door shut between them.
When Elizabeth got outside the house and saw Logan's corpse lying against a tree, she hollered, "Wentworth! Where are you?" Diane emerged from the trees. Elizabeth walked to her. "Thanks for warning us once again."
"That's not my job," the older woman said, dressed in a black pantsuit, perfect to wear when hiding in the shadows. "But I'm glad you got him."
"I'm happy for you. The least you can do is give me a lift to the airport." Elizabeth saw the glint of a car on the gravel road amongst the trees.
"I can't do that," Diane said.
Elizabeth spun around and inquired, "Excuse me?"
"Okay," Diane relented, not liking the fire in the immortal's eyes. They got into the silver Saab she had rented, parked a half mile down the road.
As Diane drove toward Lisbon, Elizabeth commented, "So, this is twice you've shirked your humanity and let Logan get to me. Are you working with him, and that's why you aren't on my side?"
Not only the physical presence of the immortal in her dark car, but the tone of voice she used made Diane extremely nervous, not to mention the fact that she was interfering with immortals, still she had to set the record straight and not have Elizabeth think she was an unfeeling fool. "I'm not on anyone's side. I watch and record. That's my job. Besides, you're under the wrong assumption."
"And what's that?"
"I'm not Logan's watcher anymore. I'm yours." Diane took the silence as a sign that Elizabeth appreciated that fact, and realized that she wasn't the enemy. When Diane took a look at her, she only saw an obscured pattern where the dash lights hit Elizabeth's cheek.
"Why?" Elizabeth just stared ahead, pointing out the turn to take.
When Diane took the turn, she said, "Darrell Foley was killed by Logan. I put in for a transfer. It's a good thing the watchers are chauvinists. They didn't even blink an eye at my requisition. When I suggested I take over for Foley, they granted it. They like women watching women."
Elizabeth hadn't liked Foley, didn't like any watchers for that matter, except Joe. But, in a small, affected voice, Elizabeth asked, "How was he killed?"
Diane only shook the memory away. "It was bad. His battered and broken body was fished out of the East River."
Knowing how Logan had tortured in the past, she didn't have to hear it. She'd seen it. "How long have you been watching me?"
"A couple of weeks. It took a while to find you. When your friend Amy put your apartment on the market, she gave your address here on the paperwork."
"How did you see the paperwork?"
"I... ah..." Diane paused. She shouldn't give out watcher techniques, but said, "I posed as a prospective buyer."
"Do you tap phones, too?"
"Only if there's a threat to watchers. That's a Class 5 level of surveillance."
"Have you been tapping my phones?"
Diane matched Elizabeth's glare, "Why would I have to?"
"Well," Elizabeth paused. "My watcher died, I guess, because of me."
"No, it was because of Logan. Not you."
Even though Elizabeth was going to the airport and did not plan on seeing David, or rather, Methos, again, she was worried because he was worried that someone was after his head. He could be vulnerable because of her and Amy. If Diane found out who she was from playing apartment buyer, who else could have? How could Amy have put her address on the forms? She knew about secrecy, didn't she? Covering your tracks? "Do you have a phone?"
Diane nodded, reached into her pocket for it and handed it to her. Elizabeth called the house. When Methos heard her voice, he pompously said, "I knew you'd call. Come home."
"I only called to tell you... you may want to leave, too. You could be found out there."
"I'm not going anywhere," he stated. Then softened, "Come home."
"I don't think of it as my home anymore. Just watch your head."
She hung up and handed the phone back to Diane. When Diane put it back in her pocket, she asked, "Watch your head? David Sommers is immortal, too?" Diane had never seen Adam Pierson face to face. Had never heard David Sommers' voice. She was under the assumption that they were two different people, and she just found out David was an immortal.
Elizabeth only looked at the lights of Lisbon radiating against the black horizon, watched as all the white lines flow into one at the edge of the hood. The creepy feeling started along her neck, thinking she couldn't protect David, Methos, even when she meant to.
"I wonder why he doesn't have a watcher," Diane thought aloud.
"He doesn't?"
"No. Not that I know of. I haven't seen anyone in the area until Quincy showed up this evening. He's the one who took over Logan. He's used to nasty assignments. At least he gets the pleasure of writing up the final entry for the chronicle."
Elizabeth didn't care at all about what Diane was saying, her only worry was that she had once again made David, Methos, vulnerable. Didn't the watchers know he was immortal? Why was he so paranoid about protecting his head from what seemed to Elizabeth to be shadows? What the hell was going on? Who were those watchers? What kind of records did they keep? "Do me a favor?"
Diane lightly asked her, "Another one? How many are you going to require?"
"Don't use that information. Please? I have to trust you." Elizabeth then lowered her voice and stared at the woman driving the car, "I'm going to trust you, Diane Wentworth. Don't tell anyone David is immortal, okay? Just leave it alone."
"Sure," Diane shrugged. "I'm only a field agent, I'm not a chief. Assigning watchers isn't my job."
When they reached the city streets, Elizabeth finally broke the silence with, "Why don't you find a more dignified one?"
"What's that supposed to mean? I find this 'dignified' work. If watchers didn't exist, no one would know the truth about immortals."
"And that's a bad thing? Logan found me because of Foley, a watcher. I was almost taken tonight because of the watchers. I could have been taken in New York because you and Foley didn't let me know Logan was in the area, that he was hunting. Are you proud of that, or don't you care if we buy it?"
"Of course I care, Elizabeth. It's just beyond my control."
"Maybe you should think of us as flesh and blood, not 'assignments'." Elizabeth hovered close to her and threatened, "If anyone finds out about David, I'll know it came from you. And you know what? Even if it doesn't come from you... I'll come after you. I can watch, too. I can hunt you down and you know what? I can kill you... in any number of a thousand ways I can kill you. I can treat you just like you've treated us."
"I was just doing my job the way I was told to do it."
"Well... you're new job is... to bury the truth about David Sommers... to be quiet. Or I'll quiet you forever. Stop the car."
Diane didn't have to be told twice, not sure if Elizabeth was going to use that gun on her, scared to death. When the car came to a screeching halt, Elizabeth opened the door and got out, slamming the door behind her. Only when she walked down the sidewalk, and turned the corner did Diane drive away, like a bat out of hell.
