Next day, George Lander's home

Eyeing George Lander's personal belongings, Death wandered around in the watcher's house. He liked what he saw – the furnishings made a very expensive and exquisite impression and absolutely fitted Death's taste. Even better he liked the beer he had found in Lander's refrigerator – his favourite brand.

He let his fingers slide over the watcher's collection of old books and then pulled one out: it was "The Decameron" by Giovanni Boccaccio. Death smiled and opened the book, letting his eyes wander over the pages. The book took place during the plague in Florence, 1348. It described ten young pupils that were escaping the plague and telling each other about 100 different stories.

Death let his smile spread on his face while his thoughts drifted away into the past.

---------------------------------------------Flashback---------------------------------------

1469, a small village near Paris

Dr. Adam Livre aka Methos smiled as he discovered his wife Joan in their small garden. They had been married for about ten years now, and he still loved her as much as at the beginning. Looking at her, he saw the first traces of age show in her face. With her 39 years, she still was a very beautiful woman. Her hair still held the colour of the golden sun although Methos could discover a few silver strands. Her eyes, in which he could lose himself without any problem, had the colour of the ocean sea.

"Hi," he greeted happily and took her into his arms while he placed a kiss on her lips. Then he let go of her to draw a single red rose out of his coat. "A rose for my beautiful rose," he smiled and gave it to her.

"Charmer," she smiled back while she took the rose and sniffed at it.

"How did it go?" Methos then wanted to know. "Any complications?"

Still smiling, she shook her head. "Everything is fine. The boy is healthy and the mother tired but happy."

Joan worked as midwife and had helped her neighbour give birth to a son. Joan was very talented, and not only knew how to help birthing women but also had a lot of knowledge concerning herbs. Methos, who had been a doctor himself since he had graduated in Germany some years ago, had met her when both were called to help a man who had fell from his horse.

Methos immediately fell in love with her as he looked into her deep blue eyes. Two weeks later, he had asked her to marry him. She had agreed immediately. A year later, they had moved into a small village near Paris and were both working there: she as midwife and he as a doctor. They were respected and had even managed to make enough money to afford some servants.

"Jean Decourt sent a servant for you," she said. "Apparently their young boy is ill. You should go and see if you can help." Methos sighed. Kissing her goodbye, he sent a servant to bring his horse and medical instruments.

When he finally arrived at the farmhouse, a farm lass was already waiting at the front door to take care of his horse. He entered the house and was guided to a small bedroom. In the bed laid a young boy and next to him waited a small woman with black hair and a face that reflected the hardness of her live. Methos knew that she was not older than 30 but she looked 50. It was Mrs. Decourt, the boy's mother. When she heard him enter, she looked up with hopeful eyes and smiled shyly at him. "Doctor," she whispered "Thank God that you are here. My boy is very ill. I no longer know what to do."

After Methos had reassured her and sent her out of the room he sat down next to the boy and examined him more closely. The boy's face was covered in sweat, so was the rest of his body. His whole body was burning and the boy looked almost delirious. Methos opened one of the boy's eyes and saw that the pupil was wider than normal. He checked the boy's pulse and felt that it was very unsteady. Finally removing the boy's clothes, he also found black-blue coloured boils on his groin. Methos knew which kind of illness this was: the plague.

Sitting back on the chair, Methos closed his eyes while he felt the rising fear in his stomach. He had hoped so much that the plague would spare the village. Obviously his hope had been futile. It was too late now to stop the plague because the boy had very likely infected other people already. The contamination time was two to ten days. By the time the black boils showed, the infected person had normally only a few days left.

He did what he could for the boy although he knew that it was already too late. Then he cleaned himself very carefully and instructed the farmer's wife how to take care of the boy and how to protect the rest of her family. Methos had not much hope that it would help anyone.

Then he rode back to his house and sent a servant to the mayor. He instructed him to inform the mayor about the plague and to tell him to send a message to Paris to ask for medical help.

After that, he searched for his wife. He found her in the living room, preparing food. Looking up at him, she first smiled but let the smile die as she saw his concerned face.

"What happened?" she wanted to know.

"The plague arrived in the village. The boy is infected; he already has the boils. And he will not remain the only one…you have to leave immediately. I want you to pack your things. I will tell the servants to take you somewhere safe."

