Chapter 5



Methos had risen early that morning...not part of his usual routine, at least not in this lifetime. He had grabbed a beer from Talia's refrigerator.

'Being forced to be here would be bad enough....at least she was kind enough to stock the fridge,' the old immortal thought briefly before heading outside into the misty morning.

Talia's villa had two gardens. A large one that the previous owners had placed in the back covered about an acre, with well-trimmed bushes and small saplings, reminiscent of the royal gardens from the past centuries. Methos, however, went out to the smaller garden on the side of the house.

The opposite side afforded a view of miles of the French countryside from the top of the hill. The other side had a garden that had been there for well over a hundred years. Part of the villa's foundation formed a wall enclosing the garden on two sides. A stone railing served as a bench before the steps that descended to the garden floor. Three ancient trees provided shade about the garden, as well as natural walls on the other two sides of the garden with bushes and overgrowth adding to the effect. A piece of sculpture in the shape of a reclining nude figure was the only human addition evident in the enclosed paradise. The benches to rest on were formed of the natural boulders that had remained when it was dug out on the ground.

Methos sat where, had it been noon, the sun would have warmed the stone beneath him. He sat and drank in the early morning stillness. His blue-green button up shirt hung loosely about his blue jeans and he repositioned himself, placing his unshod feet upon the stone railing and nestling the beer protectively by his side. He looked out over the deep green shades of the garden. It evoked a sense of peace that his soul craved; yet, for all his efforts, he could not lay hold of that peace.

'And, after the next few days, will I ever get to again?' Methos toyed with the wrapper of the beer bottle before taking a sip and returning it to his side.

'Who are they to judge me anyways?' His jaw tightened and flexed. 'More importantly, why am I letting them? Why remain? Do I really care? Why am I staying here?'

His sense of self-preservation was very strong; it always had been, but...'Oh, there is always a but, isn't there?' He smirked a moment. 'With judgment comes…punishment...but something more...perhaps...forgiveness...peace?'

Methos sighed. 'Why not?'

It was then that he felt the soft presence wrap around him. Like the whisper of a spring breeze on your cheek when all the flowers begin to push out of the ground to bloom. He knew who it was but turned around anyway. His eyes turned up slightly to look at the doorway a few steps above where he was seated. A moment later, Nadya's form filled the doorway.

Her hair hung loose and slightly curly around her shoulders, which were bare in the thin-strapped, powder blue sundress, the front ribbon hanging undone. Her small brown feet were also bare as she stood in the doorway.

"That's not good for you, you know? The beer, I mean." She glanced down at her feet for a moment. "I...um....I was going to fix cereal....or pancakes...or...." she trailed off. Part of her did not know what to think of her friend anymore and conversation seemed awkward.

"Either. Both. The company is better than the food anyway." Methos said as he consumed the last of the beer from the bottle, turned his back on the quiet garden beneath him, and placed his feet back on the ground, facing the sprite of a woman...girl....

'Depends on whose eyes I look at her through: Methos' or Adams',' he thought as he summoned a smile for her.

"Ok." Nadya said quietly and moved back into the villa.

"Nadya," Methos pushed off and headed after his sprite. He definitely wanted to fix this rift between them before it got any wider.

Reaching inside the door, he grabbed her upper right arm, his large hand completely encircling it. Her skin was warm beneath his fingers, surely from the shower she had taken not long ago. He could still smell the aura of cotton blossom soap hanging around her.

Nadya turned about as he pulled her back, her eyes glancing from his face to his hand and back. His grip slackened.

"Nadya, please..." he started. "Please, talk to me. You've barely said a word since the bar."
Nadya bit her bottom lip and, slipping out of Methos' grip, wandered into the nearby atrium, sitting on the cool marble step. "What do you want me to say?"

Methos sighed and sat down next to her. "That you hate me? That you can't believe I'd be such a bastard? That you wish I were dead? Anything, honestly."

"I don't hate you, Methos." It was a quiet admission but one that calmed his heart a little. "I don't understand you...probably never will…but I don't hate you. You mean too much to me…you have saved my life, you've trusted me with your secrets. You've…you've got to stop running, Methos."

He looked at her, somewhat surprised.

"You were Death once, Methos. Don't run from him now. Death is not the end…it's just a path that we all must take sooner or later."