DECEMBER 24, 2000
Methos parked the Bizzarrini in it's place after miraculously getting new tail lights installed. They were an old set of taillights, with a little chip in the right one, that had been replaced just before Methos had bought the car, by the set ruined during Logan's quickening . He could live with a chip in one light. He had spent a long day roaming Sintra while the mechanics fixed his car. They wondered how it happened, since only the lights were smashed. That was a pretty tricky car accident. Methos didn't give them an answer.
When he got the car back, he drove home and walked toward the house, felt the buzzes of his friends inside. Duncan and Amanda were going to leave that day, but obviously hadn't yet. Methos was hoping they would have, hoped they didn't plan on sticking around. He just wanted to be left alone for a while. Every look from them was an indictment, for not telling Elizabeth what she should have heard from him first hand. Methos had already written her off. Out of sight, out of mind. That was a very good philosophy that he was going to try once again. But, the night before, he had to get out of bed and change the sheets because he could smell Elizabeth on them and both pillows.
A car drove up, making Methos wonder whether to run into the house or not. It was a large white van he didn't know. Was it Elizabeth? A gang of immortals wanting revenge for Logan? Someone else? No. It was Antonio and Sofia, with big welcoming smiles on their faces. Didn't they know that the day wasn't a good one? How can people be so happy? They drove to where he was standing, just on the outskirts of the lawn and waved. Antonio said, "Olã! Would you all like to go for a drive with us?"
Sofia said, "It's such a beautiful day, we were going passear a pê. {hiking}"
Methos looked up at the sky and what do you know? It was a nice, warm, sunny day. Then he saw Amanda come out of the house with a suitcase. She told him, "Good, you're back. You can give us a lift to the airport."
Sofia and Antonio got out of the van. Sofia said to Amanda, who was putting the suitcase in the back of Methos' station wagon, "You're not leaving before Natal, are you? Porquê?"
Amanda looked at Methos. "Things came up." She thought a better idea was to find Elizabeth and spend the holiday with her instead of the grouch who hadn't spoken one civil word to her since Elizabeth walked out.
Duncan came out of the house with another suitcase and a long duffle bag that Methos knew could only contain their swords, wrapped for the plane trip. Good. He wanted to be alone.
Antonio said to Methos, "Did you see that tempestade {storm} last night? What in the world was that? It looked like it was right here." He noticed some charred bark on the trees in the area.
Methos said, "Oh. Yeah. We were shooting off fireworks... got carried away."
"Are you going to take us to the airport," Duncan asked, after depositing their things in the vehicle. Then he made sure he said, "David."
"Yeah," Methos quietly said.
"Queres vir connosco? {Do you want to come with us?}" The three shook their heads and Duncan politely said, Ê muito amãvel da sua parte, mas não me ê possivel ir. {It's very kind of you, but we have to go.}"
Amanda said, "Thank you for the invitation and thank you again for the wonderful meal last night and your hospitality."
"Oh, we loved having you." Sofia looked around. "Where's Liz?"
"She had to go out of town," Methos offered before the others could say anything.
"Porquê? Tomorrow is Natal."
"Her mother is sick."
"Peço imensa desculpa. [I'm very sorry.] She never mentioned her parents, I assumed they were mortos [dead]."
Duncan really disliked the fact that Methos couldn't talk straight to anyone. "We should get going. Our plane leaves at 3."
Antonio offered, "We're going perto de Lisboa. We can take you."
"You wouldn't mind," Amanda quickly asked.
"De nada [No problem]. Would you like to ride with us, David?"
Methos contemplated Antonio's offer, but really didn't want to have anything to do with immortals, premmies, or anything for the moment. "I'll decline. I have things to do."
After the production of transferring their things from the station wagon to the van and saying goodbye to 'David', Duncan whispered to him, "I'll call you when we get to Rio."
"I'll be here."
Duncan thought there were other places he could be, like in New York, which is where Joe and probably Elizabeth was, but held his tongue.
Methos told him, "Feliz Natal," in much the same way that Han Solo told Luke may the force be with you in Star Wars before the great battle. It came from a place of disbelief, but Duncan was a Christian and it was important to him.
"Thank you," Duncan replied, knowing that from him it was not heart felt, just what people said but appreciating the effort.
"You can stick around if you want," Methos said, suddenly thinking of what being alone might entail.
"Nah," Duncan declined. "We might have to talk."
Methos shrugged, and ran his foot against the gravel, "Doesn't mean I have to listen."
"That's why it wouldn't make any difference. It's my turn to disappear from you."
"Enjoy it, Highlander."
Amanda was already in the van in conversation with Sofia. Methos hoped she wasn't giving his neighbor a play by play of the previous evening, then knew she wouldn't be. When he stepped back from the van that Antonio started up, he waved goodbye to Amanda, she didn't even notice. When they drove away, Methos was left with the remnants of the quickening, his cars, his house, and his unfinished textbook. That's what he decided to tackle to take his mind off the events of the last 24 hours.
DECEMBER 31, 2000
Methos had enough of writing for one day. It was all that occupied his time since Duncan and Amanda had left after Elizabeth bolted. He walked through the empty house. It was filled with stuff, but not his life. He stayed only because he was sure Elizabeth would come back. He saw the lamp in the living room that he bought from the vendor for her. He hated it. It was ugly. He paid too much for it. It had no significant value, just matched the woodwork in the house and Elizabeth loved it. He noticed it all week, every time he tried to go to sleep without her, after taking up sleeping on the couch instead of in their bed.
Methos found there was nothing on TV, there was nothing on the radio to hold his attention. Wandering into the bedroom he saw another part of his journal, that he had spread out all over the house, open to various points of his time in Egypt. He scanned the Aramaic script and realized he was well beyond the time he chronicled on those pages in his textbook so he gathered it up, put it in plastic bags and into the box. He'd have to go to Paris again to make sure they stayed safe. Getting down on his knees to pick up all the pages, he saw, almost completely obscured by the dresser, a necklace of Elizabeth's. It must have slipped off the top and she never noticed.
Methos picked up the golden 'E' on the chain and rubbed it with his fingers, remembered what it looked like around her neck. Then he came back to his senses. To moon over a piece of jewelry, what was he coming to? He opened Elizabeth's top drawer and dropped it in. Out of sight, out of mind. Before he could slam the drawer shut, he saw a dark green silvery finished paper peeking out from under the few items of clothing left in it. He pushed the clothes back and saw that it was a wrapped gift, complete with a gold ribbon. A card read, "To My Dearest David, Feliz Natal!" He hadn't had the chance to give Elizabeth the sapphire bracelet he had bought for her, wondered what she had planned to give him.
