Time To Spare, Part 9
Natalie was having a hard time keeping track of the seasons these days. She knew it was cold when she came to Toronto, but she hadn't realized how close winter was until the snow was already falling. At least the cloud cover that swept in yesterday made it a little warmer than the days before. "You know, you could have made it easier on everyone and just died in summer, Nick. Or spring. Sometime when the ground wasn't frozen solid. I'm surprised they didn't need a jackhammer to dig a hole deep..." Her throat caught, but the tombstone she was talking to didn't seem to mind. It just stared back at her, waiting patiently for her to continue. She sighed. "I don't know why you're looking at me like that. I don't know what to say. I always figured you were the one that was good at goodbyes. I just seem to smile cheerfully, wave, and walk away." The stone and the woman regarded each other another moment, until Natalie sighed, and reached into the inside of her coat.
She laid a rose on top of the perfectly smooth cover of snow next to his grave. It would either wither soon, or freeze and remain perfectly preserved until spring. She didn't know which would be more appropriate, so she left it up to fate. She quietly stood with Nick a while longer, until she felt the Buzz.
She considered not even looking over her shoulder. She was on holy ground, whoever it was could wait. She turned. It was Methos, standing off at a distance. She didn't realize it, of course. She thought it was just Adam. But in reality, Methos stood before her for the very first time. She looked back at the tombstone. "You know a back way out of this place?" It didn't answer. She sighed. "Figures."
She leaned in conspiratorially. "Should I talk to him?" Again, the tombstone didn't reply, as if the answer were obvious. Well, it was. "I suppose you're right." She gathered up her resolve by taking a long breath, then did her best to smile cheerfully. "See you later, Nick. Maybe next time I come back I'll sweet-talk the manager into letting me plant some flowers on your plot." She smiled again, a little more easily this time. "Yeah, I thought you'd get a kick out of that." Then she waved goodbye, her smile only faltering once, and walked away.
Methos stood just inside the gates, on the edge of holy ground. Insurance against her attacking him outright. Whatever else she thought of Adam, Natalie had always maintained he was a smart man. She truly didn't know if she wanted to throw her arms around him and beg his forgiveness, or gut him like a pig. All she knew was that both reactions frightened her, so she did her best to refuse both, instead schooling her expression to calm.
The two of them stood and regarded each other for a moment, in very much the same way they had the night she left. His hair was a bit longer, not quite so spiky. His face looked exactly the same, of course, every line and crease of him. Her mind slipped and sputtered to a halt, until she realized she was staring, and scaled her gaze back to observation. He didn't look at all happy, but Natalie didn't even try to convince herself it was because of her. She'd almost forgotten, but Nick had been his friend, too. They'd known each other for, what, nearly six hundred years? A loss like that had to hurt. It *did* hurt. Well, she would leave them alone. She turned and began to walk back to her car without a word. In so doing, she missed the momentary look of panic that swept across his features as he watched her leave him behind once again. He took in a calming breath.
"You know," Methos remarked to her retreating back, "I had a student, a long, long time ago... must be close to three thousand years now." Longer than he had told her he'd been alive. She stopped, without turning. "His name was Yu Chang. We were living in northern China at the time, smack in the middle of the Chou overthrow of the Shang dynasty." Methos frowned at the memory, lost in thought. "Damned unhealthy place to be living, and I knew it." She turned slowly towards him, expressionless but listening, and his eyes snapped to her, her movement catching his eye. He just stared at her with those soft eyes of his, and his expression changed... His gaze snapped to the snow-filled trees above him, he remembered to breathe again, and continued in a rush. "He was young when he died the first time, couldn't have been more than twenty-five... but Chang was a *philosopher*." He smiled, and said the word as if it explained everything. "He wanted a better life for his people. I told him that we should relocate, to finish his training in safety, but he wouldn't go. Revolutions are the philosopher's playground, he'd say. I told him assassins tended to get their jollies in, too. But in a much more subtly sarcastic way, of course." His half-smile turned reminiscent. "I miss the Chinese... they had a way of saying things back then that I haven't seen matched since. They could insult a man to his face, and he wouldn't even realize he should be angry for three days. Now that's an art."
But then he stopped for a moment, and when his eyes rose to meet Natalie's, he wasn't smiling anymore. "Chang had a fire about him, a passion. He was an idealist, a revolutionary, in the best sense of the word. I knew it was wrong to stay, but I relented, because I believed in him. I stayed with him to protect him, to help him. He was a great swordsman."
"But he relied on me too much. At a crucial moment, he lost focus. In the middle of a fight, he hesitated, turned to me." His eyes were hard, and he looked at her as impassively as he did that night in Cairo. But this time, she knew the feeling was directed at himself. "He died."
She tried to be understanding. "Adam, you can't use one failure as a measure for everyone...."
He interrupted her. "But it wasn't just one man." He started to walk toward her slowly, picking up speed as he continued, "It was Yu Chang. It was Constance. And Urick. And Antonius. And Alanna. And Varanti. And Qa'ra. And Yuri. And Nagasa." Once within arm's reach, he put his hands on her shoulders and shook her slightly. "Natalie, do you understand? Not just one. Not just two. *All* of them. They all died, because they never got the edge. They felt too safe. On some fundamental level, they didn't realize that they might die. Somewhere, far in the back of their mind, it was still a game. Do you understand? When they went into battle, they were excited, they were clever. But they weren't *afraid*. They weren't scared that they were going to die a bloody, horrible death, and that the face of the man in front of them might be the last thing they ever see. And if you're not scared, Natalie, you'll be too slow, too sloppy. You will die. And that's exactly what they did, one right after the other." His intensity was becoming desperate, as he gave her one last hard shake. "Dammit, I was NOT going to let that happen to you! Do you understand me? I don't care if I have to rip my soul out with my bare hands to prevent it, but it will NOT HAPPEN AGAIN!"
Methos was shouting so loud, Natalie found herself responding in a whisper. "Why didn't you tell me?"
His grip on her arms loosened perceptibly, and Methos bowed his head, taking in a deep breath. His tone was considerably softer when he replied, "Would you have left if I did?"
She opened her mouth for a quick reply, and he said, "Truthfully." She closed it again.
She relented, "Maybe not." He just waited, watching her with those understanding eyes that sometimes annoyed the hell out of her. Like now. She frowned. "All right, probably not. But you still should have told me."
Methos sighed. "Natalie, you have to listen to me. At heart, I'm an incredibly selfish man. I live for myself, for my own happiness only. I do very little for anyone's benefit, if it's not also for my own, and I make a point *never* to become too attached to anyone. Therefore," he continued in only somewhat feigned annoyance, "when it inevitably happens anyway, disaster tends to strike. I shove my foot into my mouth up to the kneecap, do something incredibly stupid, if not several somethings, and end up making a complete ass out of myself. All in the name of love." He shrugged. "I should introduce you to Duncan, the two of you could make mincemeat out of me. I'm surprised he's still speaking to me, after the last time I tried to protect him." She couldn't help snorting in laughter, and Methos smiled helplessly. "Natalie, I spend so much of my time not caring about anyone, that when I do, I care too much. I love first and think later, if ever," he smiled at her, "depending on who you ask. Which is all very romantic in a storybook, but in reality gets me into the damnedest predicaments, and inevitably drives me and everyone around me completely insane." He sighed in mock irritation. "I tried to trade in my heart for a smaller model, but the Management assured me I'd gotten the right size. I'm seriously thinking of filing a complaint."
