Time To Spare, Part 6
"Tom, hi! What are you up to?" Natalie swung the door open wide to let him past.
Tom smiled easily at her. "Not much. Is Adam around?"
Natalie eyed him speculatively. "Why? Are you guys finally going to compare power tools? You know, I've been waiting for this moment to come."
His smile got a little brighter. "Close. Actually, I have a surprise for you." It wasn't till then that she noticed one of his hands was behind his back.
"Mmm. Do I get three guesses?"
"Nope, just one." He brought his hand out.
Natalie gasped in surprise. "Hey, a new phone jack! Tom, you are such a sweetie! How did you know our phone was on the fritz?"
"Because I've called you, that's why," he replied, laughing. "Come on. Let's see if we can hook it up."
Natalie went to get screwdrivers and such out of the kitchen, calling back over her shoulder, "Where on earth did you buy that? I thought Adam and I had searched every low-rent Radio Shack in Cairo!"
"Oh, you just have to know where to look." Door to the right, window to the street. Window in the kitchen, but not big enough for a grown man, or woman, to slip through.
He turned as Natalie reappeared, tools in hand. "I think I got everything."
He cocked his head at her. "Well, let's crack this thing open and find out."
Natalie sat down in front of the jack in the wall. "Well, I suppose step number one would be to take out the old one, huh?" She unplugged the phone and started attacking with the screwdriver.
****
"Dammit, Natalie, *pick up the phone*!" That earned him a sharp look from the man sitting next to him on the plane, a slightly more sympathetic one from his wife. He could have cared less, as he calmly redialed the number on the airphone in his hand. Twice now he'd had to consciously *not* demolish the thing, or twist it into a shape more likely to get his call through. He'd been trying to get Natalie to pick up the phone for a good hour now, but it just rang off the hook.
She's in the bathroom, taking a very long shower. She went out to eat. She went shopping. She figured out who you are, and left you on the spot... *anything* was preferable to the image that kept invading his mind when he wasn't looking: Natalie, broken and bleeding, dragging herself toward the phone with one hand while Tom stood over her, sword raised for the final blow.
The phone rang again, and again, and Methos started to seriously wonder if destroying the phone wouldn't be worth it. It was certainly better than ripping a hole in the side of the plane out of pure frustration. *Come on, Natalie, that's my girl, just pick up the phone, that's all. Pick it up...*
****
After nearly three hours of leaning over this stupid phone plug, never mind trying to decipher the instructions, written helpfully in technical Arabic... "I think we're almost done." She turned to look behind her, finding Tom with his eyes on the window, with the view to the street outside. She grinned. "Still waiting for Adam? You won't find him."
He turned and smiled back at her. "Oh really? Where'd he run off to?"
She shrugged and told him, deciding she was just being petty by keeping her mouth shut. "He said a friend of his got into some trouble... I dunno." She laughed it off, turning back to her work. "*I* think he's run off to have some torrid affair with some statuesque brunette 'Parisienne'," she said in a voice two octaves too high, chuckling to herself. "What do you think?"
"Parisienne?"
"Hmm? Oh!" she replied, still intent on the last bit of wiring. "Yeah, that's where he went, Paris."
If she'd been watching his face when she said it, she would have seen the flicker of reaction. But she wasn't. "That's too bad."
Natalie snorted. "Ain't it, though?"
"I'm sorry." There was a sound, one Natalie couldn't quite place.
Have you ever actually heard a sword being drawn? Not a sound artist's representation of a sword being drawn, like in the movies, but an actual sword against its scabbard? It has a distinctive ring to it, like a bell. Maybe it has something to do with the metal of the blade. Maybe it's just in the mind of the listener. But Natalie never forgot that sound, for the briefest moment that she heard it. It was what saved her life.
She started to turn to see what it was and saw Tom's sword beginning to arc towards her neck. She yelped and threw herself out of the way purely by instinct. She was on her feet in an instant, but Tom was already coming at her with another swipe, which she also just barely avoided. "Tom?"
