Three weeks later

Three weeks later, two more men had been crossed out off Death's list. The first watcher had suffered a deadly car accident because the brakes of his car had failed and he crashed into a tree. The car had began to burn and the man hadn't been able to leave his car – he had been burned alive. The police still hadn't found the reason for the fire but Death knew.

The other watcher had spent his last hours in a cold-storage room before he finally froze to death. Death had followed him for several days before he had knocked him cold and dragged him to the cold-storage room. There, he left him after he had made sure that the man had understood why he was going to die.

Now, it was time for the next name on his list: Robert de Ville, a Frenchman of about 34 years. Death had already observed the man for several days now. Apparently, the watcher had a daily routine. Every day he visited a pub called Murphy's at 9.30 p.m. to meet with some friends. Because the pub was very near to his flat (about 20 minutes), he walked there every day.

This evening, he was followed by Death. Death waited outside, hiding in the shadows while he observed the pub with cold eyes. When De Ville finally left after saying goodbye to his friends, Death followed behind.

A small empty street

De Ville froze, when he suddenly heard quiet footsteps behind him. He had reached a small street, which was covered in shadows. Becoming painfully aware that the street was dark and empty of any other people, he sped up while his heart began to beat a little bit faster. He was not really afraid yet, but there was a slight feeling of uneasiness in his stomach.

Suddenly, the footsteps became louder and faster. De Ville stopped and turned while fear began to rise in his stomach. But there was nobody behind him. Shaking his head and trying to relax, he then continued his way. He had only two streets to cross, then he would be home and safe, he tried to reassure himself.

The footsteps suddenly stopped and the only sound he could hear now was his own beating heart. Then, he heard them once again, this time very near. He began to panic and ran…almost into the arms of a man who suddenly appeared in front of him, right of nowhere.

De Ville almost cried out in relief when he saw the man's young and harmless face…until he noticed the Walter PPK in the young man's hand.

"Hello," he heard the man greet him with a very cold voice. The impression of youth totally gone now as De Ville looked into the other's face.

"What do you want?" De Ville managed to whisper in fear while he tried to back away. "You can have everything…please, take my money…I'll give you my watch… but don't hurt me."

"Oh," an evil grin appeared on the man's face. " I am not interested in your money, Jean-Claude, … no, I am far more interesting in your life instead."

"What?" De Ville stammered, "I don't understand".

As fear and confusion filled him, he heard the man laugh – it was a very evil laugh. "Yes…that's the whole problem, isn't it?" the man said with a mocking voice. "You and your friends understand nothing…Let me explain to you, why we have this conversation," he then spat. "You killed a friend of mine, a very good and very old friend." His eyes burning now in golden fury, he emphasized the last words and De Ville suddenly understood.

"And I don't have so many friends left that I can afford to lose one," the man continued with an angry voice while he stepped closer. "You murdered a good man, a holy man. A man who was absolutely defenseless. A harmless priest who had done nothing to you."

De Ville shuddered; he couldn't think clearly any longer, there was only fear left now. Trying to back away a little bit more, he found himself eye-to-eye again with the deadly Immortal. "Please," he tried to whisper but only managed a croak. Looking in the other' man's face, he saw no mercy there, only Death. He knew that he would not leave this street alive.

"Please?" he heard the man say with an angry voice. "Did you answered Darius's plea?…No, you laughed in his face…Why should I show more mercy…" Then, he watched in slow motion how the other pointed the gun at his face and pulled the trigger. A burning pain exploded in his left side and he felt himself fall to the street, where he weakly lay in the dirt. Burning pain consumed him. A part of him - that watched the whole scene as if it didn't concern him - watched the other man then kneel down in front of him and caress his face with one hand.

"How does it feel to know that Death is waiting for you?" the other whispered. "Can you feel the cold yet?"

De Ville tried to answer but found himself too weak already. He felt very cold and then darkness claimed him. The last thing he saw was the smiling face of his killer.

Death looked coldly at the dead body before him. The man had gotten what he deserved. He looked up and…

…stared into the eyes of a small child standing in front of him. The child was clothed in rags and its face was covered in dirt. The kid also had some blood from some obvious recent injuries. The kid couldn't be much older than 6 years, although his eyes were empty. The child did not fear Death, Death was not his nightmare – only loneliness.

Death blinked in confusion when he saw the face of the Decourt boy appear in front of his eyes. He watched the boils appear on the boy's face, saw himself try to help the boy and fail. He remembered himself working as a doctor, trying to helped the children that had the plague, saw him crying together with his wife Joan about the dead children, they weren't able to save.

Then, the faces of other children appeared in his mind, children he had been able to rescue. They smiled at him and… something cracked in Methos. He looked down at his hands that were covered in blood and became aware of what he had done, what kind of creature he had become again.

"No," he heard himself whisper with a pain broken voice. "No." When he looked up again, the child was still standing in front of him. Looking into the child's eyes, a hot tear ran down his cheek while he only felt sorrow – sorrow for the child and sorrow for himself.

After a time that felt like eternity, he finally got up and offered a hand to the child. "Come," he whispered with a gentle voice. "Don't be afraid. I will not hurt you, nobody will. Come with me, this is not a place for you."

The child hesitated for a second, but then took Methos's offered hand when it saw something in Methos's eyes. Both walked in silence to Methos's flat, where Methos began to take care of the child. He cleaned it, examined its not healed injuries and gave it some food. The whole time, the child said not a single word; it only stared with wide eyes at Methos.

When finally Methos took a small soft toy, he had once gotten from Don, and gave it to the child, a slight smile appeared on its face. This was the moment, Methos remembered why he had himself let fall in love again and again – because he needed not only to love but also to be loved. He needed to see joy in another's face that was caused by him. He needed the love to feel alive.

At this moment, Darius face appeared in front of his eyes: The priest smiled at Methos, it was a smile full of love. And then Methos felt for the first time since the priest had died a genuine smile appear on his own face.