Natalie measured his words, hating herself. Because she doubted him. Because she believed him. Her heart and her brain were battling it out, and she couldn't tell who she even wanted to win. He was acting exactly as he was before... but if it was an act, it was one she'd be falling for twice. But if he was telling the truth... God.
She loved him. That was an easy enough place to start. She loved his smile, his nose, his eyes when he laughed, his outrageous jokes, and the way he ran a hand through his hair when he was nervous, like now. She loved his stories, his touch, his coffee, and his sunrises. But most of all, she loved his honorable heart, his mortal soul, and the fact that he would deny both if he could. She never questioned the fact that she loved him.
She just didn't know if the man she loved stood before her. If he had ever really existed at all.
*When did my life get so complicated?* She used to say it was when Nick woke up on her autopsy table. But she couldn't really say that anymore, now it seemed she'd been born into it. One would think this might mean she could handle the emotional stress.
Maybe she would, eventually. But not today.
Finally Methos asked, almost hesitantly, "What are you thinking?"
She watched him like a hawk, examining him. "I'm thinking that I don't trust you."
Out of long practice, he managed... barely... to not recoil slightly at her words. Of course, simply telling her that everything was all right wasn't magically going to make it come true. He understood that. But to hear her say it still cut deep. "All right, fair enough. Why?"
Her reply was as simple as it was frightening. "Because, outside of you, all the Immortals I've ever trusted, all the Immortals I've ever met, I've eventually had to kill."
Methos stood and waited, but his ears were insisting that they'd heard what they'd heard. His brain decided to double-check, just for sure. "You've made no friends at all?"
"None that haven't tried to take my head at some point or other."
For once, Methos had nothing to say.
He looked at her, he looked at the snow, he looked back at her again. His mouth was open the whole time, as if he were trying to get a word in edgewise over the chattering of his brain. Natalie turned to walk away. And then she heard a sound. A unique sound, that rang like a bell.
Natalie didn't even realize she'd reacted until she had retreated a full ten feet from where she was a moment ago, her sword out and her guard close about her, her face taut and hard. Methos stood where he was, immobile, but whether it was in concession to her fear or his own, it was impossible to tell. His hand was frozen, sword outstretched. His eyes were as naked with emotion as she had ever seen them, filled with some strange combination that she couldn't quite understand.
It took her several moments to realize that he was holding his sword hilt- first.
"Take it." She stared at him still, fearing a trap. She knew intimately how much better a swordsman he was. He leaned forward to offer it to her, purposefully leaning far enough off-balance for her to knock him over with a feather if she wanted. His eyes, when she finally gathered enough courage to look at them again, were sad. "Trust has to start somewhere, Natalie."
She still hesitated a moment, and Methos invisibly began to get nervous. *Speaking of really stupid things I do in the name of love...* But she grasped the heavy broadsword in her small hand, and pulled it to her, her face also a jumble of emotions.
Natalie ignored Methos for the moment, instead staring at his sword, as her mind weighed it all, frightened to let down her guard, frightened that if she didn't now, she never would again. She sighed. Double-double-crossing yourself just becomes so useless after a while. Natalie pondered for a long time whether a person, who was so afraid of death that he left her to die in his place, would give her his sword. Even considering what he would gain by restoring their relationship, he didn't know what her final reaction might be. He couldn't know; she certainly didn't. And what *would* he be gaining by this? More cannon-fodder? He can get that anywhere, and certainly in more willing fools than me. Hate. Hate hate *hate* having to think this way. You should never have to wonder if you can afford to trust the one you love. If you love, you should love completely; if you trust, trust completely. The world is so grey everywhere else, why can't it be black and white, just this once? Because this is the way the world is right now. Make a decision, and then it will all be settled, and you'll know what to do. It's the indecision that's eating at you, so think, Natalie. Think. It's too much trouble for cannon-fodder. He could pick far better allies if he wanted, and the same goes for my Quickening. He could have taken it long ago if he wanted, and I'm not strong enough to be worth his effort, really.
She thought of his eyes when he told her he didn't love her, hard and black and empty. She thought of fourteen years of isolation, of Karen's bitter anger, of her death. She thought of Nick's burial.
She thought of six years together. Of wandering and training, of unfailing support... and love.. Thoughts of stories and sunrises. Wide, beautiful sunrises. With him. Finally, her eyes fell to the sword in her hand. And she thought about that, too.
He was right. Trust had to start somewhere.
Natalie carefully placed Methos' sword on the ground next to her. Placed her own right beside it. She stepped towards him, and held out her hand. Her voice and her stance belied her strong words. "Hi, my name's Natalie."
He took her hand in his, in anything but a handshake, and pulled on it gently. Natalie closed her eyes as she allowed him to pull her slowly into an embrace. As if she were blind. As if he were leading her home.
His arms were warm and comforting around her back. And he smelled just the same. A cheek fell against her temple softly, and she remembered that she missed him. She had almost never allowed herself the feeling, but now she could admit it; she had missed him more than she could put words to. More than she liked to think about.
Natalie's soft whisper barely made it to Methos' ears, only a few inches away. "Why did you leave me there in Cairo?"
Methos closed his eyes, and concentrated on the feeling of her warmth against him, as if it could melt away some of the chill around his heart. "I didn't know what was happening until it was too late."
"And later?"
Methos buried his face in her hair, and the feeling hit him again. It never grew on him, or dawned slowly, but knocked him flat on his back and made his knees go out every time he felt it. It would take him a long time to get used to the feeling. He hoped he never did.
Her head raised to meet his until their foreheads were touching and they could see each other's eyes, and Methos gave the only answer he knew, his brow knitted together slightly in an effort to say it as intensely as he felt it. "Because I love you," his smile was a little wistful, "more than I have good sense."
She closed her eyes, letting his words wash over her, and nodded. "I believe you." And she finally let it go. Let it all fall away, all her anger, all her doubt, for just a moment. She remembered smiling, her face against his chest. She remembered how warm her hands were as they wrapped around his back, while her toes were fast going numb. She remembered feeling safe.
She didn't know she was crying until he told her, much later.
****
Chips and cookies were strewn everywhere about Methos' hotel room, the TV was on low, set to some kind of "real cop" show that served wonderfully as background noise. God only knew what time it was... the number of phone sex ads was the only real indication of the time. They'd cleared off a level spot on the bed and were in the midst of a high-stakes poker game. Their conversation was a bizarre mix of small talk and truth or dare, as if they could pretend that none of it had ever happened, and have a heart-to-heart at the same time.