"I'd rather it were later...much later...never," the old man muttered.

Nadya smiled quietly and, reaching out, touched his cheek. "You're a good man, Methos. No matter how you try to run from it or kill it, you are a good man. You're just a little selfish."

Methos felt her words, though spoken kindly, kind of sting. "One gets to be after 5,000 years," he quipped, falling into his cynical mode again.

"No!" Nadya brought her other hand up and, clasping it, turned his face to hers. "No, don't put up the walls, don't give me that devil-may-care attitude, Methos. Don't be Death, don't be the cynic, don't be the old man. Just be...just be. That is all I ask. Be the man I have come to care so much about."

Suddenly, the ancient found himself leaning into those small hands, as though something were flowing from her to him. Quiet, acceptance...peace?

Nadya's eyes half closed and she leaned forward. Methos felt her lips claim a gentle kiss on his forehead. By the time he opened his eyes, all he caught was the tail of her dress disappearing around the corner.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

Logan was the last on the team to arrive at the Blackbird before they left. However, he noticed that Piotr had also taken a bit longer than a guy normally does to pack. He saw the guy get intercepted by Rogue and Bobby just before the elevator. He heard the volley of questions shot off by the southern accent. He knew they wanted to go. Heck, he even knew they might do a good job; they already had. Logan shut off the memories of a year ago before they surfaced and brought the painful memories with them.

"Hey! Quit holding up the train!" Logan bellowed. Well, tried to bellow gently. He stopped in front of the elevator and glared at Piotr. "There will be plenty of time to talk when we get back." he said gruffly and ushered him into the elevator. Logan nodded goodbye to the young couple as the doors closed and it descended.

"Thank you." Piotr said.

"No problem." Logan answered. Ten minutes later the Blackbird shot out over the horizon.

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Talia had awoken early. Just before sunrise actually and had watched in awe as the blood red orb inched its way up over the countryside. That was the one reason she had chosen this place. The view from the back and the left side afforded glorious views of the country. The villa was situated on a high hill above a valley, a small river winding its way miles off, shimmering in the early morning sun.

Talia had chosen this room for her own, even though it had been the library at one time. She still left the books up on the shelves. The only changes had been to add a bed and chest for her clothes and to remove one of the old leather couches.

"Exquisite," she breathed aloud as the sun broke with the earth and moved up on the sky. Toying with the small silver flute in her hands, she almost raised it to her lips to play a bit but thought better of it as she heard a sound approaching. A loud drone. Her eyes caught a black speck across the valley.

A jet.

"I had better get dressed."

She moved across the room and grabbed some clothes to exchange for her nightgown and headed through a side door that attached the room to a bathroom.

The Blackbird slowly settled down in the small clearing near the villa that they had been given an address to. The global positioning satellite had located it fairly easily. Logan was the first off the Blackbird as its engines shut down. He looked about the area for signs of a threat, sniffing the air as well. He caught all the scents he had before, including the one he had come to despise.

The Professor wheeled down the ramp with the others. The X-men had decided to dress out of uniform for this meeting. No one wanted to provoke the others. The group approached the villa and Scott raised a hand and hefted the large knocker shaped as a gargoyle, sounding their arrival.

A few beats later, Duncan MacLeod opened the door.
The Scot was dressed in a lightweight sweater with a simple weave over blue jeans, leather boots on his feet. He had finished his kata and meditations earlier and had just taken a shower when he heard the jet approach. He opened the door and stood back a pace. The group entered the villa, which opened up just past the door into a large room.

The second stories on either side of the house were connected via a walkway with a staircase leading up to the landing. The first story was open beyond that also with a wide view of the countryside beyond what appeared to be a dining room and lounge area ahead.

Duncan gave a warm smile to the group, and it was returned by almost all of them.

"Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod." He extended out his hand towards the Professor.

"Charles Xavier," said the gentleman as he grasped the other man's hand. He refrained from scanning very deeply but sensed no outward animosity that would have indicated trouble.

"We can start anytime you are ready, but if you would like to put your things in your rooms first..." Duncan trailed off.

"That would be fine." Charles said, not wanting to rush the matter that was fast approaching them all.

