Time To Spare, Part 5
By the time Natalie came out of her reverie, the sun was full in the sky, though thankfully still very low on the horizon. Still, she'd have to move to get back to Nick's apartment before the streets got too crowded. Besides, Nick was probably up by now. She wished she'd left a note saying where she was going. Difficult, though, considering she didn't know where she was going... bah, let's get back to basics here. Get off the tree first, think later. She liked that idea.
"Natalie?" Nick poked his head around the corner to see her hang her long trenchcoat carefully at the door, keeping the sword harness obscured in its folds and leaving no obvious bulges. She'd gotten quite good at it, purely by necessity. Another way to try to fit in. He knew the feeling. Since she didn't seem to have heard him, he watched Natalie scrutinize her coat a moment longer, then quietly intruded, "You can't see it."
She started violently, spinning on one heel, and had her sword half out of her coat before she it dawned on her who had spoken. Then she just shook her head as she resheathed her sword, chuckling. "Nick, you scared half a decade off me."
He smiled archly. "I think you have a few to spare."
Natalie sat down next to him on the couch. To call it sinking into a boneless heap is more accurate, but less graceful. "Mmm... your turn to be the active one. I think I woke up too early this morning."
"Well, it had to happen sometime." Nick rose and produced her blanket out of nowhere, draping it carefully over her. She cuddled appreciatively into her two-thirds of the sofa, and left Nick to warm her feet. Now that his body temperature was finally high enough that he *could* warm her feet, that is. Fortunately, he didn't seem to mind. "Where were you coming from, that your body was operating on such a strange sleep schedule?"
She yawned hugely, and resolved not to fall asleep. She'd never get adjusted if she didn't stay awake. Mmm-hmm. It was just really comfy under this blanket... did Nick say something? Oh yeah. "I flew in out of Dublin, to this teeny little town about two hundred miles, er, that way. I think." Her hand snuck just far enough out of the covers to point vaguely in the direction of the hallway.
"Natalie, that's in the middle of the Atlantic."
"Oh. That way, then." She waved in the direction of the door, and slipped her hand back under the blanket.
"Why'd you fly all the way out there?" He knew she was falling asleep, but couldn't help asking.
Natalie opened her eyes to look wearily at him. "Because Immortals look at me, and they see a young one. A woman. An easy kill. That's the problem with these guys," she smiled, "none of them have heard of The Year of the Woman. And if they had, they wouldn't have believed it. Fourteenth century sensibilities in twentieth century culture... it's annoying as hell."
But her smile faded. "I got tired of killing people, Nick. I wanted to go somewhere, even for just a little while, where I didn't have to be Immortal. Where I could just be me, and leave all the rest behind. Relax. For just a little while." Her eyes were starting to droop again. "Just a little while," she sighed, sinking back into the couch.
Nick got up carefully, though he was sure Natalie wouldn't have woken if a grenade had gone off in the middle of the room. He brushed a few stray hairs off her cheek, tucked them behind her ear. "For as long as you want. As long as you need."
****
Natalie sighed in the midst of her dream. It was a nice dream, a warm dream. She was flying over mountains covered in forest, wall-to-wall greenery. They topped the crest of one of the higher mountains, to see an amazing vista of sparkling lakes and rivers. They? She turned to look beside her. Yep, there was Paul Hogan flying right next to her, same as always. He was saying something, probably chatting about the local wildlife or something, but as usual, she couldn't tell what he was saying, so she just turned back and watched the scenery. She supposed that this meant they were flying over some part of northern Australia. She'd never been to the north of Australia. It looked pretty.
She never could figure out this dream.
But it was a safe dream, one she'd had a thousand times before. So what on earth was the horrible screeching noise? It seemed to be coming from Paul. She wanted to ask him what kind of animal made that kind of noise, and where it lived, so they could fly down and put it out of its misery.
Then she realized it was the smoke alarm, and woke up.
Smoke was billowing out of the kitchen. Nick was shouting at the stove in what she assumed was some derivative of French, and attacking it valiantly with a fire extinguisher.
Natalie got up, stretched, and by the time she'd reached the kitchen, Nick was sitting on the tiled floor with an empty canister. Half the room was covered in white dust, and there was a nice burn pattern around one of the larger pots. She leaned in and pulled out a mostly charred vegetable. She guessed it was an asparagus at some point.
"Hi, Natalie. How was your nap?" She had to give him points for cheerfulness.
She continued inspecting his stovetop. "I had the Paul Hogan dream again." She paused in her work to give him a sideways glance. "You've been busy. Grease fire?"
"Yeah. I *can* cook."
"Of course you can. Where do you want to go out?"
He sighed the sigh of the long-suffering. "Let's open some windows, and we can talk about it."
They settled on an Armenian place nearby that Nick had heard was good, but never tried yet. They mutually decided to hold off dinner until the apartment was clean and ventilated, but that alone took a good couple of hours, even with all the fans on, all the windows open, and a jumbo can of Ajax. But they finally did declare it Good Enough For Government Work, and hit the showers.
"This isn't a formal place, is it?" Natalie called out from the bathroom.
"I wasn't planning on dressing up. Besides, I didn't think you could fit a dress in that little pack of yours." It was pretty big thing to put on your back, but considering it held virtually all of her belongings at the moment, it was nothing.
Natalie opened the door, already in jeans and a loose-fitting sweatshirt. "Of course I can fit a dress in there. It's just a very *wrinkled* dress, that would set dinner back another half-hour. And since it's," she glanced at her watch, made a little squeak, "nine o'clock already, we better hurry and get there before they close outright."
"I'm ready if you're ready."
"Then we're off. Just let me get my coat."
As the two stepped outside, Natalie unconsciously dug her hands into the pockets of her long trenchcoat and lifted her shoulders to protect her neck from the cool night air. They walked in silence a moment, then Nick turned to her. "So what were you doing in Dublin?"