Well, sometimes the most honest answers are the ones you don't have time to prepare. And if nothing else, now was the time for honesty. Even if it had to be blindfolded, bound, gagged, and thrown bodily into the light.
"The Packers are going to murder the Jets in the Superbowl."
Natalie glanced at him askance. "You're crazy. Green Bay hasn't been to the Superbowl in twenty years."
The smug grin was back. Natalie supposed she should be annoyed, but she wasn't. She'd forgotten how much she missed his smile... she realized she was staring, and almost didn't care if he noticed. But she blinked decidedly and went back to concentrating on needling him, as he replied, "And how long has it been for the Jets? Thirty? At least?"
As for Methos, he almost chuckled at her sly expression. She was so cute when she thought she was outsmarting him. "Willing to put your money where your mouth is?"
"Always. How long did you hate me for leaving you in Cairo?"
"Mmm. Depends on who you talk to. My right hand says fourteen years. My left says not a day."
"Sounds complicated."
She smiled to herself as she shuffled the cards a few more times on the bible they were using as a little table. "Not really. I just wasn't speaking to my left hand for a while. What this time?"
"What do you say about some five-card draw."
"Sounds good to me." She flipped cards to each of them in turn. "How much are you willing to part with on Superbowl Sunday?"
Methos glanced at his cards and smiled. "I'm almost afraid to say. Why don't we settle on however much you have left, after I wipe the floor with you tonight."
"Ah, ah, ah.. that's why we're playing with toothpicks. I'm not stupid enough to play poker with you for the first time with real money."
Methos trying to sound plaintive is really something that must be experienced... description fails to capture it completely. "Natalie, I've really never learned to play this game very well."
Her soft snort of laughter was her response to that idea. "Adam Pierson, you were *born* to play this game well. Bet you ten mints."
"See you and... raise you three cinnamon."
"Did we decide a cinnamon was ten mints or a mint was ten cinnamons?"
"Ummm... the first. Cinnamon as a century and mint as a minute. Cinnamons are bigger than mints." He knew what kind of look she was going to give him, he didn't need to look up to see it as he smiled to his cards. "It's simple, really."
She flicked him an amused, exasperated, and slightly horrified glance. "Has anyone ever told you how really, truly, deeply strange you are, Adam?"
His vaguely gleeful expression told her all she needed to know. "Not the way you do."
Natalie briefly considered tackling a response to that, but decided that a) whatever she said would end up being either obscene or inadequate, and b) it wasn't really worth it anyway. She shrugged and said, "Forget I asked. So how did you know to come to Toronto?"
"I had friends who were keeping an eye on Karen." Methos had a very interesting expression about him. Exasperated was a good word. Thwarted was better. "I didn't think she would come after you... I gave her several reasons to think twice about the idea."
Natalie shot him a look that was either amusement at the idea, or disbelief. "Did you?"
"Yes." A wry and helpless smile drifted across his face. "Apparently I didn't make as much of an impression as I thought."
Natalie considered her last bet before tossing a couple more plain toothpicks into the pile. Keeping her eyes on the cards, she asked, "Were these same friends keeping an eye on me?"
Methos frowned at his own hand, but if it was the cards, the question, or the answer that was bothering him, she couldn't tell. "Yes, but they refused to tell me how you were doing. Or where you were."
She cocked an eyebrow, and merely said, "Interesting friends."
He snorted in annoyance. "That's one way to put it." She thought she heard him mutter something about "conflict of interest, my ass," but she couldn't be sure. Then he relaxed, and conceded, "It... was a little complicated."
"I can imagine. Straight flush."
"You're kidding."
"I never kid about poker. Fork over the wood, honey."
He pouted and pushed the small pile of toothpicks in her direction. "Shark."
She laughed. "Out-sharking the shark is purely justified. Your shuffle." After a few amusing moments of watching him try to simultaneously sulk and shuffle cards at the same time, neither of which he could do very well in the first place, Natalie pointed out, "If you didn't know where I was, how did you send me the flier of Nick's concert?"
Methos stopped mid-pickup in his modified version of 52-card shuffle, and looked up at her, startled. "What flier?"
Her brow came down with a snap. "What do you mean, what flier?"
Methos hadn't moved, still wearing a blank expression. "I mean I have no idea what you're talking about."
What the heck? "I'm talking about the whole reason I came here in the first place. Someone sent me a publicity flier for a piano recital Nick was having." Natalie shrugged and crossed her arms in front of her. "I just assumed you'd sent it."
"Mmmm.... nope. Believe me, if I'd known where you were, I'd have sent *me*, not a flier."
"Hunh. Strange. I can't think of anyone else who could have sent it."
"One of life's less interesting mysteries. So what do you want to play now?"
Natalie yawned mightily and made the cardinal sin of checking her watch for the time. She squeaked and asked Methos calmly, "What time does our plane leave tomorrow morning?"
He leaned back to reach the bedstand and managed to grab the tickets without quite falling off the bed, but it was a near thing. "Eight-thirty. Why?"
"Don't ask, but we should probably go to bed now."
Methos cursed silently to himself. Even with all their talking, he hadn't quite had the guts to get one last thing into the open. And if he didn't talk about it now, it wasn't going to get talked about. At least not for a few more decades. He sighed.
*I'm Methos.*
*Natalie, I've got something I need to tell you. Please, sit down. In the next room would be perfect.*
*Hey, Natalie! Guess what? I'm Methos!*
*This is pathetic. I've told people before, it's not that big a deal.* (Except that this is the basic underlying reason why her life has been a nightmare the past few years.) *But that wasn't my fault.* (Not directly, no. Does it matter?) *No. But still, it's ridiculous. I feel like Bruce Wayne, practicing saying 'I'm Batman.'* (Well, you could always say that instead.) *Great. Then she'll just think I'm insane.* (See, but she already thinks you're insane, that's the beauty of it.)
Wasn't I going to take a mental dustbuster to you two?
(*Butt out.*)
Methos rubbed his face with his hands, took a deep breath, and hedged. "Natalie, there are still some things we should probably talk about."
Natalie, knowing better than to sit around waiting when Adam got that far- off distracted look, was in the bathroom brushing her teeth. She came out immediately, toothbrush still hanging, looking for all the world like a five-year-old being forced to eat more broccoli. She made a few inarticulate whining noises, realized the trouble, went into the bathroom, spat out the toothpaste, came back, and tried again. "There's more?" Then her eyes brightened in recognition. "Oh, is it the three thousand year thing?" He nodded. Natalie laughed as she stuck her toothbrush back in her mouth and started walking back into the bathroom. Her words were distorted as she yelled above the running faucet, but they were at least recognizable. "Well, you're Methos, right? I don't see the problem."
Methos, who had been walking over to innocently turn off the TV, skidded to a stop, and turned to stare at her through the open bathroom door. He just *stared* at her, in pure shock. Complete and total brain shutdown. It restarted just a little after a few moments, which was a good thing, since he was needing to breathe real soon now. But still... if he'd been a cat, every hair on his body would be sticking straight out. Which, telling from his hair, wasn't far from the literal truth. "How... how did you know?"