Tom grimly pressed his advantage. "I'm sorry, Natalie. If he already knows how close I am to him, he'll just go into hiding again... but I know how much he cares about you. If I kill you, I won't have to search so long for him again. He'll come for me."
Natalie wasn't sure how much of that statement she understood, but at the moment she had more pressing concerns. Namely, saving her life from one of her best friends. She tried to forget about the fact that this was someone she trusted, someone she *wanted* to trust... no, this is not Tom. Some kind of evil twin, possession, something, *anything* to make her mind believe it wasn't her friend. Because if it wasn't Tom, then she could hate it, and she could kill it. She already knew she had to kill it.
She backed quickly out of range and eyed Tom's sword as she tried to remember where she'd put her own. But she started to feel jolts of panic when, for the life of her, she couldn't remember where it was... stupid stupid *stupid* damn gonna die... she dove for another part of the room, to keep him from pinning her in a corner, but she waited just a fraction too long to jump, and he managed to catch her in the upper arm as she flew by. She tried to roll to her feet without abusing her arm, but couldn't help landing on it a bit, which tore open the wound still further. She had to find something to fight back with, and soon. Or she really was going to die right here in her living room.
Her fear was rapidly converting itself to anger as it occurred to her that she had been deceived by someone she trusted. Someone she had allowed in her home. And now he was going to kill her on her own carpet, for Christ's sake, not because he hated her, not because she had done anything to him at all. Her friend was going to walk into her house and kill her because it was most convenient for him. Most time-saving. Her blood was going to splatter the walls, so that a man who would live forever could be saved a couple months' wasted time. Cute.
Anger and hatred finally closed around her heart, blotting out the fear. One side of her mind screamed its fury, while the other side began to think very, very clearly. Come on, Natalie. Something. Anything. Knives. Kitchen. She turned and ran for it, with Tom charging behind her. She suddenly skidded to a halt and yanked open the freezer door, allowing Tom's face to slam into it full tilt while she scrabbled for a knife without looking from the sink behind her. Almost instantly she found one and swung it down to slice his sword arm near the wrist. Those two together managed to stop him for a moment, and his sword clattered to the ground in front of him. Instead of diving for it, putting her in a position where he could easily overpower her, she waited until *he* dove for it, and gave him a football punt to the face. That gave her just enough time to snatch up the sword while he spun away to land flat on his back in front of her. She didn't know if he was conscious, she didn't know if she'd broken his neck. She really didn't care. Her fear had caught up with her, and that, along with the anger that still boiled within, saved her from hesitating an instant. Natalie brought the sword down with a sharp cry.
****
Adam had just landed when he caught the flash. If he hadn't been keeping his sight constantly in the direction of their house, or if it hadn't been a typically bright Cairo day, he might have been able to convince himself that it was something else. But he had, and it was. He wanted to turn away, just close his eyes and pretend he didn't see it. But he stood in the terminal, very still, with a bag slung over his shoulder and one hand touching the cool glass of the window, and watched the whole thing, until the last flicker died.
And then he started to run.
Oh Natalie, don't be dead.
****
Well, the body disappeared. She supposed it was a good thing; she had no idea what to do with a dead body in the middle of a crowded city, especially a very *hot* crowded city. But it still scared the life out of her when she turned around, and it was gone.
She wished the blood would disappear, too. It looked like he spilled at least two quarts before his heart figured out that he was dead. She really needed to clean this place up, or she'd never get the stains out. She told herself she'd get right to it. Yes, sir. Just as soon as she finished throwing up.
Adam crashed through the door in a flat run, looking for all the world like the hero he tried so hard not to be. He was just a little late, that was all. He took in the blood without a second glance. Well, he's undoubtedly seen it many times before. She herself felt like she was back in first-year anatomy. It was not a pleasant memory.
Adam had his sword out as soon as he was out of sight of the street. "Natalie?" Bright boy, keeping his sword handy. She just remembered, hers was in the kitchen, above the cabinets. She'd gone in the right direction for the wrong weapon. Oh well.