She looked at him and then shook her head, her face suddenly very determined. "No, I will stay. I cannot leave and let them die. They will need all the medical help they can get, and we both are the only ones who know what to do."

When Methos looked into her eyes he knew that he would not be able to persuade her otherwise. She had made her decision. She smiled at him very gently and took his face between her fingers. "They are my people… I know the risks but I cannot let them down. It's my duty to stay and help…Please accept my decision." She caressed his face with one hand. "I love you."

When she kissed him, he knew that he had lost. There was no way to convince her to leave now. One part of him hated her for risking her life for other people, but the other part of him was aware that this was one of the reasons why he loved her so much.

About two weeks later, almost half of the people in the village were ill. Although Methos and Joan had done everything to help the people and to stop the plague, it had not been enough. The Black Death had already taken five lives; the Decourt boy had only been the first of many others.

Both Methos and his wife were working day and night. They were very tired, not only from the lack of sleep, but also because of the psychological stress. It was very hard to get involved with people while nursing them and then watch them die.

When finally the requested help in the form of 20 monks arrived, Methos felt a slight feeling of relief in his stomach - they were not alone any longer. Walking to meet the monks from Paris, he suddenly felt an Immortal presence. Shocked and surprised, he froze for a moment while he tried to discover the other Immortal. Apparently, the other happened to be one of the robe-wearing monks.

Methos almost couldn't believe his eyes when suddenly one of the monks pulled back his cowl and smiled in Methos's direction. Methos found himself looking into the gentle eyes of Darius. Not being able to build one clear thought in his mind, he suddenly was overwhelmed by the feelings of relief, happiness and hope - altogether at the same time.

Darius took Methos in a warm hug and greeted him, "My friend, so we meet again… Although I had hoped for better circumstances." Finally, Darius broke the hug and stepped back while his eyes never left Methos's. "Come, my friend, and show us what we can do." Methos felt Darius hand on his shoulder guide him, and for the first time since the plague had started, hope returned.

A week later, the Black Death had held a rich harvest among the living. Ten people had died, although the monks were taking care of the sick as best as they could. Sleeping only when necessary, the monks guarded the sick, cooled their bodies with water, fed them and stayed with them to the end while they prayed with them. Without Darius's help, Methos had given up already. It was too much to bear sometime – even for a 4500 year old man. The presence of Darius and the other monks alone was enough to give hope were no hope was left.

Methos awoke two days later in his bed when he felt something very hot at his chest. Irritated, he lit a candle. One look at his wife was enough: her face was wet with sweat and she was acting as if she had fever. Feeling her pulse, he felt an unsteady beating.

"No," Methos groaned. He knew the signs, had long enough witnessed the illness. She had the plague. Obviously, she had infected herself as she nursed the sick. Feeling the rising fear in his stomach, he shook his head in denial. "No," he whispered while pain broke his voice. "Oh, no…not you, please…not you." Feeling tears welling up in his eyes, he began to caress her face with one hand. She didn't wake up but remained sleeping.

"This is not fair…." He stared at her beautiful face and wished they had never moved here. But it was too late; there was no way to turn back time.

Finally, he lay down next to her and took her sleeping form into his arms. He watched her while he felt hot tears rolling down his face.

Hours later, while he stayed awake and guarded her sleep, she finally awoke and turned to him. When she saw his tear-stained face and registered her own hot body and the pain in her head, she immediately knew. Very sadly she smiled at him. "I am ill."

Although this was not a question but a statement, he nodded. "Yes, my love," he whispered while his voice broke.

Her beautiful eyes filled with tears but she managed a brave smile and caressed his face with one finger, wiping away his tears. "I knew the risks," she whispered "but I had to do it…it was my fate." Methos watched a single glittering tear run down her beautiful cheek. "I am so sorry, my love," she continued to whisper. "I don't want to leave you…please forgive me."

Methos looked at his brave woman and wanted to answer, but his voice refused to obey him. The only thing he could do was to take her into his arms again and to cry with her.

During the next days, her illness became worse. Methos had not left her side a single moment. He stayed with her day and night, nursing her while he told her stories of his life. By the time the first boils showed, he knew that they had little time left. She knew, too, and asked for a priest to make her last confession. Although Methos didn't believe in any kind of God, he was not able to deny her last wish. He sent for a priest.