"Not Dublin, precisely. I lived about thirty miles out of town. I helped the local veterinarian for a few years in exchange for room and board." She shrugged slightly. "Nothing fascinating, mostly mending broken bones, vaccinations, and the occasional birthing cat. But you couldn't beat the countryside. Beautiful." Her smile lightened as she looked back at Nick. "Cold, but beautiful."
"You've lived *here* most of your life, and you can't handle Ireland's cold?"
Natalie snorted. "Not when I'm working all day outside, away from my nice warm heater, I can't! Besides," and her enthusiasm lowered considerably, "I lived in Cairo for a while. It spoiled me."
Her eyes were staring ahead when they suddenly came into focus. "Hey, isn't that our place?"
Nick couldn't quite see, so he replied helpfully, "That's it."
"So, what do Armenians eat, anyway?"
Nick didn't answer. Natalie finally glanced at him expectantly, and he shook his head. "Don't look at me. I'm not sure I could even place Armenia on a map."
That earned him a wry smile. "Well, this could get interesting."
Luckily, the food was excellent, heavy on the cous-cous and spicy meats. Doubly lucky, their meal was already finished when the belly dancers came out to play. Though the look on Nick's face was almost worth it. He always did have the greatest expressions when he was surprised. They got better when he was embarrassed.
Natalie had just taken breath to laugh herself silly, when it all came out of her again in a whoosh as the Buzz hit.
She quickly scanned the crowded restaurant, but the feeling faded before she could get a fix on it, which bothered her even more. It meant that the other Immortal already knew who she was and where she was without needing the fix.
Which meant that he'd been watching her.
She felt like a bucket of ice had been poured down her back. Nearly all the immortals she'd run into so far had been as she'd said: overconfident and looking for an easy kill. This one was obviously not making that mistake.
Across the table, Nick's smile at the dancer next to him was full of trepidation. He looked to her for rescue.
He didn't know what it was he was asking.
***
Nick took in Natalie's silence, her rush to leave the restaurant, and the hours of sword practice without a word. She'd tell him what was bothering her when she was ready. Knowing Natalie, if he tried to talk to her before then, she'd likely just snarl at him and continue working it off until she felt better. So he waited.
Besides, he'd never watched her practice. She was quite good. Of course, his swordfighting skills were at least two hundred years rusty, and he'd never been up to Immortal standards, even at his prime. With a vampire's strength and hypnotism, he'd never had to rely on a sword for survival, so he never saw the need to perfect the art. But he could see just looking at her why some did. And why it was called an art.
She spun effortlessly on one foot, landing into a crouch and cutting in the same motion, smoothly blocking an exposed shoulder, then another downward slice in the opposite direction as the first, and back a step to come in from a different angle. She never stopped moving, or made any one movement faster than any other. Each action flowed naturally into the next, and the next. For hours on end she shadowdanced, until her long hair was wet to the core, her clothes were soaked, and she'd nearly fallen twice. Only when she stumbled a third time did she finally stop and let her sword tip drop gently into its scabbard. And it was only then that she noticed he was watching.
She tilted her head at him disapprovingly. "Nick, it's the middle of the night. You should really be asleep."
"So should you. Want some coffee?" Nick was holding two mugs in his hands. Natalie made the tiniest glance at the kitchen to make sure it was still in one piece. Nick caught the glance and grinned as he handed her a mug. "No need to worry. There's no grease in coffee."
She smiled slyly, with effort. "There's no grease in *my* coffee."
"You didn't complain the first time I made some."
But she just didn't have the heart to banter more. "You're right, I didn't," she sighed.
"You want to talk about it?"
Natalie's eyes looked old, old and sad when they reached his. "I felt the presence of another Immortal, but he got back out of range before we got a fix on each other. The only reason I can think of anyone not waiting to see who was near is if he already knew. And I don't know how he could have known I was near without the Buzz, unless he was watching me."
Nick sat on the couch and pressed his clasped hands to his lips in thought. Finally he looked up to her and said, "Are you sure it wasn't a friend?"
Natalie laughed without humor. "I don't have any Immortal friends." Seeing Nick's expression, she consciously brightened. "Not to worry, Nick. This just means I'll never have to worry about forgetting to send someone a birthday card. No big deal."
"Not even a friend with a truly awful sense of humor?"
Natalie's face tightened against her will. Dammit Nick, can't you leave this alone? "No." She took a big gulp of coffee, gasped as the hot liquid burned her throat. Then she took another. Maybe she could burn a hole in her larynx so she wouldn't have to say the words. Now there's an idea.
But Nick was peering at her with worried eyes again. "You're sure you don't want to talk about it." Hell. He'd been pouring his guts out for the past few days, she really owed him the same trust. Besides, there had to be something therapeutic in it. Somewhere. Somehow. Right?
She contemplated giving him the one-sentence version, just spitting it out and then going and hiding under the bed. Then she sighed and went to the kitchen to fetch the mostly-full coffeepot. She set it on the table in front of them. Refilled her cup. Refilled his cup, though he'd barely sipped his. He smiled at her, knowing a stall for what it was.
Keeping her eyes on the rim of her cup, she began. "Adam and I were living in Cairo fourteen years ago... which is, let me think, six years after I left Toronto, which would make it 2002..."
****
(Funny how Methos was thinking about precisely that time period at precisely the same time, halfway around the world... must be true love. Or maybe they both just had too much Armenian that night.)
Methos arrived in Paris late that night, late enough that all good little Watchers were snuggled tight in their beds. So he found a cheap and relatively clean room in the outside of the city, not too far from the vast grounds and mansion that made up the European Watcher Headquarters, and went to sleep, resolved to go over and figure out what was going on in the morning. He didn't know when Headquarters opened, but it didn't matter. He'd simply never had a need to find out. You see, Methos had a thing about alarms. He hated them. He went to bed when he was tired and got up when he wasn't, thank you very much, and didn't need some obnoxious little machine to tell him when that was.