He couldn't see her from where she was, sitting on the bathroom floor leaning against the wall. She could only see him because the bathroom door was still open just a bit, but she didn't have the energy to reach out and move it. Or she didn't have the willpower. Same difference.
"In here." She cleaned her mouth out for about the fiftieth time, and turned on the shower, feeling like she had about ten pounds of grime to scrub off. *I'll be out sometime tomorrow, dear.* Just as she stepped into the tub, he swept open the door, sword clattering to the ground unheeded. And for a moment, neither moved. They just stared at each other, Adam in the doorway, Natalie in the shower with water pouring down her face.
Adam couldn't move. He just couldn't. He walked into the bathroom prepared to kiss her absolutely breathless, and froze. He just remembered that this was Natalie's first Quickening. He just realized that Natalie's training was complete. And he just remembered why he never, *ever*, got involved with his students.
Finally, Natalie said, quite calmly, "I really ought to remember to lock the door... I mean, anybody could just walk right in."
Adam stood stock still for another moment, opened his mouth to say something, shut it again. Then he turned and walked out, closing the bathroom door behind him.
The scene in the kitchen wasn't very conducive to thought, and the bedroom wasn't much better. Adam... no, *Methos* settled for sitting in the hallway with his back to the wall. He had a wild thought or two about not making her leave, pretending to continue their training as always, as if nothing had happened. But it had, and he couldn't ignore the rule. He *couldn't* ignore it. Not when he'd made it himself.
*And do you remember *why* you made that rule? Remember Alanna? Urick? Yu Chang? Constance? You couldn't let them go, and they *died* because they never learned to live on their own! Do you remember the looks on their faces when they died? How many more, before you learn your lesson?*
No, here he did not have the option of failure. This was too important to waste time with selfishness. So he dried his tears, and proceeded to purposefully, methodically place emotional armor around his heart, one piece at a time. To fortify his heart until he felt absolutely Nothing.
He was surprised how easy it was. But he shouldn't have been. He'd been doing it a long, long time.
By the time Natalie finished her shower, he was ready. She opened the door with a smile that neatly undid all his hard work. "Well, I feel about a thousand percent better." He didn't return her smile, and it faded. "What is it?"
He was so busy looking at her and trying to reconstruct his calm that he had to snap himself out of it to answer. *Hello? Methos? That's your cue. Speak. And don't let your voice break.* "You need to leave," he said quietly. His voice didn't break.
"Why? Am I in the doghouse over the rug? I'm sure we can afford another one..." He shook his head. "Is it the electricity that's bothering you? I think I managed to burst about every light fixture we have, but don't worry, it'll get fixed if I have to string the wiring myself!" She tried to lighten the mood, but he wasn't responding at all. "Well then, what?" she cried, exasperated. "What *is* it? What's wrong?"
His only elaboration was, "It's time for you to go." She watched him go into the bedroom, bring out a medium-sized duffel. "I packed your things."
"What?" This time it was a mere whisper. "Adam, does this have something to do with Tom? He told me you were hiding from him, that he'd been searching for you... whatever it is, you can tell me!"
His eyes met hers, and for a moment, she thought she saw pain on his face. But no, on second glance, these eyes were *old*, old and cold and hard. These eyes didn't cry for her. They barely even knew her. "There's nothing to tell. Now get dressed."
He almost told her. He came within inches. But if he had, she would never have left. He knew that, he *knew* it. And still he almost told her. It would have been the perfect excuse to keep her here, wouldn't it? Even with all his supposed resolve, he still almost let her stay. This was not good. Not good at all. Natalie needed to leave, and right now.
Unfortunately, she wasn't cooperating. "The hell there isn't anything to say! Now you *tell me* what's going on, Adam, I deserve to know. Because, in case you might have forgotten, I nearly got killed today!" Natalie shouted from the bedroom, pulling on clothes as she did.
He gritted his teeth. "Natalie, don't make this any harder than it has to be." Because his heart was melting fast, and he was going to lose all composure any second now, which would be disastrous for both of them. The worst part was, he knew exactly what he had to say to make her leave. He felt sure nothing less would compel her to go. And he wanted desperately not to have to say it.