She nailed him with a very amused and *very* smug glance. "You talk in your sleep."
He stared at her some more. Tried to say something, failed completely. Remembered to open his mouth first. Remembered it was already hanging open. Tried again to get something out, didn't work.
Methos just gave up, sat down in the middle of the floor, and laughed until tears rolled down his cheeks.
Eventually he opened his eyes again, to see Natalie lying on her stomach on the bed, watching him with that triumphant grin still plastered all over her face. Methos wished he could say something absolutely brilliant and witty, that would blow her socks off in retribution for flattening him like that, but nothing properly snide enough came to mind.
Not to worry. He was convinced the true reason for immortality was to give those blessed with it enough time to think up the perfect comeback. To anything.
He'd actually devoted a lot of time and energy to the idea. Which is why it galled him so much when the best he could come up with was: "What are you looking at?"
Her grin never faltered. "The world's oldest man." She flipped onto her back and talked to the ceiling casually, "It's funny, you don't look like a Methos. Not really like an Adam, either... Joshua, maybe? How about Peter... Pete.... Petey?" She chuckled. "I don't think so."
Natalie chattered happily away, completely unaware that Methos was no longer listening to her at all. His attention stopped somewhere around the point where she said his name, this time without the shock value. The sound had been echoing in his mind ever since.
It was silly, really. He was who he was. What he called himself didn't matter. A name was just a word, one was as good as another.
He'd never told any of his mortal wives his first name. He hadn't seen the point. He'd told almost all of them of his immortality... all but one, actually, and he'd had a very good reason not to tell Elizabeth. He didn't remember what it was now, but he remembered it being one hell of a good reason.
The point being that Methos had never heard anyone he was in love with call him by his first name. Not once. Well, that he could remember. He never wondered why that was, never thought it made much of a difference.
He was wrong.
(Of course, not even the beginning of this is crossing his mind right now. He's in a complete fog... the kind where you'd need a compass, a road map, and a native guide just to get a phone number out of his brain. And even then, he'd probably give it to you in Egyptian. It was just turning out to be one of those kinds of days for him, poor guy.)
"Natalie." When she turned her head to look at him, it was hard to figure out his expression. He seemed startled, and intent. She'd no idea what might have startled him, but he seemed to be intent on... her. She flipped back onto her stomach, but her heart was still firmly lodged in her throat.
"Mmm... mm-hmm?"
"Say my name."
Coherent speech was asking a lot, when he insisted on looking at her with that completely absorbed expression that was destroying her from the inside out.
"Methos." She'd meant it to sound wry, sarcastic, something that would nicely prevent the situation from deteriorating faster than it should. So where did the breathless whisper come from?
And then his face altered again... god help her, he almost looked like she slapped him. His expression was completely open, stunned, again with so many emotions swirling in his eyes that she couldn't identify them all. And suddenly Natalie didn't care about her voice, or her fatigue, or catching a plane in the morning. She only cared about making sure he looked at her like that every day for the rest of her natural life.
He was kissing her before she even realized he'd gotten up off the floor. Grinding his lips into hers, his approach seemed to be more on the 'attack' end than the subtle side.
Of course, she responded in kind. So much for keeping it slow, she thought hazily as she half-slid, half-pulled herself up into a kneeling position on the bed. Her arms had already locked about his neck at the elbow and she was doing her best to feel every inch of his body with every inch of her own, her thoughts flying in every direction at once, with large portions revolving around how much she'd missed the feel of him, and how very long it had been since she'd had the opportunity to know what it felt like.
She took a shaky breath, realizing that she really needed one at that point. She tried to let it out slowly, but her voice connected against her will halfway through, and it ended as a moan.
Clothing was tumbling through her fingers, she wasn't sure whose it was, it really didn't matter. Whatever it was, it was in the way, and that was the important thing right now. She only was half-aware of what her hands were doing, she was far more interested in his cheek, and his jaw, and his nose, and his throat... a part of her was pleased to note that his breathing was just as chaotic as her own.
She felt her shirt being tugged at, and tried to maneuver to get it off, but not quite quickly enough, as the sound of ripping fabric filled the room. They both froze. Natalie whispered, "Was that you or me?"
He leaned to the right, to the left, trying to find the damage. After a moment, he concluded, "I think that was you," and pulled on the ends of her shirt, connecting the tear.
He had such a thwarted look on his face again, she couldn't help it. She tried to keep it in, really she did. He noticed she'd put a hand over her face, and the edges of his mouth twitched. A titter escaped her lips. And they were both off, nervous energy melting away into laughter.
"I hope you know how to sew." She looked rather helplessly at her torn clothing after he pulled her shirt gently off.
"Of course," he replied with a grin. Knowing that smile, Natalie glanced at him suspiciously and waited for the punch line. She didn't have to wait long. "I knew a magnificent Victorian woman at one time... Diane. Excellent seamstress."
Natalie interrupted him, horrified. "You learned to sew just for *that*?"
"She was notorious for hating men. It was the only way to get anywhere near her."
Natalie put her hands on her hips. "You're making this up."
"I am not. Would I make up something like that?" She just looked at him. "Okay, this is exactly the kind of thing I would make up. But I didn't this time, honest."
"Did too."
"Did not."
"Did too." "Did not." "Did too." "Did not."
Natalie got ready to pounce. "Did too."
He didn't see her until too late. "Did --" She attacked him, knocking him back onto the bed and smothering the rest of his response in a kiss, one that started much like the last, but melted ever-so-slowly into the merest touching of lips, leaving Natalie completely boneless by the end. She shivered as his lips traveled across her brow, and drifted across her face to nibble lightly on an earlobe.
"Did not," he whispered in her ear, almost inaudibly, and went back to capture her mouth before she could do anything but laugh.
They argued far into the night.
*
Promptly at six-thirty the next morning, Natalie's clock radio burst forth in the hotel room, which had beforehand been filled only with the sound of Methos' snores:
"Well, it's a beautiful Thursday morning here in sunny Toronto... forecast says it should be staying sunny all week, so dust off your sunglasses and drive carefully during sunrise and sunset. Speaking of which, those of you driving the 10 East past Allen Boulevard, there's a car stalled out in the center lane, so traffic is slow through that area, but police are on the scene, and they should have it cleaned up any time now."
"Later in the hour we'll have some news for you... updates on the Bush Family Civil Trial: now that the system has named its price, will they pay? Experts have some surprising answers. Stay tuned."
"But for now, to take your mind off your troubles and the Bushes, here's some Duran Duran, with Ordinary World..."
"Passion or coincidence Once prompted you to say 'Pride will tear us both apart' Well now pride's gone out the window Cross the rooftops Run away Left me in the vacuum of my heart"
"What is happening to me? Crazy, some'd say Where is my friend when I need you most? Gone away"
"But I won't cry for yesterday There's an ordinary world Somehow I have to find And as I try to make my way To the ordinary world I will learn to survive"
It was a shame, really. Natalie probably would have liked the song a lot, if she hadn't slept through it.
They woke just as their plane started boarding.