Unfortunately, that didn't stop obnoxious little people from doing the job instead, he grumbled to himself as he woke to someone pounding on the door, the poor thing rattling in its frame. "Coming!"
He snatched some jeans off the chair, ran his hand through his hair so it only pointed in about five different directions, and opened the door, just as it was about to get pounded on again.
Predictably, it was Duncan. The fact that Methos could come up with a snarky comment, less than two minutes out of a sound sleep, before Duncan MacLeod could even open his mouth was something he was actually proud of. "Let me guess. You're here to say 'I told you so.' Or, even better, 'I knew you'd get yourself in a great mess eventually, and I just wanted to be there to see it.'"
Duncan snorted. "Quite a welcome you've got, there." He surveyed the room with a practiced eye, and took the only chair. "And I never say 'I told you so.'"
"Duncan, you *constantly* say 'I told you so.' You just never say the words."
Duncan shrugged. "You're worse about it than I am, anyway." Clueing in that Methos was being even more prickly than usual, he peered at the other skeptically. "So what's gotten into you? You can't be that upset about this Watcher business."
Methos just watched him from the center of the room, his hands on his hips. "You really have no idea what time it is, do you."
Duncan glanced at his watch, and instantly looked like he just sat on a scorpion. "Ow."
"Yes."
"Forgot about the time change. Want me to come back later?" He was too bloody early, but at least he was contrite about it.
Methos rubbed his face with his hands vigorously. "No, I was probably going to get up in a couple hours, anyway. It wouldn't be worth it to go back to sleep. Come on then," he dug a shirt out of his bag and pulled it on. "Let's go find some breakfast."
As they walked to the nearest cafe, Methos watched the sun rise over the vineyards for a moment, and remembered why he missed France. Suddenly out of nowhere a car teetered around the curve, nearly flattening the pair of them as it took the turn at about twice the speed it should have. And Methos remembered why he left. "So, I take it Joe sent you."
"He was worried."
"He was *angry*," Methos corrected. "He was very *very* angry, and since I hung up on him and wouldn't let him come out here to cane me himself for my thoughtlessness, he sent you to do it for him." The two of them shared an amused glance. "Well, am I getting close?"
"You're hitting more than you're missing, I'll give you that."
"Joy."
They walked along in silence a while longer. Good old Joe, he had to vent at somebody about Natalie, and Duncan was apparently the lucky winner. Which meant... Methos counted quietly in his head. Three... two... one...
"So why *haven't* you told her what you are? Don't you think she deserves to know?" Hah! He just won a five dollar bet with himself. Part of him was highly annoyed. Another part was gloating. He reminded himself to pay himself when he got back to the room. He also reminded himself that he should really do something about this closet schizophrenia. Part of him told him to go to hell. He couldn't tell which part.
But Duncan was still looking expectantly at him when he raised his eyes again. *His* mind could wander, but Duncan was still focused on the question. Well, fine then. "Did you ever tell Richie?"
Duncan's head snapped back a touch. "That's different."
"How so?"
"Richie is not Methos' student."
"No, but at the very least, he's a friend of a friend. If I wanted leverage against Methos..." Tactics went into full swing, and Methos barely acknowledged Duncan's presence for a moment as he weighed the circumstances. "All right, it'd actually be a toss-up between Joe and Richie. Joe's more vulnerable in and of himself, but he's usually around you. Richie's on his own a lot more, and might still be the easier target for someone with experience."
Duncan obviously did not at *all* like the way this conversation was going, but Methos didn't really have the heart to pity him. He started it, after all.
"This isn't about Richie, this is about Natalie."
"Right. The point is, you didn't tell Richie because you didn't think he needed to know, not because he's totally out of danger, far from it. You took a calculated risk and, incidentally, one that will probably pay off."
He paused for a moment to think about the words to say what was on his mind. It was a good thing he'd already given the matter a lot of thought, or Duncan would have been able to sweep the floor with him. Finally he continued, "It's like telling a mortal what you are." Duncan looked skeptical, and opened his mouth to reply. "No, hear me out. Look at it from my perspective. What would I say to her? 'Hi, honey. Listen, you know how I told you I was only two thousand years old? Well, I'm actually over five thousand." His voice turned bitter. "I lied to you about who I was and what kind of person I am, hope you can forgive me." His voice started to rise in the stillness of the morning. "And, oh yes, don't forget to lock up at night, because you never know when someone who's been planning his whole life to have Methos' head on his mantlepiece may come barging through the front door!" He was shouting by the end. "Tell me, Duncan, how many times have you said the *exact same thing* and held your breath while you waited for her to slam the door in your face?"
Duncan looked slightly stunned at his outburst. "Minus a few zeroes?" That earned him a chuckle, and he smiled back, but it faded a little before he replied. "More times than I can count."
Methos was still chuckling as he shed some stored-up tension. "Teach you to ask me deep questions before my morning coffee."
"Well, we're here, which means you're only off the hook a little while." He pointed ahead, and sure enough, there was the sign, swinging softly in the morning breeze.
"Did I say 'coffee' singular? I meant plural."
Duncan rolled his eyes. "And me, without my spatula to peel you off the ceiling."
Methos smirked back. "A cookie sheet does in a pinch."
"You'd know."
Methos smiled, a real smile this time. "Damn straight I would."
After they were shown to their seats and each had been fortified with at least one coffee, Duncan began, "So what's our plan of attack?"
Methos pinned him with a look. "*My* plan of attack is to go in, find out what the Watchers know about the burglar and why he stole some of Adam Pierson's reports on Methos, and then leave. *You* are going to stay in the car."
Duncan pinned him right back. "That's a joke, right?"
