Watching Richie and MacLeod together was almost worth having been imprisoned, however politely, on the barge. It was a study in Darwinism and Adam always appreciated a practical example of theory.
The younger Immortal was trying to emulate the elder in the name of experience; the elder trying to emulate the younger to maintain a grasp on the time and place. If the entire concept of the Game hadn't been so evolutionarily unsound, he'd have been tempted to write a paper on it.
Maybe the Watchers would appreciate a small thesis from one of their least visible researchers. Maybe they'd reward him with a larger grant and access to more volumes. Maybe they'd notice he hadn't aged in the ten years he'd been a member, take his head and do the Tribunal Congo on his ashes. Yes, on second thoughts, it was possible to go too far in the name of Truth.
He was aware of Greta watching him; she wasn't even being discreet about it. At least she wasn't trying to insult his intelligence, but the stare was becoming unsettling. Finally she spoke in a low voice, despite the fact they could have sung arias to each other and not have been heard over the bickering and clanging from the kitchen. "How old are you?"
The girl's stare was too similar to Cassandra's for comfort - the sensation of looking through when she should have been looking at. But the shyness with which the question had been asked softened the tone of what he'd meant to be a cuttingly off-putting reply. "Approximately six years older than my teeth."
Her mouth quirked with a little smile that tentatively grew to a grin. That didn't bode well for the conversation's quick end. "That's what my grandmother used to say."
With a shrug he looked away as he replied, focussing back to the kitchen where MacLeod and Richie appeared to be engaged in a battle to the death over a pepper pot. "I never claimed to be original."
Silence fell for a moment, save for the ongoing feud, and he hoped she'd taken the hint, but then the soft voice with the slight catch came again.
"You're old enough to be. I keep seeing …"
All right, yes, she'd had a nasty shock and, yes, she was probably partly aware of whom she was sitting across from, but the timid tone was beginning to grate. She couldn't possibly be this meek normally. Although he'd only met Richie briefly, he'd seen enough to know he'd go for the same kind of woman as MacLeod did. 'Meek and mild' would not be a phrase you'd use to describe them unless you'd always longed for an indent in your face.
"You should probably keep your eyes to yourself."
"I wish I could. It's crazy. First I'm looking at palms and then it's just touching something, now these visions come without even trying. The gift that keeps giving ... I think I'm going to go mad."
While he could sympathise that the girl wanted to talk, he questioned her choice of confidant. First, he didn't do comfort and second, he didn't do comfort. It was only one rule but he felt it bore repeating. He pushed down the memory of Alexa ruthlessly but wasn't quite able to get away without admitting that he didn't do comfort while the only person he'd been able to give it to in over five-hundred years was still firmly entrenched in his heart. And still firmly entrenched in the cemetery.
"You try living one year knowing that your time is running out, knowing that when it comes to the final fight, however much you train, whatever tricks you have … you still lose…"
Well, that snuck up on him. He shook his head slightly and refocused on Greta who continued looking at him almost hopefully. Oh, good, another one who was expecting the spontaneous development of profound wisdom.
There wasn't much he could say to her, unless he felt like lying, which was a fairly ridiculous thing to attempt with someone who could apparently see into his head.
The number of true psychics he'd met over the course of five-thousand years could be counted on one hand, and even then the hand could be missing a finger or two. Each of them had gone mad, one way or another. Only Cassandra's Immortality had saved her and even that had been something of a mixed blessing.
"I'd suggest taking it back and asking for a refund but I'm not sure the universe has a complaints department, a massive oversight on any benevolent creator's part." He decided it was time to start asking the questions, before she came up with any more of her own. "Is that why you're with Richie? Not that I'm suggesting he doesn't have many fine attributes that don't involve being somewhat preternatural, of course."
She rolled her eyes at his deliberately doubtful expression. "Lots of fine attributes. And he doesn't understand everything, but he doesn't look at me funny."