About 30 minutes later, he felt Darius arriving. The priest entered the bedroom in which Joan lay and smiled sadly. As the looks of both men met, Methos knew that he was understood. Darius's eyes were full of kindness and regret. The priest said nothing but laid one hand on Methos's shoulder while his eyes remained looking in his. Methos nodded, then looked once again at his wife before he finally left the room to give them some privacy. He walked into their garden until he stood in front of the red roses, that were already beginning to fade, and allowed himself to feel the burning pain of loss.

Methos stood there for about one hour until Darius approached. Without saying a word, Darius took him into a warm hug and both man reminded that way for several minutes until Darius finally stepped back. He looked into Methos's eyes. "She is a very brave woman. But now she needs you… When this is over I will be there for you, my friend. You will not be alone in your loss…But now you have to be strong for her." Methos managed a smile and nodded in agreement; then he hurried back to his wife.

The next day, she died. He had stayed with her to end, had held her and whispered into her ear how much he loved her. She had not been able to answer because she had drifted into delirium already. But Methos knew that she no longer had feared Death after Darius had talked to her. He had taken away the fear. Methos was very grateful for that.

They buried her a day later under a large oak. The sky was shadowed with dark rain clouds and it was very cold. Methos stood in front of the grave, his tears mixing with the rain. He felt very cold – and that not only because of the weather. Kneeling down in front of the grave without caring for the dirt, he took a single red rose out of his coat and lay it down onto the grave.

"A rose for my beautiful rose," he whispered with tears in his voice. Then he closed his eyes and reminded in silence.

He sat there for a long time, his clothes totally wet, when he felt the presence of another Immortal. He opened his eyes and looked to Darius, who was standing next to him. The priest smiled a very sad smile while his eyes showed the sympathy he felt for his friend. "I am so sorry, my friend," he whispered with his gentle voice, "so terribly sorry."

Darius knelt down next to Methos and took his friend into his arms. Methos suddenly began to cry as the priest's gentleness finally broke the walls that Methos had built in his heart. He cried and cried and was not able to stop. The whole time, Darius said nothing. He only held the whimpering form of his friend and stroked his hair with his gentle hands.

Methos finally broke the hug and wiped away the last tears. "Thank you for being here for me," Methos whispered, his voice stronger now. "Thank you so much."

"Always, my friend, always." Darius nodded with a slight smile.

Both men stared into each other's eyes for some seconds before Methos finally got up and walked away. The lonely figure of the priest reminded behind him in the rain.

End of flashback-----------------------------------------------

Blinking, Death found himself back in Lander's house. "I need a beer," he thought and went to the refrigerator where he helped himself to a cool bottle. Taking a deep sip, he forced himself to concentrate on the present again.

Then he went to the watcher's old, wooden desk and ransacked its drawers in search for anything interesting. He found a copy of parts of Darius chronicles together with a paper that described Darius's daily routine. Next to it he also found a small address book that he began to study. He recognized the names of several watchers.

Stowing the book into his coat, he then looked at his watch: it was almost 8 p.m. Landers would very likely arrive soon. Taking the beer with him, Death walked into the living room and made himself comfortable in on of the watcher's easy chairs. He then took the Walter PPK out of his coat and screwed the silencer to it. Taking another sip of his beer, Death waited.

About 15 minutes later, he heard a noise at he front door. Lander was home. Death heard the click of the closing door, then the rustle of clothes as they were being removed. Footsteps walked though the house, then another door closed. Death relaxed back in his chair when he heard the sound of running water. Apparently the watcher was taking a shower. Taking another sip of his beer, he thought, "No need to hurry. Unlike you, Lander, I have plenty of time." Very patiently, Death waited until Lander finished and entered the living room, drying his still wet hair with a towel.

"Hi," Death greeted with his best Adam Pierson voice, young and innocent while he hid the weapon behind his back. "Thought I would pay you a visit so we can have our conversation about old Immortals."

"What?" Lander asked totally perplexed. Obviously not believing his eyes, he shook his head in confusion. "How…I mean…what are you doing in my house?...And who had let you in?"

"Oh, I let myself in," Death smiled with Adam's face. "You don't mind, or do you?" he asked with an innocent voice while he shyly lowered his eyelashes.

"I…," Lander finally found his voice.