Methos sighed, and rubbed his eyes with one hand. "Not usually... look. The Watchers are already looking none too starry-eyed at me right now, never mind you. One look at the two of us together, and they might very well kill us before we reach the gate."
"Methos, that was six years ago."
He snorted. "Perhaps. But you're assuming they're looking at us more leniently over time. They could just as easily be puffing up the horrible things we did, and grinding their axes while we wait. I go, you stay."
Duncan shook his head in amazement. "You are so paranoid, Methos."
He snorted in laughter, and raised his coffee in salute. "Words to live by, my friend."
***
After breakfast, the two of them headed out. Just before Methos left the car, down the road a bit from the gates, he made Duncan swear again not to leave the car till he got back but, short of handcuffing the man to the steering wheel, he didn't think Duncan was going to sit and wait anywhere. Well, maybe all his hysterics would ensure a little more caution on Duncan's part when he snuck his way in.
Speaking of getting in, it was time to get moving. Methos walked to the gates and handed the guard his old Watcher pass, purposefully using the arm with the tattoo. Well, he took the time to re-stencil the pattern last night, might as well get some use out of it.
The guard frowned at him, unimpressed. "What's your business?"
"I heard there was a break-in, that some stuff I used to be working on got stolen. I wanted to make sure this guy isn't going to come after me." True enough.
The guard looked at his pass again, and sneered, "Says here you worked on the Methos Chronicles. Why d'you think anyone would want to come after *you*?"
Oh, goody. Yet another Watcher flunky ecstatic to find someone even lower on the totem pole than they. Just what I need. "Maybe because the *last* time we had an information leak and our names got out, my partner got stabbed to death! Made me a cautious soul," he snapped. Snatching the pass out of the guard's hands, he stalked past him toward the mansion. The guard didn't challenge him.
Fortunately, it hadn't been too long since he'd left, so most of the important people hadn't changed. Oh, the department heads had switched around, everyone was still grabbing for positions in the upper echelons. But not the really important people. His expression brightened into a smile as he caught sight of his destination. The office of Ms. Christine Cannick, Head Librarian. Gifted with an extraordinary memory and an eye for organization, Chris could point you in the right direction for any era of history and the records of nearly any immortal, dead or alive. Gifted also with a reputation for a closed mouth and a link to the secretarial gossip pool, Chris' office was the place to go to get information on just about *anything* that could be even remotely considered Watcher business.
Plus, she liked him. Which relieved Methos to no end.
He knocked on her door politely. She was on the phone when she answered, but she hurriedly made an excuse about something coming up and slammed the phone down before giving him a hug. "Adam! How are you?"
"Hi, Chris. I hope that wasn't anyone important."
She wrinkled her nose. "I don't think so... I think I dozed off there for part of it. I'm sure if he said anything important, he'll remind me." Grinning, she leaned back into her chair and kicked one over for him to sit in. "So, long time no see. I heard you've been a very bad boy." Against her will, she started chuckling. "Really, shacking up with a new Immortal and teaching her to fight? You should *see* the pretty colors the Watchers' faces have been turning. Better than a pack of Skittles."
Ah, so he'd been right. Adam tried hard to look contrite. He really did. Really, seriously... "Oh, wipe that grin off your face. I'm amazed they even let you through the door." She snorted, trying not to laugh as she composed her expression to properly businesslike. "The point being, you didn't come back to say hi. Let me guess, you're here about the break-in?"
He nodded. "What did they find?"
"Well, he was definitely after something specific, whatever it was. Nearly tore my library apart looking for it." She frowned at the memory, and Adam winced, knowing the vast majority of the books here were irreplaceable.
"Did you lose anything?"
That snapped her out of it, and she smiled wryly back at him. "Nothing that couldn't be fixed, thank goodness. Just a lot of mess to sift through." She turned back to her desk, opened a drawer and started searching as she continued, "Turned out he took just a few of the later reports on the Methos Chronicle, none of any importance that I could see. And one more bit, taken from the clear other side of the library." She finally pulled out a file and shut the door, turning to speak to him directly. "It was your personnel file, complete with name and home address." Before Adam could wince, she brought up a finger to stop him. "Fortunately, since you managed to evade the Personnel Department longer than anyone else in history," she smiled briefly, "we don't have a photograph of you on file. And since you decided to leave us so dramatically, we don't have a forwarding address, either. So you're better off than you could be."
"Yeah, but I'm here, so I'm also not as well off as I could be." She favored him with a sympathetic look. "Do you know who the thief was?"
"Ah! Now that's the good part." She waved the file in her hand. "He apparently didn't know we had videocameras around the place, or didn't care, so we got a nice good look at him on tape." She rolled her chair over next to his and opened the file so they both could read. "Guy by the name of... Thomas Hunter. Here, a picture of him."
A lanky face with black hair looked back at him. Tom. Tom Hunter. Karen's husband. Natalie. Shit!
Methos was already on his feet. "Thanks, Chris. This means a lot. I'll talk to you later!" He gave her a quick kiss on the cheek and was running down the hall.
She called after him, "Good luck!" He barely heard her.
Even the mighty Duncan was huffing and puffing to get back to the car before he did, and dove into the driver's seat next to him. Without bothering with words Methos patted Duncan's jacket till he found what he was looking for: a cell phone. *That's my Boy Scout... don't ever change.* He pulled it out over Duncan's protests, turned the ignition and slammed the car into gear as they sped back to Paris. "Yes, my name is Adam Pierson. I'd like my return ticket from Paris to Cairo moved to the earliest flight possible, please."
As the reservations clerk put him on hold, he finally started tuning Duncan in. "Who is it, Methos? Do you know him?"
He looked at Duncan with eyes too hard for despair. Know him? "He's probably in my house as we speak." He turned back to the phone. "Yes, I'll accept the charges..."
