September 26, 2006, 730 AM, Paris, France
While he forgot the author, Methos knew he had read the statement somewhere. Two people close to one another, sometimes knows when the others feel extreme pain, sickness, or emotion. Sometimes, they know when the other experience death.
Methos woke suddenly, and looking at the clock again, he saw it only to be seven-thirty. He had dreamt that Duncan MacLeod had been killed. Duncan should have been back by now. Most fights rarely took longer than a half hour. Any longer, they risked exposure.
Nervous, he rose from bed, throwing a bathrobe of Duncan's over his boxers. He moved to the kitchen, putting the hot water to boil for the coffee, and he sighed. Seven-thirty. He had no one to call, no one who would know for certain. Since Joe's death (three years ago now), he had lost all contact with the Watchers, as he had been forced to leave himself in the aftermath of the death. He sighed, again, crossed the kitchen in three steps, and grabbed the phone. He dialed the number from memory. Asher Jacobs answered the phone.
"Bonjour. Ryan-Jacobs residence."
"Hey, it's Adam. Rich there?"
"No, he left for the bar. About half hour ago." Methos heard her pause, before she continued, "I'm heading over there myself soon. I have morning classes first. Pass along a message?"
"No," Methos shook his head, knowing she could not see the gesture.
He and Duncan had received word via email last January of Richie and Asher's elopement. Having returned from Switzerland, not long after New Years, they had been married in a small, quiet ceremony with Darius officiating, and with only Nick and Amanda as both witnesses and guests. Neither he nor Duncan understood just what happened over Christmas, only knew that Samuel Clarke was in jail permanently, on counts for two murders, two attempted murders, breaking and entering, and a few various other charges. And, Methos understood (better than Duncan, perhaps) that Asher had rebuilt her life in those few, short months. In Richie, she had found her second chance at happiness, and she had leapt to take it. The two were good for each other, and had risked everything to forge a future together.
"No," he repeated. "Only, have you or Rich heard from MacLeod?"
"No," she responded slowly. He knew she must have been shaking her head. "Not we left from supper last night. Why?"
"He left early this morning, and I would have expected him back by now." He sighed, again. Definitely not his style. "I'll try the bar. He did promise breakfast. If you hear from him, Ash?"
"I will call," she promised, letting the nickname slip by.
Methos mumbled a thanks, ending the call a few seconds after, repeating a second phone call, this time talking to Amanda, but she too had heard nothing. He poured himself coffee, murmuring how it was too early to have to do this, and he called the bar.
"Bonjour," greeted Richie. "Le Blues Bar, how may I help you? This is Richie Ryan speaking."
"Rich, it's Adam. You there alone?"
"Uh-huh. Havyn will not be in for at least three more hours. What's up?"
"I hoped MacLeod was there."
"Haven't seen him. You two fight, or something?"
"No, nothing like that. Thanks, Rich."
He quickly ended the call, before asked anything more. He swallowed the remaining coffee too quickly, burning his throat, swallowing back the pain, and pouring himself a second mug. He found a bagel in the freezer, leaving it on the counter to thaw. Maybe the fight was taking longer; maybe Duncan needed to wait in line before breakfast; maybe Duncan was stuck somewhere in traffic. Had Duncan taken the car? Methos glanced outside the window, confirming the car was indeed gone.
This did not appear to be good. His dream continued to nag him within his mind. He swallowed some more coffee, and popped the bagel into the toaster. The heavy knock on the door startled him. He hoped it was Duncan, claiming to have forgotten his key.
"Yes?" he greeted, his hopes sagging, upon seeing the two uniformed officers at the door.
"Is this the residence of a Monsieur Duncan MacLeod?"
"Yes," Methos confirmed. "However, I am afraid Duncan MacLeod is not home. Could I help with you anything?"
"Who might you be?"
"Adam Pierson. I'm a friend of Duncan's."
"I am truly sorry to be the bearer then. We found Monsieur MacLeod's body not far from here. Dead. Decapitated, I am afraid. We need someone to identify the body."
Methos blinked at the officer, in shock. Duncan was dead. He knew he was dead; he did not have to see the body. He just knew. But he had to, for security sake. He nodded. "Yes, of course. Just let me change."
"But, of course. I'll wait outside."
Methos nodded. He swallowed the lat of his coffee, rolling the mug in his hands for several seconds, before he threw it across the room, barely flinching when it broke against the far wall. Not even glancing toward the mess, he disappeared into the bedroom, emerging several minutes later: dressed.
He locked the door behind him. Forty-five minutes later, he confirmed, that yes, the decapitated body was indeed that of Duncan MacLeod. Some poor soul had found both pieces, and had done their best to keep the two together. Numb, Methos signed the necessary forms, and accepted the ride back from the officer.
"I really am very sorry," he said, having pulled in front of the barge.