As he feared, Natalie was digging her heels in even further, tears beginning to form in her eyes. "Why *not* make this hard?! Why even do it at all? Adam, I love you! Whatever is wrong, we can..."
In Methos' mind, everything froze, and he said what he had to. "NO! There is no 'we'! Don't you get it? I don't love you. I *never* loved you! I *left* you here when I realized Tom was coming after me because I thought if he got your Quickening, he might leave me alone!"
An instant later, when he could feel again, the look on her face cracked his very soul. God above, how does my mind think of such lies, let alone my tongue bear to speak them? But he held his ground, and played his part the best he knew how. He glared at her with scorn in his eye, and pleaded with his heart. *Natalie, if you ever loved me, leave! Now!*
Natalie had already been betrayed by someone she trusted once that day. It was getting easier to believe with practice. After a moment, her eyes froze over. *You see? I can be heartless, too.* She picked up her bag and walked out without looking back.
Methos waited, once again standing very still, until he was sure she was out of earshot. Then, as if released from a gun, he swept up his sword and plunged it into the wall with a cry that was more howl than yell. He left it there, vibrating, the point sticking a good three inches out of the kitchen wall on the other side, and went to bed.
****
Natalie's eyes were hard and glittering as she glared at the floor. She probably didn't even realize she was crying. "Natalie?"
Her head snapped up, and she recalled her surroundings. She took a deep breath and smiled weakly at Nick. "It was a long time ago."
Nick gave her a knowing look. "Are you trying to convince me, or yourself?" The coffee was long since cold, so he got up to toss what was in their cups, and put what was left in the pot back on the heater.
Natalie tried to get up to help, but he waved her off. "Since when did you get your amateur psychology degree, anyway?"
His back was to her as he washed out their cups, so she didn't see him slowly smile, but she did see him waggling his finger for a moment at no one in particular as he replied, "As a matter of fact, I have a theory about that."
"A theory."
He glanced back over his shoulder as he put the cups in the dishwasher. She was smiling. Good. He reached for two more cups. "Yes. My theory is that vampirism, while slowing down the aging process, creating a blood lust, et cetera, alters the brain chemistry to inhibit mature thinking."
"Oh *really.*" This had to be good. Natalie got up and walked into the kitchen to wait with Nick while the coffee reheated, loving every minute of Nick's delighted look at being able to tell this particular story.
For his part, Nick was really starting to warm up, and couldn't quite suppress an evil grin. "Yes. Moreover, the tighter hold vampirism has over a body, the longer his fangs grow, and the less grip he has on mature thought."
"You wouldn't happen to be thinking of a particular kind of vampire, would you? Say, the kind that might be watching us right now?"
"Of course not," he replied with a not-quite-perfect poker face, and Natalie had to laugh. "You like my theory?"
"I love your theory. Tell me more."
Nick maintained his barely repressed grin, as he reached back into the sink. "Well, you know how to kill one, don't you?"
"Mmm... do tell."
"Well," and his voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, "legend has it that if you sneak up on one very... very... slowly, and then..." Nick flipped on the faucet with one hand and grabbed the sink sprayer with the other, and Natalie caught the spray full in the face, letting out a high- pitched yelp in the process. "... you do that. And they're dead meat."
Natalie looked at him impassively for a moment. "They're not the only ones." A hand reached behind her, and found the refrigerator door. She opened it, glanced inside, then turned back to Nick. "What does legend say about potato salad?"
"Mmm..." Nick paused thoughtfully. "Invented by the Irish in 1712 to ward off evil spirits." Natalie just looked at him. "Though there's really no way to know for sure unless you try it out for yourself."
"The power of the sink sprayer versus the power of potato salad. This could be war," Natalie commented as she took the bowl out of the fridge.
"If you can't pick your battlegrounds, and you can't pick your enemies, the least you can do is pick your weapons. En guarde."
"Die!" As the kitchen dissolved into shrieks and giggles, splashes and splats, if there *was* an Enforcer watching, she rolled her eyes, and made her own judgments about maturity levels.