He pulled out the wrapped box and shut the drawer. Holding the package in his hand as he sat on the edge of the bed, he shook it. It's contents shifted. He waited a moment to try to figure out what could be inside, but finally gave up and ripped open the package. There was a plethora of things wrapped in tissue paper. He open one and saw a gold key ring with an inscription, "Obey The Speed Limit" on one side and "Please" on the other. In another wrapping was a clip-on bow tie that made Methos laugh out loud, remembering the trouble they went through after Amy's wedding, their first night together. Another was a picture of himself in a frame. In the photograph, he was standing at the drop off at the back edge of their property, looking off at the view. The framing of him and one of the trees next to his shoulder and the view was wonderful. She was a good photographer, he wondered when she took it. He didn't have a clue.
The last tissue-wrapped bundle was an ankh. A crux ansate with a loop at the top, used as a sacred emblem, symbolizing enduring life. It was heavy. Too heavy to wear on a chain around the neck, but Methos appreciated her gift. How was she to know he already had a multitude of ankh's and good luck charms from virtually every culture on the planet locked up in storage lockers around the world. The cross he held in his hands, inspecting, was embedded with jewels, and had to be very expensive.
He spent the next hour transferring his keys to his new key ring, finding the right spot in the living room for the photograph, clipped the tie on his t-shirt and put the ankh in the safe. After he was done, Methos was lonely as hell, he tried to reach a friendly voice. He couldn't get a hold of Duncan in Rio, at the number he called from and said he could be reached at if he did want to talk, eventually. That Highlander... sometimes Duncan knew what he wanted before he did. But, he wasn't there.
Methos called Joe. To his surprise, Joe was short with him. When Methos asked why, Joe said he was on his way to the club to perform, but he knew that wasn't it. "What is wrong, Joe?"
"Nothing. Everything's the way you want it."
"I take it you heard from Liz."
"She's back in town." They both let that sink in. Joe drawled, "Happy New Year, buddy."
How Joe said it, without any sign of warmth, Methos said, "You too," but added, "Have you seen her?"
"Not yet, but Amy has. I know where she lives. Do you want to know?"
"No," he said and abruptly hung up, not liking Joe's tone or the fact that the conversation turned to Elizabeth so suddenly. Weren't he and Joe friends B.E., Before Elizabeth? There had to be loads to talk about. As he was pacing to get the cobwebs out of his head, he felt bad. He didn't ask how Joe's health was progressing. That's why he called in the first place. That, and just for someone to talk to. Anyone. Antonio told him to come and spend New Year's with them, but he'd rather be alone if he wasn't going to kiss Elizabeth a happy new, true millennium.
He knocked over a chair in frustration, every thought went back to Elizabeth. He was a man about the world. He was 5000 years old and had loved and lost loads of women and men. Why was losing Elizabeth so damn hard? She was an immortal, he should just stay away from them. From her. He noticed the TV on mute. The screen showed the streets of Lisbon. Colorful. Streamers. People laughing and cheering. Champagne flowing. New Years in the city. Everyone seemed so happy, carefree. He hadn't felt like that since Elizabeth got into Wentworth's car.
He did it again! He had to stop it. He had thoughts B.E.! The anger of her leaving him faded when he walked out to the courtyard and took a deep breath of fresh air. If he'd only been truthful with her, she'd still be there. They'd continue with their lives. Another regret. He remembered their chat in the car on their way to Philly. He said they'd be together to celebrate the true new millennium. She didn't seem to believe him. He truly thought they would.
Elizabeth was an immortal and he couldn't get over the fact that he missed her in his life, not weary of being in such close proximity to another like himself. The pangs were strong in his stomach. He missed her. Her laugh. Her smile. Her smell. How she loved him. Methos focused on her stabs at cooking. That he didn't miss. Not at all. Her impetuous attitude, that said waiting for something worthwhile was a foreign concept. He didn't miss that, either.
When the phone rang, Methos bolted back into the house and caught it on the second ring and said, "No, Joe. I'm not interested. Don't push." He wanted to talk to someone, but not about Elizabeth, but he was glad he called back.
There was a pause on the line, then finally a voice said, "This isn't Joe. Hi."
He surprised himself by taking a deep relieved breath just from hearing her voice. "Liz?"
Elizabeth sat in her new, less expensive, which meant small, apartment in New York City. She leaned forward on the couch and put her hand to her forehead, the sound of his voice killed her, just as she knew it would. His accent was like a jolt of electricity pulsing through her, she missed him so much. At least he was home. He hadn't found anyone else to spend the night with. The true eve of the new millennium. It was the night that she considered theirs.
When she didn't say anything, Methos sat on the chair at the dining table. The teak clock on the sideboard that they bought three days before she left him ticked. It was 11:55. Her timing was all right, he said, "Why aren't you here?"
There were pictures of Methos spread out on the floor at her feet. Thank goodness she had packed the camera and used film when she so carelessly walked away from the only true happiness she'd known for decades. When she developed the film in the only closet in the place, turned into a darkroom, she about fainted when the entire roll was of that man.
"Why did you call if you aren't going to talk to me?" Methos went to the fridge for a beer. But then, saw a bottle of wine in the back of the fridge and opened it.
"I didn't expect you to answer the phone, to be quite honest."
"Why wouldn't I? I live here."
"I didn't expect you to still be living there."
He poured the port into a glass and teased her, "So, why did you call?"
"It was the only place on this earth I knew there was a chance of finding you." She didn't know anywhere he lived except Sintra. That he was still there comforted her, but once again she realized that she didn't know anything about the man.
"That's why I'm still living here. When are you coming home?"
"David, I just wanted to wish you Happy New Millennium. We said we'd spend it together."
"I remember," Methos sat back at the table, getting ready to ride her about the reason they weren't spending it together, she walked out. He didn't want to start it, he was happy she called. He heard the ticking of the clock. "It's... what... around 6 there?"
"How do you know where I am?"
"I just talked to Joe."
"It's cold here. I feel sorry for the people who are gathered in Times Square already."
"I don't need a weather report, Liz."
"Okay."
When he could only hear her breathing, and nothing else, he leaned forward on the table and said, "I wasn't that awful, not telling you. We were doing quite well."
"But it would have been nice if you didn't have to watch everything you said to me, wouldn't it? To have to tell everyone not to let on what they already knew, but I had no clue about. I still don't. I don't know...," her voice trailed off. Methos was about to fill in the rest of the sentence with she did know about him, what was important, but she continued in a stronger, hurt voice, "Do you know how that made me feel? It made me feel like an accessory, not a lover, not even a friend. I felt used. In all your life, didn't you ever feel that way, and were offended by it?"