Methos nodded, and he let himself inside.
While he forgot the author, Methos knew he had read the statement somewhere. Two people close to one another, sometimes knows when the others feel extreme pain, sickness, or emotion. Sometimes, they know when the other experience death.
Methos woke suddenly, and looking at the clock again, he saw it only to be seven-thirty. He had dreamt that Duncan MacLeod had been killed. Duncan should have been back by now. Most fights rarely took longer than a half hour. Any longer, they risked exposure.
Nervous, he rose from bed, throwing a bathrobe of Duncan's over his boxers. He moved to the kitchen, putting the hot water to boil for the coffee, and he sighed. Seven-thirty. He had no one to call, no one who would know for certain. Since Joe's death (three years ago now), he had lost all contact with the Watchers, as he had been forced to leave himself in the aftermath of the death. He sighed, again, crossed the kitchen in three steps, and grabbed the phone. He dialed the number from memory. Asher Jacobs answered the phone.
"Bonjour. Ryan-Jacobs residence."
"Hey, it's Adam. Rich there?"
"No, he left for the bar. About half hour ago." Methos heard her pause, before she continued, "I'm heading over there myself soon. I have morning classes first. Pass along a message?"
"No," Methos shook his head, knowing she could not see the gesture.
He and Duncan had received word via email last January of Richie and Asher's elopement. Having returned from Switzerland, not long after New Years, they had been married in a small, quiet ceremony with Darius officiating, and with only Nick and Amanda as both witnesses and guests. Neither he nor Duncan understood just what happened over Christmas, only knew that Samuel Clarke was in jail permanently, on counts for two murders, two attempted murders, breaking and entering, and a few various other charges. And, Methos understood (better than Duncan, perhaps) that Asher had rebuilt her life in those few, short months. In Richie, she had found her second chance at happiness, and she had leapt to take it. The two were good for each other, and had risked everything to forge a future together.
"No," he repeated. "Only, have you or Rich heard from MacLeod?"
"No," she responded slowly. He knew she must have been shaking her head. "Not we left from supper last night. Why?"
"He left early this morning, and I would have expected him back by now." He sighed, again. Definitely not his style. "I'll try the bar. He did promise breakfast. If you hear from him, Ash?"
"I will call," she promised, letting the nickname slip by.
Methos mumbled a thanks, ending the call a few seconds after, repeating a second phone call, this time talking to Amanda, but she too had heard nothing. He poured himself coffee, murmuring how it was too early to have to do this, and he called the bar.
"Bonjour," greeted Richie. "Le Blues Bar, how may I help you? This is Richie Ryan speaking."
"Rich, it's Adam. You there alone?"
"Uh-huh. Havyn will not be in for at least three more hours. What's up?"
"I hoped MacLeod was there."
"Haven't seen him. You two fight, or something?"
"No, nothing like that. Thanks, Rich."
He quickly ended the call, before asked anything more. He swallowed the remaining coffee too quickly, burning his throat, swallowing back the pain, and pouring himself a second mug. He found a bagel in the freezer, leaving it on the counter to thaw. Maybe the fight was taking longer; maybe Duncan needed to wait in line before breakfast; maybe Duncan was stuck somewhere in traffic. Had Duncan taken the car? Methos glanced outside the window, confirming the car was indeed gone.
This did not appear to be good. His dream continued to nag him within his mind. He swallowed some more coffee, and popped the bagel into the toaster. The heavy knock on the door startled him. He hoped it was Duncan, claiming to have forgotten his key.
"Yes?" he greeted, his hopes sagging, upon seeing the two uniformed officers at the door.
"Is this the residence of a Monsieur Duncan MacLeod?"
"Yes," Methos confirmed. "However, I am afraid Duncan MacLeod is not home. Could I help with you anything?"
"Who might you be?"
"Adam Pierson. I'm a friend of Duncan's."
"I am truly sorry to be the bearer then. We found Monsieur MacLeod's body not far from here. Dead. Decapitated, I am afraid. We need someone to identify the body."
Methos blinked at the officer, in shock. Duncan was dead. He knew he was dead; he did not have to see the body. He just knew. But he had to, for security sake. He nodded. "Yes, of course. Just let me change."
"But, of course. I'll wait outside."
Methos nodded. He swallowed the lat of his coffee, rolling the mug in his hands for several seconds, before he threw it across the room, barely flinching when it broke against the far wall. Not even glancing toward the mess, he disappeared into the bedroom, emerging several minutes later: dressed.
He locked the door behind him. Forty-five minutes later, he confirmed, that yes, the decapitated body was indeed that of Duncan MacLeod. Some poor soul had found both pieces, and had done their best to keep the two together. Numb, Methos signed the necessary forms, and accepted the ride back from the officer.
"I really am very sorry," he said, having pulled in front of the barge.
Methos nodded, and he let himself inside.