Suddenly, the Walter PPK appeared in Death's hands and his eyes turned very cold. "No, I don't think that you mind," Death said with a mocking voice, that was now several tones deeper than before, and also lacked Adam Pierson's English accent.

Lander inhaled deeply at the sight of the weapon. "What do you want?" he managed to ask with a surprisingly steady, strong voice. This man was obviously not easy to intimidate, he had courage – Death really admired that. Only a few people had ever risked messing with Death.

"Oh, I want lots of things," Death grinned evilly " I want good beer, warm weather, a beautiful girlfriend… but at the moment I want answers… I also want you to sit down on this chair in front of me." He reached into his coat and drew two pairs of handcuffs out. "Put these on," he ordered as he threw them to the watcher.

Although glaring angrily at the other man, Lander obeyed and secured himself with the handcuffs to the chair. After he had finished, Death smiled at him. "You have spirit," he admired the watcher. "I like that, it's so much more fun… And now I want some answers…answers concerning Darius's death."

With the last words, Death examined the other man very closely. When he mentioned the priest's name, he noticed a small flicker in the watcher's eyes.

"I don't know what you are talking about," Lander lied. If Death hadn't been certain that the man was one of Darius killers, he may have believed the other man because he was very convincing. Lander's voice was steady and even his face didn't betray him. He was a very good liar – Death had to give him credit for that.

"Don't try to fool me, " Death interrupted him a bit disappointed. "I know that you helped kill Darius. I heard your voice… don't even try to deny it." As he said last words, he stared directly into the other's eyes, his eyes flashing with a cold golden fire until the other man no longer was able to stand his look and finally lowered his head. Looking down on the floor, Lander thought about his situation and then came to a decision.

"Ok, you're right," he then confessed defiantly. " Yes," he hissed, "I was there and I helped to kill the Immortal scum…" Looking up at Death, his eyes burned now with a crazy fire while his voice shook with hate. "They are scum, murdering bastards… they are nothing but freaks." His voice rose in hate. "They want to rule the world, we have to do something before they control us."

If the whole situation hadn't been so sad, Death would have laughed at the other man. "Stupid, little man," he shouted in rising anger. "You know nothing about Immortals…Rule the world?…Do you think that Darius wanted to rule the world? Has he done anything that indicated that way? …No, Darius was a good man, a holy man. He devoted his life to mortals…he was helping them."

"He was a murdering bastard. I read his chronicle, and I know who he really was. He may have been hiding behind holy walls but that only was a lie - a lie to fool us. He was a killer, he had slaughtered and raped thousands of men and women, had plundered hundreds of cities and villages. GENERAL Darius he was, and not BROTHER Darius," Lander shouted with hate-filled eyes.

"You are a young researcher, Adam. You never witnessed them kill other people. They even kill each other like animals do," he spat. Then his voice lowered while he tried to persuade the young man in front of him. "As I said before, Adam, you are young and you are a researcher. You don't see what we field agents see. They are killers, Adam, they kill all the time…They want to rule the world," he tried to convince the man in front of him. "You are a clever young man, Adam. We could use someone like you… Join us and we will save mankind together."

Death clenched his fists to stop himself from killing the other man immediately. Taking some deep breaths, he finally managed to cool his temper. Then, he coldly shook his head. "No, as I said before, you know nothing about US." Emphasizing the last word, Death let an evil smile appear on his cold face while he gave the other man time to understand the meaning of his words.

Death looked into the Lander's eyes and saw a small flicker there when the words finally registered in the his mind.

"What?" Lander managed to say. "What do you mean 'us'?…you are a watcher, Adam."

"Oh," Death grinned, "I am so sorry to correct you, George, but it seems that I am one of the freaks, you hate so much."

"But…," he whispered in total disbelief, "you…you are a watcher. You cannot be Immortal."

"Oh, believe me," Death said with a mocking voice " I am Immortal." With a very fast movement he pulled a dagger out of his jeans. "You want proof?…ok, here, have your proof." With that, he sliced the dagger over his palm. Blood welled up for a second before small flashes of light appeared and the wound closed in front of the watcher's shocked eyes.

"You look a little stunned, George," Death giggled "Are you all right?"

The expression on the Lander's face was that of pure horror now. The eyes were wide and full of fear. "No," he whispered. "You betrayed us…you are one of them." Then, his face hardened and Death saw traces of defiance appear in the his eyes. His voice was steady when he finally answered, "I will tell you nothing, you scum. My colleagues will discover you and then they will kill you like the rest of your cursed race…Do what you want with me, I will not betray my kind."

