Chapter 5

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"Nadya, what are you doing here?" Duncan rose to meet the lone young woman as she entered Joe's bar. "Where's Methos?"

"Somewhere on Knoll Avenue, I think," she replied, walking with Mac over to the bar where Joe leaned, his brows knit together in concern.

"What happened?" he asked and then the phone rang, drawing Joe's attention away as he was quick to answer it. So Nadya gave her explanation to Duncan.

"Methos and I had a fight. It was stupid…but I left," she said quietly, staring down at her hands. She was starting to feel really sorry about what she had said; he had only been trying to take care of her.

"You shouldn't be out by yourself right now, Nadya. Not with Malfoy about," Duncan chided her gently.

"Speaking of Malfoy, his Watcher just spotted him on Knoll, fighting another Immortal. He couldn't make out who it was, though." Joe suddenly returned, his cane thunking on the floor.

"Oh, my—it's Methos!" Nadya exclaimed, leaping up from her seat and making to run for the door.

However, Duncan grabbed her, her hair whipping his face as he whirled her about. "No, you are NOT going out there! Joe, keep her here." With that, MacLeod grabbed his coat and swept out the door to the old man's aid.

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Methos was tired. Battered, bruised, and bloodied, he just wanted to drop his sword and sleep. Perhaps he should just let Malfoy take his head, end it all, and just rest forever.

But no. If Malfoy took his head and his Quickening, then neither MacLeod nor Nadya would live to see next daylight. No, he had to survive, had to win.

Malfoy saw that his fellow Immortal was beginning to tire and so summoned his strength to make good on the occasion, rushing at Methos with a strong thrust towards his abdomen.

Amazingly, Methos made no attempt to side step or defend himself. Instead, he let down his guard, allowing the sword to run up to the hilt into his stomach!

Malfoy grinned madly. "And so ends gallantry."

"Not quite!" Methos rasped. He then seized Malfoy's hand and thrust the sword firmly into his own flesh so that it held fast. Then, with his opposite hand, he drew a smaller blade from his coat. Malfoy's own dagger! He'd taken it when MacLeod wasn't watching; he hadn't been sure why at the time but now he knew why. Justice was a dish best served cold, cold as steel.

"An eye for an eye!" Methos then ripped the razor-sharp blade across Malfoy's neck, severing skin, veins, muscle, tissue, and bone. The hand he gripped grew limp, releasing the sword as the decapitated form fell to the dirty street.

Letting out an agonized cry, Methos pulled the rapier from his body, letting it clang to the ground. All around him grew misty, charged with energy.

It hurt! By all the deities ever called by name, real or imagined, it hurt! Every bolt of Quickening that ripped through his body killed and resurrected him anew, agony a million times over. His whole body felt on fire as memories and emotions and words not his own passed through his head, sucked deep into his soul and hidden there. Selfishness, sadism, pride, envy, all Malfoy's traits and character dissipated within Methos into oblivion, never to rise again.

Above him, streetlights exploded and burst into flame, sparks flying everywhere amidst crashes of thunder rivaled only by the Immortal's own pain-filled cries.

Finally, it was over.

Duncan arrived only in time to be too late. Following a "power surge", he entered the alleyway only to find Methos on his knees, panting laboriously, surrounded by three blades: his Ivanhoe, Malfoy's rapier, and the dagger.

"Is…is she safe?" were the first words that the old Immortal rasped out as Duncan helped him to his feet.

"Yes. Yes, my friend. She's safe. Thanks to you."

Methos grimaced as Duncan supported him, rising to his feet. "You know, I've said it once and I'll say it again: I'm getting too old for this."

Duncan laughed shortly and then his eyes lit on the bloody dagger. "Hey, I was looking for that!"

"I borrowed it. Poetic justice and all that jazz." There was cynical old Methos again.

"So, tell me, were you a thief in another life, Methos?" Mac asked as they made their way towards the car, the Ivanhoe hanging limply in the old man's hand.

"MacLeod, you have no idea."

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Methos didn't see Nadya the next day. In fact, he stayed away completely until he'd had time to process what they'd fought about. Finally, he was ready.

When he entered the dojo, he found Nadya doing a beautiful dance with three yards' length of gauzy red cloth—a dance of veils. It was then that he remembered what impressed him about this Immortal-in-waiting: her love, her hunger for life. Leaning against the doorpost, he watched her move. Every step was a move of fluidity, grace and emotion.

The dance ended with her arms extended over her head, the cloth falling and framing the perimeter of her body. Then Methos approached her, applauding.

"Ahh, my knight returns to take his thanks." She welcomed him with open arms, the cloth draped over her slender shoulders. The sports top and loose linen pants made her look lithe and almost kitten-like, wisps of her hair falling into her face.

Methos shook his head. "I'm no knight. I'm just what you said I am or at least implied: a selfish old man who stays away from everyone because he's afraid of people getting to him."

She opened her mouth to speak but he stopped her.

"I'm sorry, Nadya. You...uh…you were right. There is a way to get to me, though it's different for different people, and I hate to admit it. After 5,000 years, I've learned to look out only for myself, fewer people to hurt. And, if I do get close, it always hurts, no matter who the person. But I can't stay away from it. Life alone is just that…alone. If I am to live forever, then I want people like you and MacLeod and Dawson around." Then he smirked. "Besides, it keeps things interesting and MacLeod's such a boy scout that he needs someone to off-set him, hmm?" There was the Methos that Nadya knew and had come to appreciate.

Nadya looked up into that face, those eyes that had seen more 5,000 years and yet didn't look a day over 28. Reaching up, she touched his nose, that unique nose that he seemed so fond of looking at her down. He sort of scrunched up his face as she did, just the reaction she was looking for. Involuntary and yet playful. "Thank you, Adam. I think we understand each other a lot better now."

Shoving his hands into his pockets, he shrugged. "Methos. Call me Methos."

She merely smiled again at this gesture of trust and gave a nod identical to his. Then it was as if someone has just un-paused life because Nadya then began discoursing some fact or the other about Kafka, which Methos immediately refuted.

From within the unlit dojo office, effectively shrouded in the darkness, Duncan emerged to stand in the doorway and smile. Perhaps this wasn't such a hopeless time for new Immortals after all.