"Tom, hi! What are you up to?" Natalie swung the door open wide to let him past.
Tom smiled easily at her. "Not much. Is Adam around?"
Natalie eyed him speculatively. "Why? Are you guys finally going to compare power tools? You know, I've been waiting for this moment to come."
His smile got a little brighter. "Close. Actually, I have a surprise for you." It wasn't till then that she noticed one of his hands was behind his back.
"Mmm. Do I get three guesses?"
"Nope, just one." He brought his hand out.
Natalie gasped in surprise. "Hey, a new phone jack! Tom, you are such a sweetie! How did you know our phone was on the fritz?"
"Because I've called you, that's why," he replied, laughing. "Come on. Let's see if we can hook it up."
Natalie went to get screwdrivers and such out of the kitchen, calling back over her shoulder, "Where on earth did you buy that? I thought Adam and I had searched every low-rent Radio Shack in Cairo!"
"Oh, you just have to know where to look." Door to the right, window to the street. Window in the kitchen, but not big enough for a grown man, or woman, to slip through.
He turned as Natalie reappeared, tools in hand. "I think I got everything."
He cocked his head at her. "Well, let's crack this thing open and find out."
Natalie sat down in front of the jack in the wall. "Well, I suppose step number one would be to take out the old one, huh?" She unplugged the phone and started attacking with the screwdriver.
****
"Dammit, Natalie, *pick up the phone*!" That earned him a sharp look from the man sitting next to him on the plane, a slightly more sympathetic one from his wife. He could have cared less, as he calmly redialed the number on the airphone in his hand. Twice now he'd had to consciously *not* demolish the thing, or twist it into a shape more likely to get his call through. He'd been trying to get Natalie to pick up the phone for a good hour now, but it just rang off the hook.
She's in the bathroom, taking a very long shower. She went out to eat. She went shopping. She figured out who you are, and left you on the spot... *anything* was preferable to the image that kept invading his mind when he wasn't looking: Natalie, broken and bleeding, dragging herself toward the phone with one hand while Tom stood over her, sword raised for the final blow.
The phone rang again, and again, and Methos started to seriously wonder if destroying the phone wouldn't be worth it. It was certainly better than ripping a hole in the side of the plane out of pure frustration. *Come on, Natalie, that's my girl, just pick up the phone, that's all. Pick it up...*
****
After nearly three hours of leaning over this stupid phone plug, never mind trying to decipher the instructions, written helpfully in technical Arabic... "I think we're almost done." She turned to look behind her, finding Tom with his eyes on the window, with the view to the street outside. She grinned. "Still waiting for Adam? You won't find him."
He turned and smiled back at her. "Oh really? Where'd he run off to?"
She shrugged and told him, deciding she was just being petty by keeping her mouth shut. "He said a friend of his got into some trouble... I dunno." She laughed it off, turning back to her work. "*I* think he's run off to have some torrid affair with some statuesque brunette 'Parisienne'," she said in a voice two octaves too high, chuckling to herself. "What do you think?"
"Parisienne?"
"Hmm? Oh!" she replied, still intent on the last bit of wiring. "Yeah, that's where he went, Paris."
If she'd been watching his face when she said it, she would have seen the flicker of reaction. But she wasn't. "That's too bad."
Natalie snorted. "Ain't it, though?"
"I'm sorry." There was a sound, one Natalie couldn't quite place.
Have you ever actually heard a sword being drawn? Not a sound artist's representation of a sword being drawn, like in the movies, but an actual sword against its scabbard? It has a distinctive ring to it, like a bell. Maybe it has something to do with the metal of the blade. Maybe it's just in the mind of the listener. But Natalie never forgot that sound, for the briefest moment that she heard it. It was what saved her life.
She started to turn to see what it was and saw Tom's sword beginning to arc towards her neck. She yelped and threw herself out of the way purely by instinct. She was on her feet in an instant, but Tom was already coming at her with another swipe, which she also just barely avoided. "Tom?"
