CHAPTER 94
How could he not have known?
Methos had felt Beth every time, but always thought her presence was his own doing. Now she
was telling him that she felt it as well. She'd seen all the ugly things he'd done. She'd seen him
at his darkest and felt his anger, and yet still she loved him? She still wanted to build a life for her
daughter with him?
With a love that true, how could he deny her this one request? His mind agonized over the
answer.
She wasn't asking anything unreasonable when she said she couldn't move on with the constant
reminder of his presence, but how could he possible agree? He'd survived over 5,000 years by
fighting when he had to. He'd sharpened his skills to a fine edge once again and to lose that
would mean to lose all. The 200 years he'd gone without taking a head before Jacob Kell had
learned his identity and he was thrust back into the game had almost cost him everything. He'd
never admit it, but if it hadn't been for Duncan MacLeod's friendship and having the luxury for
once of support and a worthy opponent to spar with, without fearing for his head, he would never
have made it back to the warrior he had once again become.
Now it seemed he would have to choose between taking another break from the game and going
deep underground and risk losing all, or know that with every head he took he would drive a stake
through Beth's heart … and his own. How could he put either of them through that agony over
and over?
"Another detail Cassandra conveniently failed to mention." He muttered, wondering if she'd done
it on purpose, somehow knowing he would be in this situation.
For most of the night he alternated between his struggle for an answer and cursing Cassandra for
not telling them. It was early the next morning before he could get past the shock and raw
emotion and finally begin to think clearly.
"I can't put her through this again and again. I can't rip open the wound just as it begins to heal."
He decided emphatically. "She deserves a chance at building a normal life with Cassie. She
deserves so much more …"
His heart ached with desire to give her the life they had planned. They'd had such wonderful
plans for the next 100 plus years. "And I threw it away." He told himself, as what was left of his
heart broke in two. "I've hurt you so much I know, but I won't hurt you any more." His voice
broke. Methos wept over what he had lost and what he knew he must do. There had to be a way
…
Somewhere in the midst of his anguish and his tears and his resolve to make this right for Beth
and Cassie, the answer came. He knew his plan would be risky, but after going around and
around the options … it was the only one he thought he could live with no matter the result. It
was the only way to end this.
When he'd pulled himself together, he hooked up his laptop and began to search.
"Where are you?" he spoke aloud to the computer screen. A few minutes later he'd found what
he was looking for. "I guess Paris was a good choice after all." He decided as he began to pack
his bags. Within the hour he was in the car headed for the closest airport.
He still had the key MacLeod had given him to the barge, so after he landed, Methos helped
himself to a place where he could sit and think and enjoy a six pack of his favorite beer. He
needed a little more time to prepare himself.
It's funny how things taste better when … He didn't let himself finish the thought. There were no
guarantees, he wasn't even sure he could go through with it. All he knew was that he had to try.
He had to make this right for Beth and yet not spend the next however many years wondering
when his luck would run out and he would either have to let himself be struck down, or defend
himself and blow her world apart again.
Methos fell into a drink-induced slumber. When he awoke the next afternoon, he knew he
couldn't put this off any longer without losing his nerve. He drank a pot of black coffee and
munched on what was left of the pizza he'd ordered the night before.
Pulling out his sword, Methos polished it carefully. He then left a note for MacLeod with a key. It
was the extra key to his vault. He also penned a letter to Beth and left it for MacLeod to find.
Unable to put it off any longer, Methos dressed in a black shirt, black pants and his trench coat
with the sword hidden in the folds. He'd chosen his clothing carefully, a little more tailored than
usual.
He walked the streets of Paris from the barge to the warehouse district. He hadn't been in this
section of town for a long time, but he knew the general vicinity of his destination.
The empty warehouse was clean and freshly painted. Methos felt the presence just as he
opened the door he'd handily found a way to unlock.
He strode purposefully to the other end of the open expanse. Rays of late afternoon light bathed
him in gold as he moved past one window and then another. The sound of a lift caught his
attention, but he wasn't surprised.
He removed his coat, laid it over a railing and waited patiently with his sword in hand.
When the doors opened, his eyes locked on Cassandra's.
"You? What are you doing here?" she eyed his weapon and lifted her own as she wondered
what was going on.
"Hello Cassandra. You look well." He replied, his face amazingly calm and a slight smile playing
on his mouth. "I've come to give you what you have wanted for more than 2,500 years."
Cassandra's face remained unchanged at his words, but her eyes flashed as she thought of the
thing she had wanted more than anything else from him for so many years. She wondered what
his game was. This was not anything she would ever have expected from him. She came to the
quick conclusion that he'd actually come to finish the job he'd started all those centuries ago. He
truly was an ungrateful bastard.
She opened her mouth to reply, but Methos guessed her assumption and cut her off first. "I've
come to offer you my head."