Methos certainly had to agree with that. The clock started to dong the hour of midnight. Methos took a long sip of his wine, sat back, just listening to the hour toll and the breathing of Elizabeth over the phone. She said, "By the sound of it, it's midnight there."
"Yep."
"Happy New Year, David."
"Happy New Millennium, Lizzie." He sat up and started to explain, "I figured that--."
"You figured wrong," she cut him off. "I thought we were equals, that we shared everything. I 'figured' you were hiding something, but I didn't think it was information as basic as your name, even though you changed it right in front of me. I should have realized."
"We can start over, Liz. I can catch a flight and be in New York before daybreak."
"No. I don't know how to handle you. Just... Happy New Year." With that, she hung up. Methos sat wondering if what he impulsively suggested was actually what he wanted. The only people he dropped everything for in the last decade were Duncan, Joe and Alexa. That impulse, to take off after her, and running it by her first, was something that came out of the blue, surprising him. As he poured the wine into a stem glass that Elizabeth had bought, it dawned on him that she was important, and she didn't comprehend it at all.
JANUARY 24, 2001
Methos sat back from the computer. He was done for a while. He needed to get out. Needed to be with people, if only to remember he was still on the planet Earth. It had been over a week since he talked to anyone, focusing his energy on the building of the pyramid at Giza. When the phone rang, it startled him, as he hadn't heard it ring for days.
Antonio called to ask where he and Elizabeth had been and to come over for supper. Methos' trepidation about Antonio's premmie status had waned in the last month and he did enjoy that man as a friend. The offer did sound good. He hadn't eaten anything that consisted of the four major food groups since that damned Saturday night Amanda let the cat out of the bag.
He gladly accepted. After dinner, he was glad he had. The only downside of the evening was their questions about where Elizabeth was. When Methos told them she was with her family, Sofia wanted to know where so she could call her. "Oh, sorry. I don't have it with me right now."
After assuring her that he'd give her the phone number tomorrow, he bade them goodnight and thanked them for the meal. They made sure to give him leftovers, which he was happy to receive. After parking the Bizzarrini in the drive, he turned it off and stared at the empty, dark house. He didn't want to walk into an empty house once again, so he started the car and drove.
In Lisbon, he slowed down to stop at the bar he and Elizabeth had frequented and she thought briefly of buying. When he remembered that, he drove off again. Why did he talk her out of it? If she had bought the bar, she wouldn't be on the other side of the ocean. He kept driving, then stopped at the next bar he saw. It held no memories for him, no reason to make him feel anything but glad to have a nice cold beer.
As soon as he situated himself at the bar and ordered a draft, he felt a buzz. Methos tightened and looked toward the door. His focus fell on a smiling Spanish gent Methos knew some years back. It seemed like yesterday. Methos smiled in return.
########################
PAMPLONA, SPAIN 1932
#########################
Roberto Camano and Methos were laughing as they sat in the bar where they were the only customers. Roberto slapped him on the back and said, "It's a good thing I know the owner, Marcus! We would have actually had to get some sleep after the bars closed!"
Methos lifted his glass of rum on the rocks, the rocks melted long ago, and swallowed the last of it. Bed seemed like a very good idea, indeed. If he could only remember where he was staying. He giggled for no good reason but that he was tired and happily spent the entire night shooting the breeze with Roberto. And drinking heavily. Methos did enjoy the taste of rum, smooth, vibrant, it was his favorite drink. The only thing Methos didn't realize was that it really clouded his mind, when it would be most advantageous to keep a clear head.
Only when Methos stretched and rubbed his eyes did he hear the crowds of people that had gathered on the streets. Roberto pounded him on the back again, making Methos register that it hurt and Roberto had done it one too many times. "Time to go, my friend. The bulls await!"
"No, the bulls can wait until tomorrow," Methos shrugged, not remembering that Roberto had entered them in the annual running. With Roberto, you didn't know half of what he talked about, but he was a drinking buddy and the bar had a stash of rum that was 'to die for'. That's all Methos required at the moment. Well, at the moment, what he would like is a lift back to the hotel... if he could just remember which one he had checked into.
"It is tomorrow!" Roberto walked over to the window and pulled open the shades. The closed sign was visible through the bright light that filled the room making Methos slam his eyes shut. "Ah, show some spirit, my friend. Come on!"
He grabbed Methos' arm and charged out of the bar with him. As soon as Roberto flung open the door, the sun, noise, smells raced to Methos, causing him to stumble. Viral men were gathered on the streets. Old men, young boys, along with women of all ages were gathered on the sidewalks, hung out of building windows.
"Hey, I forgot all about this, Roberto," Methos said. "I didn't think you were serious! I'm going back to the hotel."
"Too late!" Roberto said, and pointed at the far end of the street where they lifted the gates and released the bulls into the crowd.
Men started running from them, down the street, while the onlookers shouted their encouragement. Methos was pelted by the men rushing past, felt Roberto's hand on his arm again. He pulled free and rushed to the side of the street as a bull charged past. The women pushed Methos back onto the street, making him land on his butt. Another bull with sticks flaring, snorting, charged right toward him.
Roberto got Methos to his feet and laughed as he ran with him, the bull acting as if they had targets on their backs. They both ran around the corner, with the bull still at their heels. Methos yelled as he kept his feet moving as fast as they could go, "What am I doing? Why am I doing this?!"
Roberto yelled, "It will make you a man!"
"I am a man! I want to continue being a living man!"
Roberto only laughed and turned another corner. They caught up to slower men in front of them. The crowds of people hadn't thinned even though they were blocks away from the pens the bulls were released from. Roberto zoomed by the slow men in front of them, but Methos got caught among them. One of them wouldn't let go of his shoulder after he latched on, scared to death. Methos tried to yank him off and keep clear of the bull that seemed to come right for him. When Methos pushed the man toward the bull, the bull charged by him, keeping Methos and his red shirt in his scope.
Methos looked down at the color of his shirt and vaguely remembered borrowing it from Roberto. That bastard! He ran between the crowds and slower men who didn't seem to be targets. The pesky bull barreled ahead with Methos his entire focus, not noticing anyone else dressed in subdued white, yellow, black and blue. Methos looked back in time to see the nostrils flair on the beast. He realized the other men who were in this 'game' had spears in their hands. Why didn't he have a spear!? Where's his sword?! How in the world did I forget to carry my sword? Methos yelled at himself. Then realized it was the rum. It clouded his judgment. In that moment, Methos decided never to drink rum again!