"There are several rooms empty on your left," Duncan pointed. "The two at the end of the hallway are occupied, though. And the first two on the right are also empty." he said to the others.
"The room over there," he gestured to the Professor, "Is open. I will be out there once you are settled in."

"Thank you." Xavier nodded and then moved off with his suitcase.

The others ascended the stairs to see their rooms. Scott and Ororo went off to the right, while Logan and Piotr headed left. The two men found two open doors across from one another. Both had lovely works of art, many landscapes and forest scenes that prompted Piotr to trade rooms with Logan.

"I think I will appreciate this side more than you," the younger man said hurriedly before placing his suitcase on the bed like a flag at the top of a mountain.

Logan raised an eyebrow at this but went into the neighboring room anyways. The smell that had assailed his nostrils was emanating from the far end of the hall. But at least it wasn't from the one they called Methos. He placed his suitcase on top of the chest of drawers, not bothering to unpack it. He gave his room a cursory inspection. Its window afforded a partial view of the valley and the expanse where the Blackbird was parked. His ears picked up giggling and he heard the door open at the far end of the hall. He couldn't make out the conversation but, suddenly, the sound of feet pounding on marble could be heard. Logan caught a small figure flash past his door.

'Nadya,' his brain recognized. Preparing for trouble, he moved to his door, hearing another set of feet approach. Logan stuck his head out just as Talia rushed past him, intent on her prey.

She spun around as she reached the stairwell, her black hair continuing with the momentum across her face. She wore a white cotton tank top with a bit of lace around the v-neck, and a pair of faded blue-jean Capri's. Bare feet slid to a stop and she smiled at him a moment before rocketing down the stairs in pursuit of her friend.

'She looks like a...a...kid.' Logan's mind was wrapping around that newest picture when he heard someone call his name. He turned to find Piotr staring at him.

"What?" he asked, blinking for a moment.

"Are you coming?" Piotr asked as he walked past.
"Yeah. Yeah, I'm coming." Logan then followed the younger man down the steps.

Nadya had, meanwhile, raced down the stairs and hidden herself in the grand front hall. Talia slowed her pace, moving quietly, stealthily, so that her feet made no sound on the marble floor.
"I know you're there. You always hide in the same place," Talia called then sighed as reality pushed into their fun and forced herself to say, "Our guests have arrived; we should finish this."

"Must we?" Nadya's voice suddenly came from on high.

There she was, perched atop a tall statue of Pallas Athena in the midst of the hall, like the goddess's owl upon her shoulder.

"Yes, I fear we must," Talia chuckled.

Sighing, Nadya quickly scaled her way down the statue, effortlessly and with absolutely no fear of falling. She'd loved to climb, even as a child, and had not lost her knack for it.

When Nadya stood next to her, Talia turned to the whir of wheels.

"You must be Professor Xavier," she said, holding out her hand to the approaching man. "Talia."

"Miss Devisson, pleasure to meet you." Charles replied, shaking her hand.

"Please, call me Talia. The last name was added solely to keep people from getting suspicious." She answered pushing her hair back over her shoulder as her hand was returned to her.

The Professor nodded acquiescently. Again, he resisted the urge to scan deeply....seeking out only what would indicate open hostility....and again he found none...but he also sensed something that unsettled him.

"Shall we?" Talia gestured to a nearby doorway. "After you." Then she turned to Nadya. "Could you make sure that he attends?" she whispered.

The young woman nodded and turned to head down another hall. But, just before, she turned to Piotr. "It's good to see you again, Piotr." She used the Russian pronunciation.

Piotr nodded. "And you, Nadya. Are you joining us?"

"Oh, yes. I just have an errand to tend to. I will be there in a moment." With that, she hurried off down the hallway.

Opening the door that stood ajar, she spoke softly. "It's time, Methos."

Sighing, the old man stood from his bed and moved to the doorway. "I still don't think this is a good idea."

Nadya reached out and smoothened his shirt. "It's the only plan we've got and there will be no bloodshed here. You're safe." Then, grasping his wrist, she pulled him towards the large sitting room. "Come along then."

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Duncan glanced over the gathering in the large reception room. Four mutants, three Immortals, and two mortals; Joe had just arrived. They would need his knowledge as a Watcher, Talia was sure.