By the time Natalie came out of her reverie, the sun was full in the sky, though thankfully still very low on the horizon. Still, she'd have to move to get back to Nick's apartment before the streets got too crowded. Besides, Nick was probably up by now. She wished she'd left a note saying where she was going. Difficult, though, considering she didn't know where she was going... bah, let's get back to basics here. Get off the tree first, think later. She liked that idea.
"Natalie?" Nick poked his head around the corner to see her hang her long trenchcoat carefully at the door, keeping the sword harness obscured in its folds and leaving no obvious bulges. She'd gotten quite good at it, purely by necessity. Another way to try to fit in. He knew the feeling. Since she didn't seem to have heard him, he watched Natalie scrutinize her coat a moment longer, then quietly intruded, "You can't see it."
She started violently, spinning on one heel, and had her sword half out of her coat before she it dawned on her who had spoken. Then she just shook her head as she resheathed her sword, chuckling. "Nick, you scared half a decade off me."
He smiled archly. "I think you have a few to spare."
Natalie sat down next to him on the couch. To call it sinking into a boneless heap is more accurate, but less graceful. "Mmm... your turn to be the active one. I think I woke up too early this morning."
"Well, it had to happen sometime." Nick rose and produced her blanket out of nowhere, draping it carefully over her. She cuddled appreciatively into her two-thirds of the sofa, and left Nick to warm her feet. Now that his body temperature was finally high enough that he *could* warm her feet, that is. Fortunately, he didn't seem to mind. "Where were you coming from, that your body was operating on such a strange sleep schedule?"
She yawned hugely, and resolved not to fall asleep. She'd never get adjusted if she didn't stay awake. Mmm-hmm. It was just really comfy under this blanket... did Nick say something? Oh yeah. "I flew in out of Dublin, to this teeny little town about two hundred miles, er, that way. I think." Her hand snuck just far enough out of the covers to point vaguely in the direction of the hallway.
"Natalie, that's in the middle of the Atlantic."
"Oh. That way, then." She waved in the direction of the door, and slipped her hand back under the blanket.
"Why'd you fly all the way out there?" He knew she was falling asleep, but couldn't help asking.
Natalie opened her eyes to look wearily at him. "Because Immortals look at me, and they see a young one. A woman. An easy kill. That's the problem with these guys," she smiled, "none of them have heard of The Year of the Woman. And if they had, they wouldn't have believed it. Fourteenth century sensibilities in twentieth century culture... it's annoying as hell."
But her smile faded. "I got tired of killing people, Nick. I wanted to go somewhere, even for just a little while, where I didn't have to be Immortal. Where I could just be me, and leave all the rest behind. Relax. For just a little while." Her eyes were starting to droop again. "Just a little while," she sighed, sinking back into the couch.
Nick got up carefully, though he was sure Natalie wouldn't have woken if a grenade had gone off in the middle of the room. He brushed a few stray hairs off her cheek, tucked them behind her ear. "For as long as you want. As long as you need."
****
Natalie sighed in the midst of her dream. It was a nice dream, a warm dream. She was flying over mountains covered in forest, wall-to-wall greenery. They topped the crest of one of the higher mountains, to see an amazing vista of sparkling lakes and rivers. They? She turned to look beside her. Yep, there was Paul Hogan flying right next to her, same as always. He was saying something, probably chatting about the local wildlife or something, but as usual, she couldn't tell what he was saying, so she just turned back and watched the scenery. She supposed that this meant they were flying over some part of northern Australia. She'd never been to the north of Australia. It looked pretty.
She never could figure out this dream.
But it was a safe dream, one she'd had a thousand times before. So what on earth was the horrible screeching noise? It seemed to be coming from Paul. She wanted to ask him what kind of animal made that kind of noise, and where it lived, so they could fly down and put it out of its misery.
Then she realized it was the smoke alarm, and woke up.
Smoke was billowing out of the kitchen. Nick was shouting at the stove in what she assumed was some derivative of French, and attacking it valiantly with a fire extinguisher.
Natalie got up, stretched, and by the time she'd reached the kitchen, Nick was sitting on the tiled floor with an empty canister. Half the room was covered in white dust, and there was a nice burn pattern around one of the larger pots. She leaned in and pulled out a mostly charred vegetable. She guessed it was an asparagus at some point.
"Hi, Natalie. How was your nap?" She had to give him points for cheerfulness.
She continued inspecting his stovetop. "I had the Paul Hogan dream again." She paused in her work to give him a sideways glance. "You've been busy. Grease fire?"
"Yeah. I *can* cook."
"Of course you can. Where do you want to go out?"
He sighed the sigh of the long-suffering. "Let's open some windows, and we can talk about it."
They settled on an Armenian place nearby that Nick had heard was good, but never tried yet. They mutually decided to hold off dinner until the apartment was clean and ventilated, but that alone took a good couple of hours, even with all the fans on, all the windows open, and a jumbo can of Ajax. But they finally did declare it Good Enough For Government Work, and hit the showers.
"This isn't a formal place, is it?" Natalie called out from the bathroom.
"I wasn't planning on dressing up. Besides, I didn't think you could fit a dress in that little pack of yours." It was pretty big thing to put on your back, but considering it held virtually all of her belongings at the moment, it was nothing.
Natalie opened the door, already in jeans and a loose-fitting sweatshirt. "Of course I can fit a dress in there. It's just a very *wrinkled* dress, that would set dinner back another half-hour. And since it's," she glanced at her watch, made a little squeak, "nine o'clock already, we better hurry and get there before they close outright."
"I'm ready if you're ready."
"Then we're off. Just let me get my coat."
As the two stepped outside, Natalie unconsciously dug her hands into the pockets of her long trenchcoat and lifted her shoulders to protect her neck from the cool night air. They walked in silence a moment, then Nick turned to her. "So what were you doing in Dublin?"