Methos' long life leading up to that moment in time came back to him, but he couldn't remember how he ended up in Pamplona and meeting Roberto. He'd kept himself too full of rum the last couple of weeks and the recent memory had faded. Life was full of twists and turns. Methos had obviously picked a wrong turn, and if he ever got out of this predicament with his head, he would never, ever set foot in Pamplona again.
He couldn't get off the street as the people were cheering them on. Methos couldn't tell if the cheers were for him or the bull. I have to make tracks, fast! Why did I drink so much? I have to go to the bathroom!
Methos used slower men as a diversion for the bull by pushing them behind him as he ran forward for his life, but the bull had zeroed in on Methos' red shirt, and that was going to be his prize! Methos saw Roberto's flopping black hair a couple of men in front of him and he grabbed for him. Roberto turned another corner. The crowd was thinning out on the street and Methos got onto the sidewalk and still ran, cursing Roberto.
The roar of the bull got really close and Methos turned to see it rear up and leap. Methos fell to the sidewalk, the bulls horn square in his back. His body lifted when the bull ripped his horn out of him. It reared up and pounced down, flattening Methos, making him lose the air supply in his punctured lungs. The roar of the crowd... the screams that came from something finally happening... the bull grunted and flopped on the ground next to Methos. Spears were sticking out of its body. The animal and Methos regarded each other as the sounds and lights went out for both of them.
When Methos revived, he was lying on his back. On a couch. With a blanket covering him. He couldn't figure out where he was. Then heard Roberto laugh. That laugh seared into him, just as the bull's horns had. He hiked himself up on his elbow and regarded his friend standing by the window of his house. Roberto walked to him with a glass of the hair of the dog that bit Methos. "Not too fast on your feet, Marcus? I didn't think you'd ever come back."
Methos gratefully took the rum, reflex, then remembering his promise to himself, he set it on the floor. The movement caused him to feel a tightness in his back where the bull had his way with him, so he waited for the healing to finish.
"Come on, old friend. Was it too much for your 400 year old heart?" Roberto sat in a chair by the couch and said, "I may be only 128, but I outran a bull!"
Methos seethed, Kids! They have no respect for their elders. "How in the world can you outrun a bull on a street full of fools after drinking a couple of bottles of rum and not sleeping? Please explain that!"
"I did." Roberto laughed harder. "He got you pretty good." He handed Methos a beer and said, "This should make you feel better!"
"I think you owe me more than that! If that horn was just a little higher, there could have been a quickening, are you insane!? How would the populous have reacted to that?" Marcus only laughed his deep, hearty laugh. After a pause, Methos joined in.
JANUARY 24, 2001
LISBON
The years since had softened Methos and the memory of Roberto's friendship and grand spirit made him smile as Roberto made his way past the people standing around to him at the bar. "Marcus!," he said as he sat and pounded Methos on the back. "I didn't think we'd ever cross paths again."
"I'm still smarting from that bull." He didn't say, 'and the slaps on the back'. Roberto hadn't gotten less jovial over the years.
"Oh, knock it off. You are not. Let my buy you that drink."
"Don't let me stop you."
Roberto got the bartender's attention and raise two fingers, "Rum on the rocks."
Methos said, "Nope, beer."
After four more, they laughed as they made their way to their cars. It was good to just laugh at the old times. The way Roberto described his imbibing, it was funny, after 60 years. "The look on your face... I haven't forgotten it! It was like you'd been fighting all your life and you were going to buy it from a bull!"
They stopped and smelled the fresh, crisp air. Roberto stopped and quietly said, "Marcus..."
Methos did a double take. Roberto had never used that low a decibel since he'd met him. Roberto swished at the ground with his foot. This was definitely not the usual demeanor of that man. Methos asked, "What is it? Is something wrong?"
Roberto looked in both directions for anyone who could hear. He pulled Methos' arm and led him off the beaten track. "What is it?" Methos pulled his arm back. That man never thought to ask people to come with him, just steered them and it was extremely annoying.
"I don't want this to get around," Roberto said. Looking around. They seemed to be in a secluded area. Roberto looked at the ground, and Methos didn't like his demeanor, crestfallen, all of a sudden.
When Methos approached to comfort him, Roberto drew his sword and swished it in front of Methos, making him jump back. "What is this about?!"
"I challenge you, my friend," he said, but when he said 'friend', it wasn't friendly.
Methos was furious! You can't trust anyone. "What's this about?"
Roberto kept his sword out in front of him, ready to swing. "You bedded Marita."
Methos swiftly drew his Ivanhoe and knocked Roberto's sword away. "Who's Marita?"
"My woman!" Roberto lunged, Methos pushed him back. "She was pure. You soiled her!"
"Hold on now," Methos said, both his sword and hand out, trying to remember. "Oh," he finally did. "Long black hair, wide eyes, dimples, beauty mark on her temple?" He must have guessed right, Roberto's sword slashed at him. "How long ago was that? You can't still be angry about that."
Roberto only answered with another swish of his sword to Methos' head. Methos ducked and held his sword against Roberto's. "No, I didn't. Roberto! She was already soiled!"
"You're lying!"
Methos was, but that was beside the point. Marita, if that's who he was thinking of, was a ready, willing and able participant. It was only after the deed was done that he found out she was betrothed to Roberto and that's what made Methos skip town. The sword swung. Methos defended, then swung out offensively. "We're friends!"
"Not on your life!"
When Roberto swung again, Methos ran. Roberto thundered after him. Methos felt the swish behind him. If that tree wasn't there, he wouldn't have been able to turn around to talk to the man without being sliced. "Roberto, don't push me!"
Roberto took his sword out of the tree trunk and held it out, "Put up your sword."
Methos stepped back, shaking his head. "Roberto... think about this! I'll take you!"
Roberto didn't think, he lunged. It only took two strokes for Methos to relieve Roberto of his head. The quickening of his friend's spirit didn't phase him, he didn't want to take him, but was left with no choice.