Smiling evilly, Death sat back into his chair and eyed the other man very closely. Then, he pulled a syringe with a blue coloured liquid out of his coat and held it in front of the other man's eyes. "OK," he then said, " this is a very interesting little poison. Injected with it, you will only have about two hours left before you die a very painful death. First, you will feel rising warmth in your body and you will sweat very much. Your heartbeat will speed up and breathing will become difficult for you. Then, your inner organs will swell and at some point begin to bleed." Death smiled. "But by this time you almost will have made it. When finally blood will drop out of every single pore of your body, you will only have a few minutes left to live."

Taking another sip of his almost empty beer, Death grinned at Lander. "Oh, have I mentioned yet, that the whole process will be very painful?…

…Or," Death took another syringe, filled with a yellow liquid, out of his coat and placed it on the table between them. "you can tell me everything I want to know and I inject you with the antidote…It's up to you."

Looking into the Lander's now very pale face, he still could see the other's stubbornness there. "You are bluffing," the he managed to say with a slightly shaking voice. "And if not, this will change nothing…I will not tell you anything."

Death really had to admire the watcher's courage and loyalty. He would have liked to have met this man under other circumstances. He grabbed the syringe, went to the other man and quickly injected him with the liquid. The watcher had no chance against him and could only stare at him with wide eyes. Then, Death turned and walked in the direction of the refrigerator.

Halfway there, he turned back to his captive and asked with a very false smile "Oh, where are my manners? I am going to have a beer, do you want one, too?…No? But you don't mind that I have one, do you?" Not waiting for his captive to answer, he went to the refrigerator and pulled out one beer, he opened it immediately.

After taking a sip, he returned and made himself comfortable in the easy chair. Taking one of Lander's old books, he looked at the watcher. "If you change your mind, feel free to disturb me. But don't wait to long." He grinned and then began to read the book.

Thirty minutes later, sweat covered Lander's whole body and face. He breathed heavily and his eyes were wide with fear. "Ok…ok," he finally obeyed with a fear-shaking voice "give me the antidote and I will tell you what you want to know…I don't want to die."

"Ok," Death smiled, "but I want the information first, then you can have the antidote."

"Please," the watcher pleaded with fear. "I don't want to die." He stared into Death's cold eyes and saw no mercy there. "Ok," he then agreed quickly, "ask, I will tell you everything."

"Great," Death grinned. "Let's start with the names of your companions…"

About 20 minutes later, when he knew everything he wanted to know, he took the syringe from the table and emptied the liquid in front of Lander's horrified eyes into the air. He enjoyed the expression he saw on his face: it was the mask of pure horror.

"Oops, " Death grinned as he put the now empty syringe back into his pocket. "What a pity. Looks like it's empty now."

"What…," the watcher stammered with horror-stricken eyes. "What have you done?" He sobbed. "You…No," he shook his head in denying terror. "No…"

"Hey," Death interrupted him after a few seconds with an evil smile, "calm down." I lied to you. The liquid I injected you with, was totally harmless. It only causes your temperature to rise and your heartbeat to speed up a bit - but otherwise it's totally harmless…I mean were would I get such a poison?" He grinned and shook his head in amusement.

Fascinated, he watched the emotions that crossed his captive's face. First, there was only horror, then, it changed to relief when Death's last words registered, and at the end, it turned into anger as the watcher realized that he had been tricked. "You…," he began to shout in hate but was suddenly interrupted by the sight of the Walter PPK Death pointed at him.

"Thank you for all the information – you helped me very much," Death smiled with false friendliness in his voice. "I am very sorry that I have to end our conversation now but I have other important things to do – like plan how to kill your colleagues…So, goodbye."

"What?…No," the other stammered with wide eyes. "You said you would spare my life….You promised," he pleaded.

"Have I?…Really…You are right, it seems…But I tell you what: I am a liar, I always lie. It's one of the things I do best." Death grinned very evilly at his captive then pulled the trigger. The bullet hit the other man in his head and killed him almost immediately. The last thing the watcher saw was the evil grin on Death's face.

Tucking the handcuffs, the syringe and the beer into his coat, Death erased all evidence of his visit and left into the night.