"Not Dublin, precisely. I lived about thirty miles out of town. I helped the local veterinarian for a few years in exchange for room and board." She shrugged slightly. "Nothing fascinating, mostly mending broken bones, vaccinations, and the occasional birthing cat. But you couldn't beat the countryside. Beautiful." Her smile lightened as she looked back at Nick. "Cold, but beautiful."
"You've lived *here* most of your life, and you can't handle Ireland's cold?"
Natalie snorted. "Not when I'm working all day outside, away from my nice warm heater, I can't! Besides," and her enthusiasm lowered considerably, "I lived in Cairo for a while. It spoiled me."
Her eyes were staring ahead when they suddenly came into focus. "Hey, isn't that our place?"
Nick couldn't quite see, so he replied helpfully, "That's it."
"So, what do Armenians eat, anyway?"
Nick didn't answer. Natalie finally glanced at him expectantly, and he shook his head. "Don't look at me. I'm not sure I could even place Armenia on a map."
That earned him a wry smile. "Well, this could get interesting."
Luckily, the food was excellent, heavy on the cous-cous and spicy meats. Doubly lucky, their meal was already finished when the belly dancers came out to play. Though the look on Nick's face was almost worth it. He always did have the greatest expressions when he was surprised. They got better when he was embarrassed.
Natalie had just taken breath to laugh herself silly, when it all came out of her again in a whoosh as the Buzz hit.
She quickly scanned the crowded restaurant, but the feeling faded before she could get a fix on it, which bothered her even more. It meant that the other Immortal already knew who she was and where she was without needing the fix.
Which meant that he'd been watching her.
She felt like a bucket of ice had been poured down her back. Nearly all the immortals she'd run into so far had been as she'd said: overconfident and looking for an easy kill. This one was obviously not making that mistake.
Across the table, Nick's smile at the dancer next to him was full of trepidation. He looked to her for rescue.
He didn't know what it was he was asking.
***
Nick took in Natalie's silence, her rush to leave the restaurant, and the hours of sword practice without a word. She'd tell him what was bothering her when she was ready. Knowing Natalie, if he tried to talk to her before then, she'd likely just snarl at him and continue working it off until she felt better. So he waited.
Besides, he'd never watched her practice. She was quite good. Of course, his swordfighting skills were at least two hundred years rusty, and he'd never been up to Immortal standards, even at his prime. With a vampire's strength and hypnotism, he'd never had to rely on a sword for survival, so he never saw the need to perfect the art. But he could see just looking at her why some did. And why it was called an art.
She spun effortlessly on one foot, landing into a crouch and cutting in the same motion, smoothly blocking an exposed shoulder, then another downward slice in the opposite direction as the first, and back a step to come in from a different angle. She never stopped moving, or made any one movement faster than any other. Each action flowed naturally into the next, and the next. For hours on end she shadowdanced, until her long hair was wet to the core, her clothes were soaked, and she'd nearly fallen twice. Only when she stumbled a third time did she finally stop and let her sword tip drop gently into its scabbard. And it was only then that she noticed he was watching.
She tilted her head at him disapprovingly. "Nick, it's the middle of the night. You should really be asleep."
"So should you. Want some coffee?" Nick was holding two mugs in his hands. Natalie made the tiniest glance at the kitchen to make sure it was still in one piece. Nick caught the glance and grinned as he handed her a mug. "No need to worry. There's no grease in coffee."
She smiled slyly, with effort. "There's no grease in *my* coffee."
"You didn't complain the first time I made some."
But she just didn't have the heart to banter more. "You're right, I didn't," she sighed.
"You want to talk about it?"
Natalie's eyes looked old, old and sad when they reached his. "I felt the presence of another Immortal, but he got back out of range before we got a fix on each other. The only reason I can think of anyone not waiting to see who was near is if he already knew. And I don't know how he could have known I was near without the Buzz, unless he was watching me."
Nick sat on the couch and pressed his clasped hands to his lips in thought. Finally he looked up to her and said, "Are you sure it wasn't a friend?"
Natalie laughed without humor. "I don't have any Immortal friends." Seeing Nick's expression, she consciously brightened. "Not to worry, Nick. This just means I'll never have to worry about forgetting to send someone a birthday card. No big deal."
"Not even a friend with a truly awful sense of humor?"
Natalie's face tightened against her will. Dammit Nick, can't you leave this alone? "No." She took a big gulp of coffee, gasped as the hot liquid burned her throat. Then she took another. Maybe she could burn a hole in her larynx so she wouldn't have to say the words. Now there's an idea.
But Nick was peering at her with worried eyes again. "You're sure you don't want to talk about it." Hell. He'd been pouring his guts out for the past few days, she really owed him the same trust. Besides, there had to be something therapeutic in it. Somewhere. Somehow. Right?
She contemplated giving him the one-sentence version, just spitting it out and then going and hiding under the bed. Then she sighed and went to the kitchen to fetch the mostly-full coffeepot. She set it on the table in front of them. Refilled her cup. Refilled his cup, though he'd barely sipped his. He smiled at her, knowing a stall for what it was.
Keeping her eyes on the rim of her cup, she began. "Adam and I were living in Cairo fourteen years ago... which is, let me think, six years after I left Toronto, which would make it 2002..."
****
(Funny how Methos was thinking about precisely that time period at precisely the same time, halfway around the world... must be true love. Or maybe they both just had too much Armenian that night.)
Methos arrived in Paris late that night, late enough that all good little Watchers were snuggled tight in their beds. So he found a cheap and relatively clean room in the outside of the city, not too far from the vast grounds and mansion that made up the European Watcher Headquarters, and went to sleep, resolved to go over and figure out what was going on in the morning. He didn't know when Headquarters opened, but it didn't matter. He'd simply never had a need to find out. You see, Methos had a thing about alarms. He hated them. He went to bed when he was tired and got up when he wasn't, thank you very much, and didn't need some obnoxious little machine to tell him when that was.