TUESDAY FEBRUARY 13, 2001
NEW YORK CITY
Methos walked out of the skyscraper and pulled his coat close around him for protection from the cold wind that swirled through the manmade canyon that was the bustling city. The dress shirt and tie he wore for the occasion of meeting with his publisher rubbed on his neck so Methos untied it and opened the first couple of buttons. The first thing he'd have to do is go back to the hotel and change before looking in on Joe. His publisher, Martin, seemed pleased that his textbook was at last finished. While Methos worked furiously to finish it after the Roberto fiasco, Martin had a suggestion in an email, "It's in a wrong tone, David. It should be more of a textbook, not a novel."
So, Methos rewrote, tried to keep the impact, but changed the tone. He wasn't happy with it, but it was better than what the students had to deal with. The second draft was accepted with glee. They'll edit and print it. Hopefully, it would be ready for fall semester.
He walked by his first apartment in the city and saw an old neighbor, the police chief. Quickly skedaddled before the chief could figure out where the buzz came from. Then walked by Elizabeth's and Amy's old building. He just walked by, didn't even look up at the doorway. Saw the orange building that Elizabeth's ex husband lived in. Did she go back to him? After scolding himself for dwelling too much on that woman, he walked, almost ran, to Joe's door.
When Joe answered, Methos smiled and stated, "You're out of the chair."
"A long time ago, how do you like the new legs?" Joe stepped back so he could see them. "Top of the line. I'm doing good."
Methos walked in and grabbed his friend into a hug. It was good to see a familiar face with no hint of danger. They sat at the dining table when Methos asked, "Does your good humor have something to do with a lady by the name of Caroline?"
"You didn't notice the redecorating? She's taken over." The juvenile, happy smile on Joe's face warmed Methos like nothing had in months. Joe put two mugs of coffee on the table and said, "Liz stopped in to see me play last month."
Methos drank his coffee, shook his head that the first thing out of Joe's mouth was news about Elizabeth. He knew then that they were good friends. "Can we talk about something else?"
"Sure. What?" Joe put the pot back on the burner of the coffee maker.
There was silence. Grudgingly, Methos mumbled, "What is she up to?"
"She wouldn't say," Joe said as he heavily sat at the table. "Only that NYU didn't want her back after she abruptly left. What's your version of what happened?"
"What did she say?"
"That you got tired of her and kicked her out," Joe's eyes twinkled, knowing that could only be a half truth at best. He'd watched Methos for years with people, women. The talks on the phone over the past five months was a dead giveaway to what Methos felt. Methos had only talked as enthusiastically about a person in his life once before, Alexa. If Alexa was any gauge of Methos' possessiveness and how focused he could be, there wasn't any way in the world he would have abruptly gotten tired of Elizabeth.
When Methos just drank the coffee, Joe offered, "Liz also said she took care of Logan. That's what she really wanted to tell me. So I wouldn't worry about being used in the future. But I had already talked to Mac by that time."
"So you have his version of the events."
"Yup," Joe said and sipped his coffee. Methos glared at Joe, wondering about all that was said behind his back, shook his head at the gossip grapevine that swirled around him. Joe continued, "Diane Wentworth isn't Liz's watcher anymore. In fact, she resigned all together."
Methos didn't know Wentworth was Elizabeth's watcher. When did that happen? But he didn't really care in the long run. He only shrugged, "Life goes on."
Joe had a couple of doozies to lay on the old man and wondered if he should. He kind of enjoyed knowing one of those bombshells while the old man was clueless. The other... Methos should know. Since Methos walked into his apartment, he hadn't given any kind of emotional showing after the hug hello. Joe tested the waters, "Liz didn't come to the club alone."
"Tall, dark, handsome?"
"Tall, dark... beautiful."
"A woman?"
Methos had asked so nonchalantly, Joe wasn't sure if his information would affect him at all, so he said, "Cassandra."
Joe was a little startled when Methos tipped his head back and laughed uproariously, "That's perfect." Methos got a chill. Was Elizabeth so angry at him that she was researching Methos and met up with Cassandra and the two of them would finish him off? "How in the hell did they meet?"
Joe didn't like the accusing manner Methos displayed. One second he was laughing, the next, his glare was strong and accusing. "It wasn't me. Cassandra owns an herbal shop near Liz's new apartment. I guess Cassandra has lived here in New York for years. They sensed each other, got to talking. You know, that's what women do."
"Talk about what?"
"About who, you mean? I don't know," Joe shrugged. "Girl stuff. I don't think Liz's made the connection." Joe looked at him and tried to imagine all Methos had done to the multitudes, to Cassandra, then put it out of his head. He knew the man who was his friend, who saved his daughter's life from Walker, walked her up the aisle, protected them all during the week of the wedding. Two, three thousand years ago didn't matter to Joe one bit. "Cassandra pretended that she didn't know me when Liz introduced us."
Another immortal was lying to Elizabeth... but he was grateful, Methos lore didn't need to be spread. Cassandra admitting she knew Joe could only have Elizabeth inquire as to why, and then it all might slip out. At least that's what Methos hoped was the reason. Figuring out Cassandra would be a full time job, and he didn't like to think about her at all. He just hoped she was happy and had gotten on with her life. Could Cassandra not telling Elizabeth that she knew Joe be her protecting herself? Maybe she wasn't close to Elizabeth, so dredging up talk of horsemen, slavery, butchery... wasn't a topic of conversation? Or was she protecting Methos? She didn't talk about him and his brothers to anyone?
The talk with Elizabeth on New Year's Eve came back to him. Had she found out about him before she called? The hurt tone of her voice was achingly clear and the words, To have to tell everyone not to let on what they already knew, but I had no clue about. Do you know how that made me feel? It made me feel like an accessory, not a lover, not even a friend. I felt used played over and over in his head.
Methos sit in silence, absently rubbing his fingernail on the edge of the table. Joe finally asked, "What are you going to do?"
Methos shook off her words and tried to sound like he didn't have a care in the world, life goes on, when he said, "I'm off to Seacouver. I have properties to check on."
Joe matched his nod with his own, but with prying eyes that made Methos a little more than irritated. If there was one person on this earth that he couldn't fool, it was Joe Dawson. Methos changed the subject, "I finished my book."
"Good. But, I meant what are you going to do about Liz."
"I kicked her out, didn't you hear?" Methos downed the rest of his coffee and stood. "Got to go."
He sauntered to the door and opened it when Joe said, "Do you want Liz's address?"
"No. Catch you later." Methos walked out the door and to the elevator, pushed the down button, waited. Then slammed his hand against the wall and trudged back into Joe's apartment. "Yes."