Methos hadn't packed.
Natalie was having a hard time keeping track of the seasons these days. She knew it was cold when she came to Toronto, but she hadn't realized how close winter was until the snow was already falling. At least the cloud cover that swept in yesterday made it a little warmer than the days before. "You know, you could have made it easier on everyone and just died in summer, Nick. Or spring. Sometime when the ground wasn't frozen solid. I'm surprised they didn't need a jackhammer to dig a hole deep..." Her throat caught, but the tombstone she was talking to didn't seem to mind. It just stared back at her, waiting patiently for her to continue. She sighed. "I don't know why you're looking at me like that. I don't know what to say. I always figured you were the one that was good at goodbyes. I just seem to smile cheerfully, wave, and walk away." The stone and the woman regarded each other another moment, until Natalie sighed, and reached into the inside of her coat.
She laid a rose on top of the perfectly smooth cover of snow next to his grave. It would either wither soon, or freeze and remain perfectly preserved until spring. She didn't know which would be more appropriate, so she left it up to fate. She quietly stood with Nick a while longer, until she felt the Buzz.
She considered not even looking over her shoulder. She was on holy ground, whoever it was could wait. She turned. It was Methos, standing off at a distance. She didn't realize it, of course. She thought it was just Adam. But in reality, Methos stood before her for the very first time. She looked back at the tombstone. "You know a back way out of this place?" It didn't answer. She sighed. "Figures."
She leaned in conspiratorially. "Should I talk to him?" Again, the tombstone didn't reply, as if the answer were obvious. Well, it was. "I suppose you're right." She gathered up her resolve by taking a long breath, then did her best to smile cheerfully. "See you later, Nick. Maybe next time I come back I'll sweet-talk the manager into letting me plant some flowers on your plot." She smiled again, a little more easily this time. "Yeah, I thought you'd get a kick out of that." Then she waved goodbye, her smile only faltering once, and walked away.
Methos stood just inside the gates, on the edge of holy ground. Insurance against her attacking him outright. Whatever else she thought of Adam, Natalie had always maintained he was a smart man. She truly didn't know if she wanted to throw her arms around him and beg his forgiveness, or gut him like a pig. All she knew was that both reactions frightened her, so she did her best to refuse both, instead schooling her expression to calm.
The two of them stood and regarded each other for a moment, in very much the same way they had the night she left. His hair was a bit longer, not quite so spiky. His face looked exactly the same, of course, every line and crease of him. Her mind slipped and sputtered to a halt, until she realized she was staring, and scaled her gaze back to observation. He didn't look at all happy, but Natalie didn't even try to convince herself it was because of her. She'd almost forgotten, but Nick had been his friend, too. They'd known each other for, what, nearly six hundred years? A loss like that had to hurt. It *did* hurt. Well, she would leave them alone. She turned and began to walk back to her car without a word. In so doing, she missed the momentary look of panic that swept across his features as he watched her leave him behind once again. He took in a calming breath.
"You know," Methos remarked to her retreating back, "I had a student, a long, long time ago... must be close to three thousand years now." Longer than he had told her he'd been alive. She stopped, without turning. "His name was Yu Chang. We were living in northern China at the time, smack in the middle of the Chou overthrow of the Shang dynasty." Methos frowned at the memory, lost in thought. "Damned unhealthy place to be living, and I knew it." She turned slowly towards him, expressionless but listening, and his eyes snapped to her, her movement catching his eye. He just stared at her with those soft eyes of his, and his expression changed... His gaze snapped to the snow-filled trees above him, he remembered to breathe again, and continued in a rush. "He was young when he died the first time, couldn't have been more than twenty-five... but Chang was a *philosopher*." He smiled, and said the word as if it explained everything. "He wanted a better life for his people. I told him that we should relocate, to finish his training in safety, but he wouldn't go. Revolutions are the philosopher's playground, he'd say. I told him assassins tended to get their jollies in, too. But in a much more subtly sarcastic way, of course." His half-smile turned reminiscent. "I miss the Chinese... they had a way of saying things back then that I haven't seen matched since. They could insult a man to his face, and he wouldn't even realize he should be angry for three days. Now that's an art."
But then he stopped for a moment, and when his eyes rose to meet Natalie's, he wasn't smiling anymore. "Chang had a fire about him, a passion. He was an idealist, a revolutionary, in the best sense of the word. I knew it was wrong to stay, but I relented, because I believed in him. I stayed with him to protect him, to help him. He was a great swordsman."
"But he relied on me too much. At a crucial moment, he lost focus. In the middle of a fight, he hesitated, turned to me." His eyes were hard, and he looked at her as impassively as he did that night in Cairo. But this time, she knew the feeling was directed at himself. "He died."
She tried to be understanding. "Adam, you can't use one failure as a measure for everyone...."
He interrupted her. "But it wasn't just one man." He started to walk toward her slowly, picking up speed as he continued, "It was Yu Chang. It was Constance. And Urick. And Antonius. And Alanna. And Varanti. And Qa'ra. And Yuri. And Nagasa." Once within arm's reach, he put his hands on her shoulders and shook her slightly. "Natalie, do you understand? Not just one. Not just two. *All* of them. They all died, because they never got the edge. They felt too safe. On some fundamental level, they didn't realize that they might die. Somewhere, far in the back of their mind, it was still a game. Do you understand? When they went into battle, they were excited, they were clever. But they weren't *afraid*. They weren't scared that they were going to die a bloody, horrible death, and that the face of the man in front of them might be the last thing they ever see. And if you're not scared, Natalie, you'll be too slow, too sloppy. You will die. And that's exactly what they did, one right after the other." His intensity was becoming desperate, as he gave her one last hard shake. "Dammit, I was NOT going to let that happen to you! Do you understand me? I don't care if I have to rip my soul out with my bare hands to prevent it, but it will NOT HAPPEN AGAIN!"
Methos was shouting so loud, Natalie found herself responding in a whisper. "Why didn't you tell me?"
His grip on her arms loosened perceptibly, and Methos bowed his head, taking in a deep breath. His tone was considerably softer when he replied, "Would you have left if I did?"
She opened her mouth for a quick reply, and he said, "Truthfully." She closed it again.
She relented, "Maybe not." He just waited, watching her with those understanding eyes that sometimes annoyed the hell out of her. Like now. She frowned. "All right, probably not. But you still should have told me."
Methos sighed. "Natalie, you have to listen to me. At heart, I'm an incredibly selfish man. I live for myself, for my own happiness only. I do very little for anyone's benefit, if it's not also for my own, and I make a point *never* to become too attached to anyone. Therefore," he continued in only somewhat feigned annoyance, "when it inevitably happens anyway, disaster tends to strike. I shove my foot into my mouth up to the kneecap, do something incredibly stupid, if not several somethings, and end up making a complete ass out of myself. All in the name of love." He shrugged. "I should introduce you to Duncan, the two of you could make mincemeat out of me. I'm surprised he's still speaking to me, after the last time I tried to protect him." She couldn't help snorting in laughter, and Methos smiled helplessly. "Natalie, I spend so much of my time not caring about anyone, that when I do, I care too much. I love first and think later, if ever," he smiled at her, "depending on who you ask. Which is all very romantic in a storybook, but in reality gets me into the damnedest predicaments, and inevitably drives me and everyone around me completely insane." He sighed in mock irritation. "I tried to trade in my heart for a smaller model, but the Management assured me I'd gotten the right size. I'm seriously thinking of filing a complaint."
