AN – Thank you as ever for the reviews, just to make this clear. This is not technically the sequel to The Quickening – that is A Place Out of Time and will be the next story I post. However, I realised that certain events between those two stories needed to be addressed, so here we are. I guess you could call this the prequel to the sequel!
!!!
In five thousand years Methos liked to think he had learnt something about self preservation. He didn't call Macleod. He contacted Amanda. Although, he had to stalk twenty minutes out into the desert before he could get a clear signal on his phone from the com net.
"The Plague?" her eyes widened in concern. "Oh, poor Richard. Have you bathed his lumps in milk?"
"What do you think I need Macleod for?"
"Oh, but he's not here." Amanda shook her head. "He's .."
The sound dipped and merged into static.
"He's where?" Methos found himself shouting at the phone, as if that could help.
"I said .." .
The weak signal went fuzzy and then even Amanda's image zigzagged into static Methos swore at the phone and shook it hard to see if that made things better. "Doesn't anybody do repairs anymore?" he muttered.
A particularly hard thump and Amanda coalesced into something resembling herself.
"So, where is he?"
"He's gone to France."
"What's in France?"
"A book, I think," Amanda shrugged. "I wasn't really listening. I was too busy making sure he forgot to pack his credit card."
"Amanda, you do know those things use DNA scans now?"
"Oh, I have lots of ways of extracting what I need." Amanda purred.
"I'm sure you do. But you lack certain other vital equipment to pass as Macleod."
"Phooey," Amanda dismissed that. "All I need is a token male and I'm in business."
"When will Macleod be back?" Methos returned to the matter in hand.
"I'm not sure. Do you want me to come?" Amanda offered. She really was very fond of Richie. "Rebecca taught me some excellent plague remedies."
"Much as I'm sure Rich would love to see you in a nurses outfit, he's not exactly going to be looking his best," Methos shook his head. "He needs Macleod to mop his brow and read him bedtime stories."
"Well, you have his number." Amanda reached up to disconnect.
"No, wait," That was the last thing Methos wanted. "Look, the signal here keeps fritzing out. You couldn't give him a call for me?"
Amanda smirked.
"You don't want to tell Macleod, that you let him get sick do you?"
"I didn't let him do anything. He managed to get sick all by himself."
"Do you think Mac, will see it like that?"
"I don't know," Methos gave a thin smile. "But if I need a distraction, I can always tell him about your adventures with his credit card."
"Oh very well," Amanda huffed. "I'll call him. But I'm only doing this for poor sick Richard."
"Of course you are." Methos wasn't agreeing.
!!!
Another twenty minute walk back to the camp and Methos sought out the small tent he had been sharing with Richie. The younger man was sitting outside, squinting at him through the sun, Methos' stiletto dagger by his foot. Even in the short time he had been away the kid looked visibly more sick, with a thin sheen of sweat across his brow and soft tremors wracking his body as he struggled to force down a mouthful or two of bean mush as per Methos' orders.
"So?" Methos flopped down on the ground beside him and opted to ignore how dreadful the kid looked, in favour of a more casual approach. "Any visitors whilst I was out?"
"You mean, impaling anyone with this knitting needle of yours because I'm too weak to wield my sword?" Richie gave him a sour look. "I thought about it."
"I've told you. Killing yourself won't help."
"I meant you," Richie threw down his spoon and put the bowl of bean mush aside. "Connor's porridge is better than this and he puts salt in it."
"Well, when Macleod gets here he can take over the cooking."
"You didn't need to call him," Richie looked away. "I got myself sick. So I'm ill. Then I die. All he's gonna be able to do is watch."
"Yes I did. And not just because you need him. How many challenges did you have in your first ten years as an Immortal?"
"Twelve."
"And, how many have you faced in the last ten years?"
"Fifty five."
"And you don't think this is significant at all?"
"Alright, so maybe things have been hotting up a bit lately. But this is the desert. What are the chances of meeting anyone out here?"
"We're out here," Methos pointed out. "That means others might be. And I'd rather not take any chances. You can barely lift a sword, never mind wield it and I have to sleep sometime."
"You think this is really it then?" Richie said quietly. "The Gathering, I mean?"
"I think, its always been the Gathering. That is what all the loosing your head stuff has been about."
"Why?" Richie looked up. His eyes bright with fever and challenge. "C'mon. You're the one with all the answers. Why does it have to be like this?"
Methos sighed. Maybe it was time. Or at least, if not time, then very close to it. Give or take a few decades.
"I don't have all the answers." He pointed out.
"But you do have some?" Richie
"Someone has to win."
"That's your answer?"
"Its not my answer. It's the answer," Methos sighed. He supposed if all this turned out to be "a load of crock" as his former student might say, then he could always blame it on the kid's own feverish imaginings. "Haven't you ever wondered why so much is life is governed by duel principles?"
"You mean like Day and Night, Ying and Yang and all that?" Richie struggled to focus.
"Or good and evil." Methos added.
"So, what?" Richie wondered if this really wasn't making sense, or if he was sicker than he had thought. "All, of this," he made a swooshing motion with his hand to indicate swordplay, "Has been about whether you're one of the good guys or not?"