Joe was at the door, smiling. That only irritated Methos more. The little pink post-it note was in his hand and Methos snatched it and walked back down the hall. He could feel Joe staring at him, and was sure he was inwardly laughing, Methos didn't want to be on display, so he took the stairs.
ELIZABETH'S STUDIO APARTMENT
"It's too much! I only have to learn the dates," Horton Fritsch III told Elizabeth as they sat at the kitchen table. "Why don't you just tell me the dates?" Elizabeth tightened, feeling a buzz in the area. Even Horton noticed the change in her demeanor, all of a sudden scared. "What's wrong with you?"
Was that Cassandra? Elizabeth told her when she left work at the Herbal Shop that afternoon that they'd meet back at the store at 6. Elizabeth went to the door and looked through the peephole. Her shoulders slumped and she tried to control a tingle at the same time. She mumbled to herself, "How'd he get in the building?"
Methos rang the doorbell. Horton said, "How did you know there was someone there?"
"Horton," she said to the rich, 17 year old, spoiled brat. "Get back to reading."
"Just give me the Cliff Notes version."
"Do you want to learn?"
"No, I just want to pass. I won't get my car keys back unless I do. That's what my father hired you for." The doorbell rang again. "Aren't you going to answer that?"
"Read," she told him, then opened the door. Methos smiled, saw the young man at the table. Elizabeth was surprised she was able to get words out when she saw David face to face because he knocked the wind out of her, "I'm kind of busy right now," then cringed when she realized what words she chose to speak. She didn't want him there. It was out of the blue. Like his buzz, his presence was something she had to prepare for.
Methos looked at her, hair tied back in a ponytail, wearing sweats, could smell her from his place in the hallway. "I can wait," he lightly said.
"Whatever." She shut the door on him.
She sat back at the table with Horton. "Good, I paid for this two hours. There's one thing I just don't understand."
One thing, she wondered. "What is it?"
"Why did they have to use the Rosetta Stone to decipher the hieroglyphics? I mean, didn't someone already know how to read them in Egypt?"
She felt David's buzz fade, and was suddenly mortified by her action. She felt sick in the pit of her stomach both from the surprise of his appearance and the abrupt, mean attitude she threw at him. Horton interrupted her thoughts, "Someone had to know."
"It was a dead language, Horton."
"How can a language die out?"
"Lack of communication," she muttered, trying to get rid of the warm feeling she developed being so close to that irritating mystery man again. "Shit..." She bolted out of the apartment. Hoping her bitchiness didn't make it impossible.
She looked both ways down the street for any sign of him. She ran to the left, felt the buzz. Hoped it was David, or Cassandra, not someone else, she didn't have her sword with her. The buzz got more clear, not skittering in and out as she was well within the immortals' range the more she ran down the street. She had to be heading in the right direction. Then she saw him trotting down the steps to a subway station. She yelled, "David!" He didn't turn around, just kept walking. "Adam!" Had he changed his name again? She didn't even know what to call him.
Methos was pissed about the reception at her apartment. Why had he mooned for months over her when she could treat him that way? He just kept on walking, even though he felt her buzz and heard her call after him. That she didn't use his real name was confusing. She called him everything else, even Matthew. Why didn't she try Methos? He wanted her to. But then, came to his senses, they were in a public place. Only Amanda would irritatingly throw his name around in public.
Elizabeth reached him and grabbed his arm at the base of the stairs just as he was going to walk through the turnstile. "I'm so sorry about that. You never cease to amaze me."
Only then did he stop, turn around, look at her. "Okay."
She dropped her grip and looked him over. He seemed the same, looked the same, dressed the same, the same David she fell for. "What name are you going by these days?"
"David."
The pit of her stomach rumbled again from the accent of his voice. God, how she missed it. "I do have another half hour with that kid, but I'd like to talk."
"I'll be by at 7."
"I was supposed to meet a friend at 6."
"You have a decision to make then," he told her and walked down the subway platform, felt her buzz fade. Was it Cassandra she was supposed to meet? How much did she know? How she put up walls... but she didn't pull a sword. Did she know about Methos? About Death? Should he just get the hell out of town?
He couldn't just leave. For one thing, he liked to know what people knew. If Cassandra had been talking about him, he needed to know if he had yet another enemy in Elizabeth to watch out for in the future. And, secondly he had to make sure Cassandra didn't talk about him. If Elizabeth didn't know, was just still hurt about his lack of forthright information, he could deal with that. Just take her somewhere far away from Cassandra, back to Portugal and live.
7:13 PM
Elizabeth looked out the window and wondered if she had driven David away for good. He made the effort to see her, and slamming the door in his face with 'I'm busy.' was just an eloquent way to spit in the face She looked at her insignificant apartment and was embarrassed. The dive she was living in was all she could comfortably afford without having to worry about where the rent money was coming from. It was also something she didn't really want David to see, since he was so free with money he had to have a lot of it. When she looked at her wrist watch, she realized David was late, and came to the realization that she had in fact driven him away. She was ready to write him off and see if she could apologize to Cassandra for canceling on her when she felt a buzz.
She took a nervous look around, the apartment was as clean as it was going to be, nothing was on the floor. It wasn't really furnished for that matter, most of her things were still in the storage garage, she had only taken the couch, bed, radio, TV and a few tables. After the door bell rang, she opened the door and saw a bouquet of flowers that brought a smile to her face. "Daisies? Where did you find daisies in February?"
"It took work," he gave them to her.
"They're my favorite flower," she said as she smelled them. "So light, simple, happy."
"I know," Methos said, evaluating every motion she made, to see if she was wise to his past or not.
"How?"
Elizabeth smiled as she smelled them. That was a good sign, no slamming of the door, no grabbing her sword. Methos really wanted her back and fidgeted with the package in his hand behind his back. He came prepared for anything, but mostly to get her back. "Are you going to come out here, or should I go in there?"
"Oh, sorry," she embarrassingly stepped back to allow him entrance. "Thank you for these. You must have put some work into it."
"You're welcome." He gave her a wrapped box, topped with a ribbon. He had decided to give it to her that night, instead of waiting until the world would give their Valentine's Day gifts the next day. He figured it would help break the barrier between them that appeared to be solid when she called on New Year's and also earlier that day. "This is for you, too."
"What's this?"
"You are supposed to open gifts, not just ask what they are." Methos shut the door behind him. Elizabeth juggled the gift and flowers in her arms while trying to make sure to latch the locks. Methos stepped aside and secured the three locks on her door. What was she doing living in such a dangerous neighborhood? He explained, "It's something very important and it explains a lot about me."