Tom grimly pressed his advantage. "I'm sorry, Natalie. If he already knows how close I am to him, he'll just go into hiding again... but I know how much he cares about you. If I kill you, I won't have to search so long for him again. He'll come for me."
Natalie wasn't sure how much of that statement she understood, but at the moment she had more pressing concerns. Namely, saving her life from one of her best friends. She tried to forget about the fact that this was someone she trusted, someone she *wanted* to trust... no, this is not Tom. Some kind of evil twin, possession, something, *anything* to make her mind believe it wasn't her friend. Because if it wasn't Tom, then she could hate it, and she could kill it. She already knew she had to kill it.
She backed quickly out of range and eyed Tom's sword as she tried to remember where she'd put her own. But she started to feel jolts of panic when, for the life of her, she couldn't remember where it was... stupid stupid *stupid* damn gonna die... she dove for another part of the room, to keep him from pinning her in a corner, but she waited just a fraction too long to jump, and he managed to catch her in the upper arm as she flew by. She tried to roll to her feet without abusing her arm, but couldn't help landing on it a bit, which tore open the wound still further. She had to find something to fight back with, and soon. Or she really was going to die right here in her living room.
Her fear was rapidly converting itself to anger as it occurred to her that she had been deceived by someone she trusted. Someone she had allowed in her home. And now he was going to kill her on her own carpet, for Christ's sake, not because he hated her, not because she had done anything to him at all. Her friend was going to walk into her house and kill her because it was most convenient for him. Most time-saving. Her blood was going to splatter the walls, so that a man who would live forever could be saved a couple months' wasted time. Cute.
Anger and hatred finally closed around her heart, blotting out the fear. One side of her mind screamed its fury, while the other side began to think very, very clearly. Come on, Natalie. Something. Anything. Knives. Kitchen. She turned and ran for it, with Tom charging behind her. She suddenly skidded to a halt and yanked open the freezer door, allowing Tom's face to slam into it full tilt while she scrabbled for a knife without looking from the sink behind her. Almost instantly she found one and swung it down to slice his sword arm near the wrist. Those two together managed to stop him for a moment, and his sword clattered to the ground in front of him. Instead of diving for it, putting her in a position where he could easily overpower her, she waited until *he* dove for it, and gave him a football punt to the face. That gave her just enough time to snatch up the sword while he spun away to land flat on his back in front of her. She didn't know if he was conscious, she didn't know if she'd broken his neck. She really didn't care. Her fear had caught up with her, and that, along with the anger that still boiled within, saved her from hesitating an instant. Natalie brought the sword down with a sharp cry.
****
Adam had just landed when he caught the flash. If he hadn't been keeping his sight constantly in the direction of their house, or if it hadn't been a typically bright Cairo day, he might have been able to convince himself that it was something else. But he had, and it was. He wanted to turn away, just close his eyes and pretend he didn't see it. But he stood in the terminal, very still, with a bag slung over his shoulder and one hand touching the cool glass of the window, and watched the whole thing, until the last flicker died.
And then he started to run.
Oh Natalie, don't be dead.
****
Well, the body disappeared. She supposed it was a good thing; she had no idea what to do with a dead body in the middle of a crowded city, especially a very *hot* crowded city. But it still scared the life out of her when she turned around, and it was gone.
She wished the blood would disappear, too. It looked like he spilled at least two quarts before his heart figured out that he was dead. She really needed to clean this place up, or she'd never get the stains out. She told herself she'd get right to it. Yes, sir. Just as soon as she finished throwing up.
Adam crashed through the door in a flat run, looking for all the world like the hero he tried so hard not to be. He was just a little late, that was all. He took in the blood without a second glance. Well, he's undoubtedly seen it many times before. She herself felt like she was back in first-year anatomy. It was not a pleasant memory.
Adam had his sword out as soon as he was out of sight of the street. "Natalie?" Bright boy, keeping his sword handy. She just remembered, hers was in the kitchen, above the cabinets. She'd gone in the right direction for the wrong weapon. Oh well.