Unfortunately, that didn't stop obnoxious little people from doing the job instead, he grumbled to himself as he woke to someone pounding on the door, the poor thing rattling in its frame. "Coming!"
He snatched some jeans off the chair, ran his hand through his hair so it only pointed in about five different directions, and opened the door, just as it was about to get pounded on again.
Predictably, it was Duncan. The fact that Methos could come up with a snarky comment, less than two minutes out of a sound sleep, before Duncan MacLeod could even open his mouth was something he was actually proud of. "Let me guess. You're here to say 'I told you so.' Or, even better, 'I knew you'd get yourself in a great mess eventually, and I just wanted to be there to see it.'"
Duncan snorted. "Quite a welcome you've got, there." He surveyed the room with a practiced eye, and took the only chair. "And I never say 'I told you so.'"
"Duncan, you *constantly* say 'I told you so.' You just never say the words."
Duncan shrugged. "You're worse about it than I am, anyway." Clueing in that Methos was being even more prickly than usual, he peered at the other skeptically. "So what's gotten into you? You can't be that upset about this Watcher business."
Methos just watched him from the center of the room, his hands on his hips. "You really have no idea what time it is, do you."
Duncan glanced at his watch, and instantly looked like he just sat on a scorpion. "Ow."
"Yes."
"Forgot about the time change. Want me to come back later?" He was too bloody early, but at least he was contrite about it.
Methos rubbed his face with his hands vigorously. "No, I was probably going to get up in a couple hours, anyway. It wouldn't be worth it to go back to sleep. Come on then," he dug a shirt out of his bag and pulled it on. "Let's go find some breakfast."
As they walked to the nearest cafe, Methos watched the sun rise over the vineyards for a moment, and remembered why he missed France. Suddenly out of nowhere a car teetered around the curve, nearly flattening the pair of them as it took the turn at about twice the speed it should have. And Methos remembered why he left. "So, I take it Joe sent you."
"He was worried."
"He was *angry*," Methos corrected. "He was very *very* angry, and since I hung up on him and wouldn't let him come out here to cane me himself for my thoughtlessness, he sent you to do it for him." The two of them shared an amused glance. "Well, am I getting close?"
"You're hitting more than you're missing, I'll give you that."
"Joy."
They walked along in silence a while longer. Good old Joe, he had to vent at somebody about Natalie, and Duncan was apparently the lucky winner. Which meant... Methos counted quietly in his head. Three... two... one...
"So why *haven't* you told her what you are? Don't you think she deserves to know?" Hah! He just won a five dollar bet with himself. Part of him was highly annoyed. Another part was gloating. He reminded himself to pay himself when he got back to the room. He also reminded himself that he should really do something about this closet schizophrenia. Part of him told him to go to hell. He couldn't tell which part.
But Duncan was still looking expectantly at him when he raised his eyes again. *His* mind could wander, but Duncan was still focused on the question. Well, fine then. "Did you ever tell Richie?"
Duncan's head snapped back a touch. "That's different."
"How so?"
"Richie is not Methos' student."
"No, but at the very least, he's a friend of a friend. If I wanted leverage against Methos..." Tactics went into full swing, and Methos barely acknowledged Duncan's presence for a moment as he weighed the circumstances. "All right, it'd actually be a toss-up between Joe and Richie. Joe's more vulnerable in and of himself, but he's usually around you. Richie's on his own a lot more, and might still be the easier target for someone with experience."
Duncan obviously did not at *all* like the way this conversation was going, but Methos didn't really have the heart to pity him. He started it, after all.
"This isn't about Richie, this is about Natalie."
"Right. The point is, you didn't tell Richie because you didn't think he needed to know, not because he's totally out of danger, far from it. You took a calculated risk and, incidentally, one that will probably pay off."
He paused for a moment to think about the words to say what was on his mind. It was a good thing he'd already given the matter a lot of thought, or Duncan would have been able to sweep the floor with him. Finally he continued, "It's like telling a mortal what you are." Duncan looked skeptical, and opened his mouth to reply. "No, hear me out. Look at it from my perspective. What would I say to her? 'Hi, honey. Listen, you know how I told you I was only two thousand years old? Well, I'm actually over five thousand." His voice turned bitter. "I lied to you about who I was and what kind of person I am, hope you can forgive me." His voice started to rise in the stillness of the morning. "And, oh yes, don't forget to lock up at night, because you never know when someone who's been planning his whole life to have Methos' head on his mantlepiece may come barging through the front door!" He was shouting by the end. "Tell me, Duncan, how many times have you said the *exact same thing* and held your breath while you waited for her to slam the door in your face?"
Duncan looked slightly stunned at his outburst. "Minus a few zeroes?" That earned him a chuckle, and he smiled back, but it faded a little before he replied. "More times than I can count."
Methos was still chuckling as he shed some stored-up tension. "Teach you to ask me deep questions before my morning coffee."
"Well, we're here, which means you're only off the hook a little while." He pointed ahead, and sure enough, there was the sign, swinging softly in the morning breeze.
"Did I say 'coffee' singular? I meant plural."
Duncan rolled his eyes. "And me, without my spatula to peel you off the ceiling."
Methos smirked back. "A cookie sheet does in a pinch."
"You'd know."
Methos smiled, a real smile this time. "Damn straight I would."
After they were shown to their seats and each had been fortified with at least one coffee, Duncan began, "So what's our plan of attack?"
Methos pinned him with a look. "*My* plan of attack is to go in, find out what the Watchers know about the burglar and why he stole some of Adam Pierson's reports on Methos, and then leave. *You* are going to stay in the car."
Duncan pinned him right back. "That's a joke, right?"