Natalie measured his words, hating herself. Because she doubted him. Because she believed him. Her heart and her brain were battling it out, and she couldn't tell who she even wanted to win. He was acting exactly as he was before... but if it was an act, it was one she'd be falling for twice. But if he was telling the truth... God.
She loved him. That was an easy enough place to start. She loved his smile, his nose, his eyes when he laughed, his outrageous jokes, and the way he ran a hand through his hair when he was nervous, like now. She loved his stories, his touch, his coffee, and his sunrises. But most of all, she loved his honorable heart, his mortal soul, and the fact that he would deny both if he could. She never questioned the fact that she loved him.
She just didn't know if the man she loved stood before her. If he had ever really existed at all.
*When did my life get so complicated?* She used to say it was when Nick woke up on her autopsy table. But she couldn't really say that anymore, now it seemed she'd been born into it. One would think this might mean she could handle the emotional stress.
Maybe she would, eventually. But not today.
Finally Methos asked, almost hesitantly, "What are you thinking?"
She watched him like a hawk, examining him. "I'm thinking that I don't trust you."
Out of long practice, he managed... barely... to not recoil slightly at her words. Of course, simply telling her that everything was all right wasn't magically going to make it come true. He understood that. But to hear her say it still cut deep. "All right, fair enough. Why?"
Her reply was as simple as it was frightening. "Because, outside of you, all the Immortals I've ever trusted, all the Immortals I've ever met, I've eventually had to kill."
Methos stood and waited, but his ears were insisting that they'd heard what they'd heard. His brain decided to double-check, just for sure. "You've made no friends at all?"
"None that haven't tried to take my head at some point or other."
For once, Methos had nothing to say.
He looked at her, he looked at the snow, he looked back at her again. His mouth was open the whole time, as if he were trying to get a word in edgewise over the chattering of his brain. Natalie turned to walk away. And then she heard a sound. A unique sound, that rang like a bell.
Natalie didn't even realize she'd reacted until she had retreated a full ten feet from where she was a moment ago, her sword out and her guard close about her, her face taut and hard. Methos stood where he was, immobile, but whether it was in concession to her fear or his own, it was impossible to tell. His hand was frozen, sword outstretched. His eyes were as naked with emotion as she had ever seen them, filled with some strange combination that she couldn't quite understand.
It took her several moments to realize that he was holding his sword hilt- first.
"Take it." She stared at him still, fearing a trap. She knew intimately how much better a swordsman he was. He leaned forward to offer it to her, purposefully leaning far enough off-balance for her to knock him over with a feather if she wanted. His eyes, when she finally gathered enough courage to look at them again, were sad. "Trust has to start somewhere, Natalie."
She still hesitated a moment, and Methos invisibly began to get nervous. *Speaking of really stupid things I do in the name of love...* But she grasped the heavy broadsword in her small hand, and pulled it to her, her face also a jumble of emotions.
Natalie ignored Methos for the moment, instead staring at his sword, as her mind weighed it all, frightened to let down her guard, frightened that if she didn't now, she never would again. She sighed. Double-double-crossing yourself just becomes so useless after a while. Natalie pondered for a long time whether a person, who was so afraid of death that he left her to die in his place, would give her his sword. Even considering what he would gain by restoring their relationship, he didn't know what her final reaction might be. He couldn't know; she certainly didn't. And what *would* he be gaining by this? More cannon-fodder? He can get that anywhere, and certainly in more willing fools than me. Hate. Hate hate *hate* having to think this way. You should never have to wonder if you can afford to trust the one you love. If you love, you should love completely; if you trust, trust completely. The world is so grey everywhere else, why can't it be black and white, just this once? Because this is the way the world is right now. Make a decision, and then it will all be settled, and you'll know what to do. It's the indecision that's eating at you, so think, Natalie. Think. It's too much trouble for cannon-fodder. He could pick far better allies if he wanted, and the same goes for my Quickening. He could have taken it long ago if he wanted, and I'm not strong enough to be worth his effort, really.
She thought of his eyes when he told her he didn't love her, hard and black and empty. She thought of fourteen years of isolation, of Karen's bitter anger, of her death. She thought of Nick's burial.
She thought of six years together. Of wandering and training, of unfailing support... and love.. Thoughts of stories and sunrises. Wide, beautiful sunrises. With him. Finally, her eyes fell to the sword in her hand. And she thought about that, too.
He was right. Trust had to start somewhere.
Natalie carefully placed Methos' sword on the ground next to her. Placed her own right beside it. She stepped towards him, and held out her hand. Her voice and her stance belied her strong words. "Hi, my name's Natalie."
He took her hand in his, in anything but a handshake, and pulled on it gently. Natalie closed her eyes as she allowed him to pull her slowly into an embrace. As if she were blind. As if he were leading her home.
His arms were warm and comforting around her back. And he smelled just the same. A cheek fell against her temple softly, and she remembered that she missed him. She had almost never allowed herself the feeling, but now she could admit it; she had missed him more than she could put words to. More than she liked to think about.
Natalie's soft whisper barely made it to Methos' ears, only a few inches away. "Why did you leave me there in Cairo?"
Methos closed his eyes, and concentrated on the feeling of her warmth against him, as if it could melt away some of the chill around his heart. "I didn't know what was happening until it was too late."
"And later?"
Methos buried his face in her hair, and the feeling hit him again. It never grew on him, or dawned slowly, but knocked him flat on his back and made his knees go out every time he felt it. It would take him a long time to get used to the feeling. He hoped he never did.
Her head raised to meet his until their foreheads were touching and they could see each other's eyes, and Methos gave the only answer he knew, his brow knitted together slightly in an effort to say it as intensely as he felt it. "Because I love you," his smile was a little wistful, "more than I have good sense."
She closed her eyes, letting his words wash over her, and nodded. "I believe you." And she finally let it go. Let it all fall away, all her anger, all her doubt, for just a moment. She remembered smiling, her face against his chest. She remembered how warm her hands were as they wrapped around his back, while her toes were fast going numb. She remembered feeling safe.
She didn't know she was crying until he told her, much later.
****
Chips and cookies were strewn everywhere about Methos' hotel room, the TV was on low, set to some kind of "real cop" show that served wonderfully as background noise. God only knew what time it was... the number of phone sex ads was the only real indication of the time. They'd cleared off a level spot on the bed and were in the midst of a high-stakes poker game. Their conversation was a bizarre mix of small talk and truth or dare, as if they could pretend that none of it had ever happened, and have a heart-to-heart at the same time.
Well, sometimes the most honest answers are the ones you don't have time to prepare. And if nothing else, now was the time for honesty. Even if it had to be blindfolded, bound, gagged, and thrown bodily into the light.