How could he not have known?
Methos had felt Beth every time, but always thought her presence was his own doing. Now she
was telling him that she felt it as well. She'd seen all the ugly things he'd done. She'd seen him
at his darkest and felt his anger, and yet still she loved him? She still wanted to build a life for her
daughter with him?
With a love that true, how could he deny her this one request? His mind agonized over the
answer.
She wasn't asking anything unreasonable when she said she couldn't move on with the constant
reminder of his presence, but how could he possible agree? He'd survived over 5,000 years by
fighting when he had to. He'd sharpened his skills to a fine edge once again and to lose that
would mean to lose all. The 200 years he'd gone without taking a head before Jacob Kell had
learned his identity and he was thrust back into the game had almost cost him everything. He'd
never admit it, but if it hadn't been for Duncan MacLeod's friendship and having the luxury for
once of support and a worthy opponent to spar with, without fearing for his head, he would never
have made it back to the warrior he had once again become.
Now it seemed he would have to choose between taking another break from the game and going
deep underground and risk losing all, or know that with every head he took he would drive a stake
through Beth's heart … and his own. How could he put either of them through that agony over
and over?
"Another detail Cassandra conveniently failed to mention." He muttered, wondering if she'd done
it on purpose, somehow knowing he would be in this situation.
For most of the night he alternated between his struggle for an answer and cursing Cassandra for
not telling them. It was early the next morning before he could get past the shock and raw
emotion and finally begin to think clearly.
"I can't put her through this again and again. I can't rip open the wound just as it begins to heal."
He decided emphatically. "She deserves a chance at building a normal life with Cassie. She
deserves so much more …"
His heart ached with desire to give her the life they had planned. They'd had such wonderful
plans for the next 100 plus years. "And I threw it away." He told himself, as what was left of his
heart broke in two. "I've hurt you so much I know, but I won't hurt you any more." His voice
broke. Methos wept over what he had lost and what he knew he must do. There had to be a way
…
Somewhere in the midst of his anguish and his tears and his resolve to make this right for Beth
and Cassie, the answer came. He knew his plan would be risky, but after going around and
around the options … it was the only one he thought he could live with no matter the result. It
was the only way to end this.
When he'd pulled himself together, he hooked up his laptop and began to search.
"Where are you?" he spoke aloud to the computer screen. A few minutes later he'd found what
he was looking for. "I guess Paris was a good choice after all." He decided as he began to pack
his bags. Within the hour he was in the car headed for the closest airport.
He still had the key MacLeod had given him to the barge, so after he landed, Methos helped
himself to a place where he could sit and think and enjoy a six pack of his favorite beer. He
needed a little more time to prepare himself.
It's funny how things taste better when … He didn't let himself finish the thought. There were no
guarantees, he wasn't even sure he could go through with it. All he knew was that he had to try.
He had to make this right for Beth and yet not spend the next however many years wondering
when his luck would run out and he would either have to let himself be struck down, or defend
himself and blow her world apart again.
Methos fell into a drink-induced slumber. When he awoke the next afternoon, he knew he
couldn't put this off any longer without losing his nerve. He drank a pot of black coffee and
munched on what was left of the pizza he'd ordered the night before.
Pulling out his sword, Methos polished it carefully. He then left a note for MacLeod with a key. It
was the extra key to his vault. He also penned a letter to Beth and left it for MacLeod to find.
Unable to put it off any longer, Methos dressed in a black shirt, black pants and his trench coat
with the sword hidden in the folds. He'd chosen his clothing carefully, a little more tailored than
usual.
He walked the streets of Paris from the barge to the warehouse district. He hadn't been in this
section of town for a long time, but he knew the general vicinity of his destination.
The empty warehouse was clean and freshly painted. Methos felt the presence just as he
opened the door he'd handily found a way to unlock.
He strode purposefully to the other end of the open expanse. Rays of late afternoon light bathed
him in gold as he moved past one window and then another. The sound of a lift caught his
attention, but he wasn't surprised.
He removed his coat, laid it over a railing and waited patiently with his sword in hand.
When the doors opened, his eyes locked on Cassandra's.
"You? What are you doing here?" she eyed his weapon and lifted her own as she wondered
what was going on.
"Hello Cassandra. You look well." He replied, his face amazingly calm and a slight smile playing
on his mouth. "I've come to give you what you have wanted for more than 2,500 years."
Cassandra's face remained unchanged at his words, but her eyes flashed as she thought of the
thing she had wanted more than anything else from him for so many years. She wondered what
his game was. This was not anything she would ever have expected from him. She came to the
quick conclusion that he'd actually come to finish the job he'd started all those centuries ago. He
truly was an ungrateful bastard.
She opened her mouth to reply, but Methos guessed her assumption and cut her off first. "I've
come to offer you my head."