Methos sighed, and rubbed his eyes with one hand. "Not usually... look. The Watchers are already looking none too starry-eyed at me right now, never mind you. One look at the two of us together, and they might very well kill us before we reach the gate."
"Methos, that was six years ago."
He snorted. "Perhaps. But you're assuming they're looking at us more leniently over time. They could just as easily be puffing up the horrible things we did, and grinding their axes while we wait. I go, you stay."
Duncan shook his head in amazement. "You are so paranoid, Methos."
He snorted in laughter, and raised his coffee in salute. "Words to live by, my friend."
***
After breakfast, the two of them headed out. Just before Methos left the car, down the road a bit from the gates, he made Duncan swear again not to leave the car till he got back but, short of handcuffing the man to the steering wheel, he didn't think Duncan was going to sit and wait anywhere. Well, maybe all his hysterics would ensure a little more caution on Duncan's part when he snuck his way in.
Speaking of getting in, it was time to get moving. Methos walked to the gates and handed the guard his old Watcher pass, purposefully using the arm with the tattoo. Well, he took the time to re-stencil the pattern last night, might as well get some use out of it.
The guard frowned at him, unimpressed. "What's your business?"
"I heard there was a break-in, that some stuff I used to be working on got stolen. I wanted to make sure this guy isn't going to come after me." True enough.
The guard looked at his pass again, and sneered, "Says here you worked on the Methos Chronicles. Why d'you think anyone would want to come after *you*?"
Oh, goody. Yet another Watcher flunky ecstatic to find someone even lower on the totem pole than they. Just what I need. "Maybe because the *last* time we had an information leak and our names got out, my partner got stabbed to death! Made me a cautious soul," he snapped. Snatching the pass out of the guard's hands, he stalked past him toward the mansion. The guard didn't challenge him.
Fortunately, it hadn't been too long since he'd left, so most of the important people hadn't changed. Oh, the department heads had switched around, everyone was still grabbing for positions in the upper echelons. But not the really important people. His expression brightened into a smile as he caught sight of his destination. The office of Ms. Christine Cannick, Head Librarian. Gifted with an extraordinary memory and an eye for organization, Chris could point you in the right direction for any era of history and the records of nearly any immortal, dead or alive. Gifted also with a reputation for a closed mouth and a link to the secretarial gossip pool, Chris' office was the place to go to get information on just about *anything* that could be even remotely considered Watcher business.
Plus, she liked him. Which relieved Methos to no end.
He knocked on her door politely. She was on the phone when she answered, but she hurriedly made an excuse about something coming up and slammed the phone down before giving him a hug. "Adam! How are you?"
"Hi, Chris. I hope that wasn't anyone important."
She wrinkled her nose. "I don't think so... I think I dozed off there for part of it. I'm sure if he said anything important, he'll remind me." Grinning, she leaned back into her chair and kicked one over for him to sit in. "So, long time no see. I heard you've been a very bad boy." Against her will, she started chuckling. "Really, shacking up with a new Immortal and teaching her to fight? You should *see* the pretty colors the Watchers' faces have been turning. Better than a pack of Skittles."
Ah, so he'd been right. Adam tried hard to look contrite. He really did. Really, seriously... "Oh, wipe that grin off your face. I'm amazed they even let you through the door." She snorted, trying not to laugh as she composed her expression to properly businesslike. "The point being, you didn't come back to say hi. Let me guess, you're here about the break-in?"
He nodded. "What did they find?"
"Well, he was definitely after something specific, whatever it was. Nearly tore my library apart looking for it." She frowned at the memory, and Adam winced, knowing the vast majority of the books here were irreplaceable.
"Did you lose anything?"
That snapped her out of it, and she smiled wryly back at him. "Nothing that couldn't be fixed, thank goodness. Just a lot of mess to sift through." She turned back to her desk, opened a drawer and started searching as she continued, "Turned out he took just a few of the later reports on the Methos Chronicle, none of any importance that I could see. And one more bit, taken from the clear other side of the library." She finally pulled out a file and shut the door, turning to speak to him directly. "It was your personnel file, complete with name and home address." Before Adam could wince, she brought up a finger to stop him. "Fortunately, since you managed to evade the Personnel Department longer than anyone else in history," she smiled briefly, "we don't have a photograph of you on file. And since you decided to leave us so dramatically, we don't have a forwarding address, either. So you're better off than you could be."
"Yeah, but I'm here, so I'm also not as well off as I could be." She favored him with a sympathetic look. "Do you know who the thief was?"
"Ah! Now that's the good part." She waved the file in her hand. "He apparently didn't know we had videocameras around the place, or didn't care, so we got a nice good look at him on tape." She rolled her chair over next to his and opened the file so they both could read. "Guy by the name of... Thomas Hunter. Here, a picture of him."
A lanky face with black hair looked back at him. Tom. Tom Hunter. Karen's husband. Natalie. Shit!
Methos was already on his feet. "Thanks, Chris. This means a lot. I'll talk to you later!" He gave her a quick kiss on the cheek and was running down the hall.
She called after him, "Good luck!" He barely heard her.
Even the mighty Duncan was huffing and puffing to get back to the car before he did, and dove into the driver's seat next to him. Without bothering with words Methos patted Duncan's jacket till he found what he was looking for: a cell phone. *That's my Boy Scout... don't ever change.* He pulled it out over Duncan's protests, turned the ignition and slammed the car into gear as they sped back to Paris. "Yes, my name is Adam Pierson. I'd like my return ticket from Paris to Cairo moved to the earliest flight possible, please."
As the reservations clerk put him on hold, he finally started tuning Duncan in. "Who is it, Methos? Do you know him?"
He looked at Duncan with eyes too hard for despair. Know him? "He's probably in my house as we speak." He turned back to the phone. "Yes, I'll accept the charges..."