"The Packers are going to murder the Jets in the Superbowl."
Natalie glanced at him askance. "You're crazy. Green Bay hasn't been to the Superbowl in twenty years."
The smug grin was back. Natalie supposed she should be annoyed, but she wasn't. She'd forgotten how much she missed his smile... she realized she was staring, and almost didn't care if he noticed. But she blinked decidedly and went back to concentrating on needling him, as he replied, "And how long has it been for the Jets? Thirty? At least?"
As for Methos, he almost chuckled at her sly expression. She was so cute when she thought she was outsmarting him. "Willing to put your money where your mouth is?"
"Always. How long did you hate me for leaving you in Cairo?"
"Mmm. Depends on who you talk to. My right hand says fourteen years. My left says not a day."
"Sounds complicated."
She smiled to herself as she shuffled the cards a few more times on the bible they were using as a little table. "Not really. I just wasn't speaking to my left hand for a while. What this time?"
"What do you say about some five-card draw."
"Sounds good to me." She flipped cards to each of them in turn. "How much are you willing to part with on Superbowl Sunday?"
Methos glanced at his cards and smiled. "I'm almost afraid to say. Why don't we settle on however much you have left, after I wipe the floor with you tonight."
"Ah, ah, ah.. that's why we're playing with toothpicks. I'm not stupid enough to play poker with you for the first time with real money."
Methos trying to sound plaintive is really something that must be experienced... description fails to capture it completely. "Natalie, I've really never learned to play this game very well."
Her soft snort of laughter was her response to that idea. "Adam Pierson, you were *born* to play this game well. Bet you ten mints."
"See you and... raise you three cinnamon."
"Did we decide a cinnamon was ten mints or a mint was ten cinnamons?"
"Ummm... the first. Cinnamon as a century and mint as a minute. Cinnamons are bigger than mints." He knew what kind of look she was going to give him, he didn't need to look up to see it as he smiled to his cards. "It's simple, really."
She flicked him an amused, exasperated, and slightly horrified glance. "Has anyone ever told you how really, truly, deeply strange you are, Adam?"
His vaguely gleeful expression told her all she needed to know. "Not the way you do."
Natalie briefly considered tackling a response to that, but decided that a) whatever she said would end up being either obscene or inadequate, and b) it wasn't really worth it anyway. She shrugged and said, "Forget I asked. So how did you know to come to Toronto?"
"I had friends who were keeping an eye on Karen." Methos had a very interesting expression about him. Exasperated was a good word. Thwarted was better. "I didn't think she would come after you... I gave her several reasons to think twice about the idea."
Natalie shot him a look that was either amusement at the idea, or disbelief. "Did you?"
"Yes." A wry and helpless smile drifted across his face. "Apparently I didn't make as much of an impression as I thought."
Natalie considered her last bet before tossing a couple more plain toothpicks into the pile. Keeping her eyes on the cards, she asked, "Were these same friends keeping an eye on me?"
Methos frowned at his own hand, but if it was the cards, the question, or the answer that was bothering him, she couldn't tell. "Yes, but they refused to tell me how you were doing. Or where you were."
She cocked an eyebrow, and merely said, "Interesting friends."
He snorted in annoyance. "That's one way to put it." She thought she heard him mutter something about "conflict of interest, my ass," but she couldn't be sure. Then he relaxed, and conceded, "It... was a little complicated."
"I can imagine. Straight flush."
"You're kidding."
"I never kid about poker. Fork over the wood, honey."
He pouted and pushed the small pile of toothpicks in her direction. "Shark."
She laughed. "Out-sharking the shark is purely justified. Your shuffle." After a few amusing moments of watching him try to simultaneously sulk and shuffle cards at the same time, neither of which he could do very well in the first place, Natalie pointed out, "If you didn't know where I was, how did you send me the flier of Nick's concert?"
Methos stopped mid-pickup in his modified version of 52-card shuffle, and looked up at her, startled. "What flier?"
Her brow came down with a snap. "What do you mean, what flier?"
Methos hadn't moved, still wearing a blank expression. "I mean I have no idea what you're talking about."
What the heck? "I'm talking about the whole reason I came here in the first place. Someone sent me a publicity flier for a piano recital Nick was having." Natalie shrugged and crossed her arms in front of her. "I just assumed you'd sent it."
"Mmmm.... nope. Believe me, if I'd known where you were, I'd have sent *me*, not a flier."
"Hunh. Strange. I can't think of anyone else who could have sent it."
"One of life's less interesting mysteries. So what do you want to play now?"
Natalie yawned mightily and made the cardinal sin of checking her watch for the time. She squeaked and asked Methos calmly, "What time does our plane leave tomorrow morning?"
He leaned back to reach the bedstand and managed to grab the tickets without quite falling off the bed, but it was a near thing. "Eight-thirty. Why?"
"Don't ask, but we should probably go to bed now."
Methos cursed silently to himself. Even with all their talking, he hadn't quite had the guts to get one last thing into the open. And if he didn't talk about it now, it wasn't going to get talked about. At least not for a few more decades. He sighed.
*I'm Methos.*
*Natalie, I've got something I need to tell you. Please, sit down. In the next room would be perfect.*
*Hey, Natalie! Guess what? I'm Methos!*
*This is pathetic. I've told people before, it's not that big a deal.* (Except that this is the basic underlying reason why her life has been a nightmare the past few years.) *But that wasn't my fault.* (Not directly, no. Does it matter?) *No. But still, it's ridiculous. I feel like Bruce Wayne, practicing saying 'I'm Batman.'* (Well, you could always say that instead.) *Great. Then she'll just think I'm insane.* (See, but she already thinks you're insane, that's the beauty of it.)
Wasn't I going to take a mental dustbuster to you two?
(*Butt out.*)
Methos rubbed his face with his hands, took a deep breath, and hedged. "Natalie, there are still some things we should probably talk about."
Natalie, knowing better than to sit around waiting when Adam got that far- off distracted look, was in the bathroom brushing her teeth. She came out immediately, toothbrush still hanging, looking for all the world like a five-year-old being forced to eat more broccoli. She made a few inarticulate whining noises, realized the trouble, went into the bathroom, spat out the toothpaste, came back, and tried again. "There's more?" Then her eyes brightened in recognition. "Oh, is it the three thousand year thing?" He nodded. Natalie laughed as she stuck her toothbrush back in her mouth and started walking back into the bathroom. Her words were distorted as she yelled above the running faucet, but they were at least recognizable. "Well, you're Methos, right? I don't see the problem."
Methos, who had been walking over to innocently turn off the TV, skidded to a stop, and turned to stare at her through the open bathroom door. He just *stared* at her, in pure shock. Complete and total brain shutdown. It restarted just a little after a few moments, which was a good thing, since he was needing to breathe real soon now. But still... if he'd been a cat, every hair on his body would be sticking straight out. Which, telling from his hair, wasn't far from the literal truth. "How... how did you know?"