Nadya sat upon the lush ermine rug, her back to a sunny window. She had a habit of not sitting in chairs but on the floor. Knowing this, Talia had purchased several comfortable, large rugs and placed them in the most obvious rooms: the sitting room, the media room, and the grand library.

Piotr sat where he could watch Nadya but yet not be easily seen by her so that he could observe without being too obvious himself.

Talia hid a smile at the attraction the young man was fostering. 'I hope this turns out alright in the end; it's about time everyone had some good times.'

Storm and Scott sat next to each other, Storm's chair next to the rug where Nadya had positioned herself. She gave the young woman a smile and they chatted for a moment, each inquiring as to how the other was.

Methos had, of course, taken the seat farthest from Logan. Methos was careful to not ignore the mutant that had it in for him while Duncan moved to one of the chairs near the Professor. Talia sat across the room on the stone railing over looking the larger garden and valley beyond. She removed her flute just as Duncan began the meeting.

"Professor, as you are a guest here, would you care to begin?" the highlander questioned before sitting.

Professor Xavier sighed. "To be very honest with you, I am not very sure where to begin, naturally. As most of you undoubtedly know, the world has been rising up in resistance to mutants: people whose only crime is being born different from others. My colleagues and I work to avoid a world-wide witch hunt for mutants, both politically and subversively."

"You forgot violently!" Methos interjected. "Or are you conveniently forgetting Magneto?"

Logan growled. "You're one to talk, bub! You were the one helping Stryker to kill us all! All to save your neck!"

"Logan, contain yourself, please!" the Professor requested.

"Methos, be quiet!" Duncan bit out. "I'm sorry, Professor. Please continue."

"Unfortunately, Logan has breached a most unpleasant subject. Nevertheless, it must be discussed. I am anxious to hear Methos'...explanation as to his involvement with William Stryker."

At this, Methos balked somewhat. Then his temper flared and he leapt to his feet, "Why should I explain myself? What do I owe you?! I have seen civilizations and peoples rise and die out for more than 50 generations! Why should I stick my neck out now?!"

"Because, this time, you let your self-preservation lead you to harm innocents," Nadya's voice came quiet but firm. "You owe those children a reason why you broke into their home and carried them off. Why they were almost killed because of what you did. That is why." Her voice was not accusatory, only honest--brutally so.

There was no room for argument.

Methos heaved himself into his chair again, fingertips pressed to his forehead. "I joined Stryker because he said he needed an architectural researcher. I needed a change of pace and his mutant project sounded interesting. After a while, I discovered how deep it really went. And then he showed me the adamantium and began talking about him," he pointed at Logan. "About his Wolverine. Oh, he loved to brag, loved to pat himself on the back. That he had made a mutant "useful". Then, when he repeated the process--and found it perfected, he thought, with his mind-control serum--in Yuriko Oyama, he named her Lady Deathstrike. I'll admit, Wolverine, it was difficult finding another mutant with fighting skills and a healing ability like yours. But once bonded with the adamantium and her genes infused with your healing factor to speed up her own regeneration, she was unstoppable. In the testing stages, they came at her with everything: knives, hatchets, and axes, even a chainsaw. Nothing could break her or even scratch her. That's when I realized how...useful adamantium could be to an Immortal....how useful it could be to me. I had volunteered for the project, as Stryker was curious as to how it would work on a human."

Again, Piotr felt his blood boil. This man was so selfish! Willing to sacrifice the lives of people he didn't even know, just so he wouldn't have to die someday; so that he wouldn't have to work for his life. His fist clenched and shook somewhat and then he felt sharp eyes on him.

Talia.

She said nothing but just blinked at the young Russian before turning her head back to Methos.
Professor Xavier sat silently. Then he spoke, "So Stryker never knew what you are?"

"No, never. It's not something I go broadcasting about. I've survived because, for the most part, people--especially Immortals--believe I am a myth. No one hunts for a myth." There was bitterness seeping into Methos' voice.

Suddenly, Logan's chair clattered back and he stalked from the room.

"Logan!" the Professor called but the man did not return.

"My, how quickly things fall apart." Talia said as she pushed herself off the railing. The others looked at her, but it was Duncan who spoke.

"Tell me again, why I am the one doing this?" The Scot spread his hands out in a gesture of petition.