"At some point we all have to decide who we are."
"Yeah?" Richie closed his eyes. His head was throbbing. "So, what side are you on?" He opened his eyes just in time to see the look of raw pain his words put on the ancient Immortal's face. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean .."
"Then you should," Methos ground out harshly. "None of us are innocent. Not me. Not you. Not even your precious Macleod. We've all killed. We've all tasted the dark side. Done things that we regret or are ashamed of. That's what makes it a choice. I know evil, but I chose good."
"Just like that?" Richie wondered. "Or did it take, like a millennium or two?"
"Mostly, just like that."
"What happened?"
"Darius happened. He was my student. Or rather the man who had led his armies to the gates of Paris was my student. A man of war, born to the sword and forged in blood and pain. This monk, this man of peace. He was nothing to me. His weakness disgusted me. I fully intended to take his head, on Holy Ground no less. He convinced me otherwise. I saw things .. somewhat differently after that."
"I can't imagine what I would have been like if I had had Kalas for a teacher." Richie said by way of apology.
"You would have been a monster," Methos vowed quietly. "There was no other way. Just as Macleod could not fail to nurture the good in you."
"Not just Mac." Richie said meaningfully.
"No," Methos agreed with a smile. "You are something of a group project. It takes a village after all .."
"Just so long as you're not thinking of calling Connor," Richie paused, as a wave of nausea washed through him. "He probably still thinks drinking a potion made from crushed insects is a pretty fine cure."
"Connor never really embraced the 20th Century," Methos agreed. "He's more of a warrior than a Wal Mart kind of guy."
"Whereas, our Amanda is a connoisseur of consumerism," Richie managed a smile. Though he really wasn't feeling so good.
"You should rest."
"I'm fine."
"Sure, you are," Methos rolled his eyes.
"I am," Richie swallowed. Man, he would kill for a Coke. Even the non sugar, non caffeine, pretty much useless version that masqueraded as a Coke these days. Hell, the whole point in drinking the stuff was the sugar and the caffeine. "Well, for a guy who has the Plague anyway." He shuddered as a spasm wracked his body.
"Will Mac be here soon?"
Methos responded to the unconscious note of need in the kid and picked up the soft cotton blanket and tucked it around his shoulders. "He's in France. But Amanda's going to call him. He'll be here as soon as he can. Now, go to sleep."
"Amanda's going to call him?" Amusement flickered in the tired eyes as Richie settled back in the sand. "How did you swing that?"
"I asked real nice." Methos smirked.
"You blackmailed her." Richie murmured.
"That too." He opened his mouth to tell the kid the whole story. When he noticed that he had fallen asleep. He scowled at the unconscious form. "You pick now to start following orders? Just who do you think is going to undress you and put you to bed?"
Richie made no response, unless snoring counted.
"Oh alright," Methos carefully picked him up. "But you owe me. Big time. The sooner Macleod gets here the better. I am not giving you a sponge bath."
!!!
They were a two hour ride from the nearest transit port. Which made it the middle of nowhere in modern parlance. Although, Methos could remember when a two hour ride was a short jaunt to the local shops. The time that Methos had estimated for his arrival came and went. As did the next hour. And the next. All the time Richie tossed and turned in a fevered sleep that Methos was powerless to ease.
Dwas already breaking when a lone rider was spotted. The figure approaching on horseback was visible long before Methos felt the buzz. Even from this distance he could see that Macleod had travelled long and hard to get here. His horse was flecked with foam. His clothes were crumpled and stained with dust. As he came closer he could pick out the dark circles under his eyes and the lines of worry etched on his face as he threw himself out of the saddle and tossed his reins and a few coins to the small crowd of boys clamouring to tend to the animal.
"How is he?" Duncan demanded, by way of greeting.
"Where the hell have you been?" Methos retorted.
"I came as soon as I could." Duncan made to brush past him.
"Not good enough," Methos' sword barred his way. "What did you do, stop to have another couple of glasses of Merlot?"
Duncan froze.
"I wasn't in France. I had to go .." He trailed off. His eyes haunted. "Amanda said he was ill, she never said .. Its serious isn't it?"
Bloody Amanda, Methos fumed, trust her to pass the buck.
"Its not pretty."
"Tell me .." Duncan swallowed. "Tell me he still has his head."
"He still has it. He's a little out of it at the moment. But he still has it."
"Then what ..?"
"See for yourself."
Methos pulled back the tent flap, allowing the Scot to enter. Duncan blinked in the muted light, letting his eyes adjust to the shadows, after the bright sunlight. On the pallet, Richie stirred, fitfully and opened his eyes.
Mac
In a single glance, Richie repaid all his efforts to get here. Without a word, Duncan dropped to his knees beside the makeshift bed, and wanting, needing, to make a physical connection, reached out and brushed the sweat soaked locks from his face.
"Hey." He spoke gently.
"Hey," Richie tried to speak. It came out as a weak croak. He coughed and tried again. "Hey yourself."
He looked up into the worried eyes of a man he knew better than anyone else on earth.
"Mac? What's wrong?"