She nailed him with a very amused and *very* smug glance. "You talk in your sleep."
He stared at her some more. Tried to say something, failed completely. Remembered to open his mouth first. Remembered it was already hanging open. Tried again to get something out, didn't work.
Methos just gave up, sat down in the middle of the floor, and laughed until tears rolled down his cheeks.
Eventually he opened his eyes again, to see Natalie lying on her stomach on the bed, watching him with that triumphant grin still plastered all over her face. Methos wished he could say something absolutely brilliant and witty, that would blow her socks off in retribution for flattening him like that, but nothing properly snide enough came to mind.
Not to worry. He was convinced the true reason for immortality was to give those blessed with it enough time to think up the perfect comeback. To anything.
He'd actually devoted a lot of time and energy to the idea. Which is why it galled him so much when the best he could come up with was: "What are you looking at?"
Her grin never faltered. "The world's oldest man." She flipped onto her back and talked to the ceiling casually, "It's funny, you don't look like a Methos. Not really like an Adam, either... Joshua, maybe? How about Peter... Pete.... Petey?" She chuckled. "I don't think so."
Natalie chattered happily away, completely unaware that Methos was no longer listening to her at all. His attention stopped somewhere around the point where she said his name, this time without the shock value. The sound had been echoing in his mind ever since.
It was silly, really. He was who he was. What he called himself didn't matter. A name was just a word, one was as good as another.
He'd never told any of his mortal wives his first name. He hadn't seen the point. He'd told almost all of them of his immortality... all but one, actually, and he'd had a very good reason not to tell Elizabeth. He didn't remember what it was now, but he remembered it being one hell of a good reason.
The point being that Methos had never heard anyone he was in love with call him by his first name. Not once. Well, that he could remember. He never wondered why that was, never thought it made much of a difference.
He was wrong.
(Of course, not even the beginning of this is crossing his mind right now. He's in a complete fog... the kind where you'd need a compass, a road map, and a native guide just to get a phone number out of his brain. And even then, he'd probably give it to you in Egyptian. It was just turning out to be one of those kinds of days for him, poor guy.)
"Natalie." When she turned her head to look at him, it was hard to figure out his expression. He seemed startled, and intent. She'd no idea what might have startled him, but he seemed to be intent on... her. She flipped back onto her stomach, but her heart was still firmly lodged in her throat.
"Mmm... mm-hmm?"
"Say my name."
Coherent speech was asking a lot, when he insisted on looking at her with that completely absorbed expression that was destroying her from the inside out.
"Methos." She'd meant it to sound wry, sarcastic, something that would nicely prevent the situation from deteriorating faster than it should. So where did the breathless whisper come from?
And then his face altered again... god help her, he almost looked like she slapped him. His expression was completely open, stunned, again with so many emotions swirling in his eyes that she couldn't identify them all. And suddenly Natalie didn't care about her voice, or her fatigue, or catching a plane in the morning. She only cared about making sure he looked at her like that every day for the rest of her natural life.
He was kissing her before she even realized he'd gotten up off the floor. Grinding his lips into hers, his approach seemed to be more on the 'attack' end than the subtle side.
Of course, she responded in kind. So much for keeping it slow, she thought hazily as she half-slid, half-pulled herself up into a kneeling position on the bed. Her arms had already locked about his neck at the elbow and she was doing her best to feel every inch of his body with every inch of her own, her thoughts flying in every direction at once, with large portions revolving around how much she'd missed the feel of him, and how very long it had been since she'd had the opportunity to know what it felt like.
She took a shaky breath, realizing that she really needed one at that point. She tried to let it out slowly, but her voice connected against her will halfway through, and it ended as a moan.
Clothing was tumbling through her fingers, she wasn't sure whose it was, it really didn't matter. Whatever it was, it was in the way, and that was the important thing right now. She only was half-aware of what her hands were doing, she was far more interested in his cheek, and his jaw, and his nose, and his throat... a part of her was pleased to note that his breathing was just as chaotic as her own.
She felt her shirt being tugged at, and tried to maneuver to get it off, but not quite quickly enough, as the sound of ripping fabric filled the room. They both froze. Natalie whispered, "Was that you or me?"
He leaned to the right, to the left, trying to find the damage. After a moment, he concluded, "I think that was you," and pulled on the ends of her shirt, connecting the tear.
He had such a thwarted look on his face again, she couldn't help it. She tried to keep it in, really she did. He noticed she'd put a hand over her face, and the edges of his mouth twitched. A titter escaped her lips. And they were both off, nervous energy melting away into laughter.
"I hope you know how to sew." She looked rather helplessly at her torn clothing after he pulled her shirt gently off.
"Of course," he replied with a grin. Knowing that smile, Natalie glanced at him suspiciously and waited for the punch line. She didn't have to wait long. "I knew a magnificent Victorian woman at one time... Diane. Excellent seamstress."
Natalie interrupted him, horrified. "You learned to sew just for *that*?"
"She was notorious for hating men. It was the only way to get anywhere near her."
Natalie put her hands on her hips. "You're making this up."
"I am not. Would I make up something like that?" She just looked at him. "Okay, this is exactly the kind of thing I would make up. But I didn't this time, honest."
"Did too."
"Did not."
"Did too." "Did not." "Did too." "Did not."
Natalie got ready to pounce. "Did too."
He didn't see her until too late. "Did --" She attacked him, knocking him back onto the bed and smothering the rest of his response in a kiss, one that started much like the last, but melted ever-so-slowly into the merest touching of lips, leaving Natalie completely boneless by the end. She shivered as his lips traveled across her brow, and drifted across her face to nibble lightly on an earlobe.
"Did not," he whispered in her ear, almost inaudibly, and went back to capture her mouth before she could do anything but laugh.
They argued far into the night.
*
Promptly at six-thirty the next morning, Natalie's clock radio burst forth in the hotel room, which had beforehand been filled only with the sound of Methos' snores:
"Well, it's a beautiful Thursday morning here in sunny Toronto... forecast says it should be staying sunny all week, so dust off your sunglasses and drive carefully during sunrise and sunset. Speaking of which, those of you driving the 10 East past Allen Boulevard, there's a car stalled out in the center lane, so traffic is slow through that area, but police are on the scene, and they should have it cleaned up any time now."
"Later in the hour we'll have some news for you... updates on the Bush Family Civil Trial: now that the system has named its price, will they pay? Experts have some surprising answers. Stay tuned."
"But for now, to take your mind off your troubles and the Bushes, here's some Duran Duran, with Ordinary World..."
"Passion or coincidence Once prompted you to say 'Pride will tear us both apart' Well now pride's gone out the window Cross the rooftops Run away Left me in the vacuum of my heart"
"What is happening to me? Crazy, some'd say Where is my friend when I need you most? Gone away"
"But I won't cry for yesterday There's an ordinary world Somehow I have to find And as I try to make my way To the ordinary world I will learn to survive"
It was a shame, really. Natalie probably would have liked the song a lot, if she hadn't slept through it.
They woke just as their plane started boarding.
Methos hadn't packed.