He couldn't see her from where she was, sitting on the bathroom floor leaning against the wall. She could only see him because the bathroom door was still open just a bit, but she didn't have the energy to reach out and move it. Or she didn't have the willpower. Same difference.
"In here." She cleaned her mouth out for about the fiftieth time, and turned on the shower, feeling like she had about ten pounds of grime to scrub off. *I'll be out sometime tomorrow, dear.* Just as she stepped into the tub, he swept open the door, sword clattering to the ground unheeded. And for a moment, neither moved. They just stared at each other, Adam in the doorway, Natalie in the shower with water pouring down her face.
Adam couldn't move. He just couldn't. He walked into the bathroom prepared to kiss her absolutely breathless, and froze. He just remembered that this was Natalie's first Quickening. He just realized that Natalie's training was complete. And he just remembered why he never, *ever*, got involved with his students.
Finally, Natalie said, quite calmly, "I really ought to remember to lock the door... I mean, anybody could just walk right in."
Adam stood stock still for another moment, opened his mouth to say something, shut it again. Then he turned and walked out, closing the bathroom door behind him.
The scene in the kitchen wasn't very conducive to thought, and the bedroom wasn't much better. Adam... no, *Methos* settled for sitting in the hallway with his back to the wall. He had a wild thought or two about not making her leave, pretending to continue their training as always, as if nothing had happened. But it had, and he couldn't ignore the rule. He *couldn't* ignore it. Not when he'd made it himself.
*And do you remember *why* you made that rule? Remember Alanna? Urick? Yu Chang? Constance? You couldn't let them go, and they *died* because they never learned to live on their own! Do you remember the looks on their faces when they died? How many more, before you learn your lesson?*
No, here he did not have the option of failure. This was too important to waste time with selfishness. So he dried his tears, and proceeded to purposefully, methodically place emotional armor around his heart, one piece at a time. To fortify his heart until he felt absolutely Nothing.
He was surprised how easy it was. But he shouldn't have been. He'd been doing it a long, long time.
By the time Natalie finished her shower, he was ready. She opened the door with a smile that neatly undid all his hard work. "Well, I feel about a thousand percent better." He didn't return her smile, and it faded. "What is it?"
He was so busy looking at her and trying to reconstruct his calm that he had to snap himself out of it to answer. *Hello? Methos? That's your cue. Speak. And don't let your voice break.* "You need to leave," he said quietly. His voice didn't break.
"Why? Am I in the doghouse over the rug? I'm sure we can afford another one..." He shook his head. "Is it the electricity that's bothering you? I think I managed to burst about every light fixture we have, but don't worry, it'll get fixed if I have to string the wiring myself!" She tried to lighten the mood, but he wasn't responding at all. "Well then, what?" she cried, exasperated. "What *is* it? What's wrong?"
His only elaboration was, "It's time for you to go." She watched him go into the bedroom, bring out a medium-sized duffel. "I packed your things."
"What?" This time it was a mere whisper. "Adam, does this have something to do with Tom? He told me you were hiding from him, that he'd been searching for you... whatever it is, you can tell me!"
His eyes met hers, and for a moment, she thought she saw pain on his face. But no, on second glance, these eyes were *old*, old and cold and hard. These eyes didn't cry for her. They barely even knew her. "There's nothing to tell. Now get dressed."
He almost told her. He came within inches. But if he had, she would never have left. He knew that, he *knew* it. And still he almost told her. It would have been the perfect excuse to keep her here, wouldn't it? Even with all his supposed resolve, he still almost let her stay. This was not good. Not good at all. Natalie needed to leave, and right now.
Unfortunately, she wasn't cooperating. "The hell there isn't anything to say! Now you *tell me* what's going on, Adam, I deserve to know. Because, in case you might have forgotten, I nearly got killed today!" Natalie shouted from the bedroom, pulling on clothes as she did.
He gritted his teeth. "Natalie, don't make this any harder than it has to be." Because his heart was melting fast, and he was going to lose all composure any second now, which would be disastrous for both of them. The worst part was, he knew exactly what he had to say to make her leave. He felt sure nothing less would compel her to go. And he wanted desperately not to have to say it.