Methos walked into the living room and scanned the dwelling in which she lived. She obviously hadn't had the time to go wild with the decorations. Elizabeth placed the flowers on the floor by the couch and sat to unwrap the present. Inside, wrapped in acid-free tissue paper, was a very old batch of papers with pieces of leather passing for a cover on both sides. Twine was looped through holes on the edge of the pages. About 2 inches thick. She opened the leather flap. It was a different one from the one she accidently saw while moving into the house outside of Sintra. "Can you just give away library property?"
Methos sat next to her on the couch and stated the truth, "That's mine." He had decided that if he could trust her, if there was no sign of malice from anything Cassandra might have told her, that he would tell her most of his life, not all, but most of it. His journal was the perfect opportunity to properly introduce himself to her.
She saw that his eyes didn't show any sign of folly. He wasn't kidding. She opened the journal. It was in a different language, one she did not recognize. He said, "It's Aramaic."
"I can't read it. I know French and Spanish, a little Portuguese, but this may as well be Greek."
"You know French?"
"Enough to order dinner, get around town, if I ever get back to France."
"You were in France? You never told me."
She hiked an eyebrow, "Oh... did I leave something out? During World War II... the War to End All Wars... that didn't end all wars." The war where she met Victor, one of the many wounded soldiers she helped patch up.
Methos rubbed his finger on the journal page that explained his close relationship with his teacher. He appreciated how gently she handled it. The journal was the second generation copy, but was still extremely old. "I'll translate it for you. Then, when we've finished that one, we can start on the next one."
She closed the journal and handed it back to him. "Thank you for the flowers. I really appreciate them. They're beautiful. But... I don't want this."
Why not? Methos tried to figure out why. "It's my past that was so important to you."
"Not anymore," she said, hoping he didn't take it the wrong way, but she was so hurt. She explained, "I don't ask questions anymore. I don't answer any. So, you don't have to do this. If you want to spend time with me, that's..." She smiled, searching for the right word, but could only come up with "Amazing. I've missed you. But there will be no strings, no broken promises or disappointments."
Methos was now sure she hadn't heard anything from Cassandra, but her attitude hurt him. "Liz, I want you to know about me."
Her smile turned sad, "You had months to accomplish that, David." She was going to correct herself and say Methos, but Methos wasn't who she knew. They hadn't even been introduced. "It's okay. I won't expect anything from you, and you can't expect anything in return. In fact, I didn't even expect you to show up tonight, but I put off my friend anyway hoping like hell you would."
He wouldn't take the journal back, so she placed it on his hands, in his lap and stood. Distance from him would be better. That close to him, side by side... it was just too close. "Do you want something to drink? A beer?"
"No," he said as he slowly, disappointedly put his journal back in the box.
"Oh," she lightly chuckled. "Did you go to rehab lately?"
He smiled, "I believe that's a question."
"So sue me," she shrugged, watched him delicately put the pages in the box, along with the wrapping paper and put the cover back on. She knew the contents of that journal were very important to him and she really wanted to find out what it said, but it was too late. Her life had revolved around him for the few months they were together and after getting some space and thinking about how she blindly turned her life over to him... well, she couldn't do that again. Not with anyone. It would only cause her pain.
David looked almost dejected, staring at the stain from the last tenant she could never get out of the carpeting that the landlord wasn't in the mood to replace. She had to get David out of there. Quick. "Here's another question." Methos looked up at her. "Joe's performing a farewell concert at the English tonight. Do you want to go? Caroline will be there. You'll like her."
"Farewell?" Joe didn't mention anything about it to him earlier.
"Yeah, farewell to New York, I think he said he was going on tour with his CD."
Joe could have at least mentioned that little detail while Methos was at his apartment. No, all Joe wanted to talk about was Cassandra and Elizabeth. He asked her, "Don't you want to talk?"
"No... that might... back you into a corner. Let's just have fun."
STREET
The wind was brisk but instead of hailing a cab, Methos and Elizabeth walked along the sidewalk with the bulk of the population of the city to get fresh air. They looked at everything but each other. Finally, to make conversation, and more importantly, to find out her reaction, Methos said, "I'm in town because I finished the textbook."
"That's great," she genuinely smiled for the first time since receiving the daisies. "I can't wait to read it."
That was a good reaction. He smiled, "I just dropped it off at the publisher. But I'm sure I could pull some strings and get you a signed copy."
"I'd like that. I'm happy for you. I'll have to buy you a beer to celebrate."
"I was thinking of taking you to Egypt, show you around." When she fell silent, only looked at the squares of the sidewalk as they past each one, he asked, "Have you been ever there?"
"Nope." His offer was thrilling, as thrilling as the idea that he still wanted something to do with her. She couldn't believe it, but she couldn't be with someone she didn't know, someone who was a little scary. He had such a pull on her, his force field was intoxicating. She had to be strong.
"You cut your hair," Methos commented, changing the subject.
She was surprised he noticed. "Just a little. You did, too. I liked it longer."
"It curls up," he winced, grabbing at the hair behind his ear.
"I know. That's one of the few things about you I know for certain. Your hair waves when it gets longer."
Abruptly, he nudged her into an alley and against a wall. "You know more than you think about me," he strongly whispered. Her eyes were wide, her mouth tight, as if she was scared. "Don't look at me like that. I'm not going to hurt you. You already know what's important. I love you."
When he held her face and he kissed her, shocks of electricity went through her body. Methos rolled his face so their foreheads were touching and he could see her eyes. They were closed, clenched, starting to tear up. He tightly smiled, "The least you can do is touch me."
"You scare the hell out of me."
"Why?" That was the last thing he expected her to say.
"I trusted you. You couldn't trust me. I thought I knew you. It turned out I didn't. I don't know the real you, just the one you... let me in on."
"I've been trying to start telling you. Let me."
"Why now?"
"Because I miss you. I spent time with you and you made me happy." When he said that, it was as if his gut was split open, his innards exposed. He didn't think he'd have that reaction, but he needed her, a partner to go through life with, and she had passed all the tests. "It's a terrible thing, but people only realize what they have after they've lost it. I don't want to lose you. I do trust you. I love you, Lizzie. I'm rapping on the door, so let me in."
She couldn't think of a thing to say, just felt his energy, something she missed so much. She cried out as she pulled him into a hug. He held her, kissed her head and wiped at her tears. "Come on," he said, leading her back in the opposite direction from the English.
CONTINUED in Chapter Eight - Origins