Talia smirked and placed her flute back into her pocket. The Professor and the others wondered at this statement.

"Because it is your problem." Talia answered.

"How do you mean?" Scott asked.

The Professor focused, almost inadvertently, his mind on her as she answered.

"Because...he is the Highlander." Talia looked to Joe who chuckled. "And....the rest is my own business," she ended and left the room.

Xavier was not sure what he had felt when she finished, but whatever it was, he felt suddenly older for sensing it.

The silence in the room was broken by Methos' sigh.

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Out on the terrace, Logan was smoking like a chimney.

"Those things will kill you, you know?" A voice said from the doorway.

"No, they won't," he replied. "I've been shot in the head before, missy. Right here." He pointed between his eyes. "It's possible I can't die, like you." He took another long drag of the thick cigar.

"What do you say we put it to the test?" Talia suggested lowly.

A small dagger came whizzing at his head! Logan's hand raised and caught it before it could lodge itself in his ear. "Nice throw." He pulled the dagger out of his hand and tossed it over the railing and into the grass below. His own hand healed from the wounds in time to pull the cigar from his mouth.

Talia moved up next to him and sat on the railing, facing the opposite direction as he.

"You can't accept what he did, can you?"

"No."

"Why?"

"Because he tried to kill us, for no better reason than to save his head!" the Wolverine growled, and then was taken aback by her laughter.

"And would you feel the same way had it been someone else that he had done this to, or had it been humans he had betrayed rather than your own kind even?" she asked.

Talia was close enough now that Logan could make out that her eyes were not just blue but a myriad of colors from blue to green to a dusting of tan right before the black of the pupil. Logan snorted and pulled his gaze away from her, drawing again on the cigar.

"Are you going to answer me?" she asked him.

"I can't!" Logan grunted.

"I know." she sighed, pulling one knee up and allowing her arm to rest on it. "And the revenge you want is something I will not allow."

His head turned again to glare at her. The return remark was expected. "And you are going to stop me?" Logan tensed seeing only someone who looked barely old enough to drink the first time he saw her, and today....Well, today, she looked a lot like jailbait and he proceeded to say as much as he put out the remains of the cigar.

"Oh....looks can be deceiving, can't they? Care to test that theory?"

"What? Now?"

"Granted, now is not the best time, what with the future on the knife's proverbial edge," Talia answered, "But perhaps later?"

He actually smirked a little. "How do you know I won't try to kill you?" Logan asked.

"How do you know I wouldn't let you if you tried?" she answered.

Logan was silent again, digesting that.

.......................................................................

"Forgive me if I am confused," Ororo asked after Talia had left the room. "But why?" The lady leaned forward and looked at MacLeod.

The Scot opened his mouth only to be interrupted.

"Because he is Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod: defender of the innocent, friend to any that will have him, and everyone's favorite boy scout." The lanky immortal announced from his seat. Methos deepened his sprawl in his chair, smiling at his recompense for the highlander's earlier chastising of him. 'Your serve.'

MacLeod glared at him.

"And that means what?" Scott pressed.

Methos just sighed, and looked to Joe. The Watcher smiled again.

"Mac is...well...Mac." Joe leaned back in his chair. "He prefers to make a friend rather than an enemy, and likes to.....ehh, fix the problems in his friends' lives. Something to do with being raised to be the leader of a clan."

"Has to be everyone's 'knight in shining armor'." Methos supplied.

"Should I be flattered or annoyed?" Duncan hissed at his two "friends".

Nadya giggled.

"What should I do, just sit by and let my friends kill each other?!" MacLeod crossed his arms over his chest defensively.

"No." Nadya spoke from her seat on the carpet. "But you are successful in what you try to do."

"You are a natural leader." Joe added. "The logical spokesperson for the immortal race....in theory."

"Don't worry. If the glory goes to your head, it's easy enough to remove." Methos snickered.

MacLeod pinched the bridge of his nose.

"What did you mean by 'in theory' exactly?" Xavier asked, recalling what Piotr had said about immortals getting each other's souls. He noticed that the room seemed to tense. Well, to him, it did but that was because he was monitoring the projected feelings in the room.

"Because, in the end, there can be only one," Methos stated dryly, looking Xavier in the eyes as he did.