As he feared, Natalie was digging her heels in even further, tears beginning to form in her eyes. "Why *not* make this hard?! Why even do it at all? Adam, I love you! Whatever is wrong, we can..."
In Methos' mind, everything froze, and he said what he had to. "NO! There is no 'we'! Don't you get it? I don't love you. I *never* loved you! I *left* you here when I realized Tom was coming after me because I thought if he got your Quickening, he might leave me alone!"
An instant later, when he could feel again, the look on her face cracked his very soul. God above, how does my mind think of such lies, let alone my tongue bear to speak them? But he held his ground, and played his part the best he knew how. He glared at her with scorn in his eye, and pleaded with his heart. *Natalie, if you ever loved me, leave! Now!*
Natalie had already been betrayed by someone she trusted once that day. It was getting easier to believe with practice. After a moment, her eyes froze over. *You see? I can be heartless, too.* She picked up her bag and walked out without looking back.
Methos waited, once again standing very still, until he was sure she was out of earshot. Then, as if released from a gun, he swept up his sword and plunged it into the wall with a cry that was more howl than yell. He left it there, vibrating, the point sticking a good three inches out of the kitchen wall on the other side, and went to bed.
****
Natalie's eyes were hard and glittering as she glared at the floor. She probably didn't even realize she was crying. "Natalie?"
Her head snapped up, and she recalled her surroundings. She took a deep breath and smiled weakly at Nick. "It was a long time ago."
Nick gave her a knowing look. "Are you trying to convince me, or yourself?" The coffee was long since cold, so he got up to toss what was in their cups, and put what was left in the pot back on the heater.
Natalie tried to get up to help, but he waved her off. "Since when did you get your amateur psychology degree, anyway?"
His back was to her as he washed out their cups, so she didn't see him slowly smile, but she did see him waggling his finger for a moment at no one in particular as he replied, "As a matter of fact, I have a theory about that."
"A theory."
He glanced back over his shoulder as he put the cups in the dishwasher. She was smiling. Good. He reached for two more cups. "Yes. My theory is that vampirism, while slowing down the aging process, creating a blood lust, et cetera, alters the brain chemistry to inhibit mature thinking."
"Oh *really.*" This had to be good. Natalie got up and walked into the kitchen to wait with Nick while the coffee reheated, loving every minute of Nick's delighted look at being able to tell this particular story.
For his part, Nick was really starting to warm up, and couldn't quite suppress an evil grin. "Yes. Moreover, the tighter hold vampirism has over a body, the longer his fangs grow, and the less grip he has on mature thought."
"You wouldn't happen to be thinking of a particular kind of vampire, would you? Say, the kind that might be watching us right now?"
"Of course not," he replied with a not-quite-perfect poker face, and Natalie had to laugh. "You like my theory?"
"I love your theory. Tell me more."
Nick maintained his barely repressed grin, as he reached back into the sink. "Well, you know how to kill one, don't you?"
"Mmm... do tell."
"Well," and his voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, "legend has it that if you sneak up on one very... very... slowly, and then..." Nick flipped on the faucet with one hand and grabbed the sink sprayer with the other, and Natalie caught the spray full in the face, letting out a high- pitched yelp in the process. "... you do that. And they're dead meat."
Natalie looked at him impassively for a moment. "They're not the only ones." A hand reached behind her, and found the refrigerator door. She opened it, glanced inside, then turned back to Nick. "What does legend say about potato salad?"
"Mmm..." Nick paused thoughtfully. "Invented by the Irish in 1712 to ward off evil spirits." Natalie just looked at him. "Though there's really no way to know for sure unless you try it out for yourself."
"The power of the sink sprayer versus the power of potato salad. This could be war," Natalie commented as she took the bowl out of the fridge.
"If you can't pick your battlegrounds, and you can't pick your enemies, the least you can do is pick your weapons. En guarde."
"Die!" As the kitchen dissolved into shrieks and giggles, splashes and splats, if there *was* an Enforcer watching, she rolled her eyes, and made her own judgments about maturity levels.