"Give him some time, he'll understand eventually. If he's anything like MacLeod, he won't let anything stop him understanding what's going on. Then will come the endless questions and you'll wish you could go mad so you'd have the excuse to chop his head off with something blunt and rusty." He waited for the grin, then paused for effect before going on with exaggerated politeness. "Sorry, we were talking about your issues. Time. Give him time."
"I don't think he has any." The grin faded away again and the resignation returned.
It struck him that she was entirely too young to be that fatalistic but supposed seeing the future would have a dampening effect on all but the most unimaginative person. "Have you told him that?"
"No. Telling people doesn't help, really. Things just find a way to happen. Why, do you think I should?"
"Probably not, no-one likes a death sentence. Or a life sentence for that matter. In fact, we should probably leave sentencing out of it all together."
"You'd know. Do they know how old you are?"
It was with no small amount of pride he held back a sarcastic response, she was starting to lose the little girl voice and he didn't want it to come back again. Instead he smiled slightly, letting just a little hardness into his expression. Not enough to scare her, just enough to make it clear he was serious. "MacLeod does, I'd take it as a kindness if you'd refrain from mentioning it to Richie. I don't particularly want to have to defend myself from MacLeod's favoured son and old Immortals can be oh so very tempting to the young."
"Richie wouldn't do that." She was either trying to convince him or herself. Interesting. He wondered what said favoured son had done while he was away from the nest. Or, more intriguingly, what he may do yet. He made another mental note, this time to avoid turning his back on Richie Ryan.
"From your mouth to God's ear, but I still don't want him to know. People do uncharacteristic things when they think they don't have a choice. Unless, of course, you've seen that he doesn't, in which case I'll sleep more soundly tonight."
A faint blush told him she hadn't, that she was just standing up for the integrity of the man she loved. How sweet. Really. Her tone was less sweet when she replied, at last carrying the strength he expected of her. "My grandmother said that too."
"She said Richie wouldn't take my head?"
"No, she said desperate people do desperate things."
"Then she's a very wise woman." He sat back smugly, which lasted a few seconds before her next pointed words drew the sarcasm out of him again.
"Not really, she was bitter and alone."
"Thank you for your summary, I'll be sure to incorporate your lesson into my life. I'm a changed man already."
"You're welcome, Methos."
That made him turn back to her, Adam withdrawing as Methos hissed quietly and internally enjoyed her shocked expression as she recoiled. Stupid child, playing at witchery, thinking the Sight would give her more than she deserved. "Do not start throwing that name around. You don't know me."
Her chin lifted, even as her body betrayed her by trying to press back into the cushions away from him though he'd barely moved an inch towards her. "I kinda do. Everything is just there to see."
His smile was as unpleasant as he could make it, which from her flinch was quite impressively so. The aim was to imprint on her the virtues of keeping her mouth shut, but he couldn't quite keep the hint of curiosity from his words. "Then why aren't you screaming and calling for MacLeod to start swinging three feet of pointy metal?"
"Because everything is just there to see."
Now it was his turn to jerk away, not just from her words but also from Richie's as the younger Immortal walked towards them, blithely oblivious to their conversation.
"Okay, we have food and, thanks to my lightning reflexes, it's even edible."
MacLeod smacked the plate bearer upside the head as he walked to the table to set down the large bowl of pasta. "You're in France, Richie, it's an actual crime not to put seasonings into tomato sauce."
"I won't tell if you don't. Seriously, mint? What were you thinking?"
"I don't know, maybe about a meal that wasn't just a step above McDonalds."
"There's nothing wrong with McDonalds, don't bring the hate on my staple diet."
They took their seats, handing out the plates and cutlery in an entirely too domestic fashion that MacLeod was clearly enjoying but made Adam cringe. Yes, cringe. Watch the cringing. He stamped down on the slight twinge of ease and smothered the newborn sense of family.
This was not family. Three of the people around the table had been created with single the purpose of killing each other; that was nearly dysfunctional enough to encourage a Springer show. 'Men Who Take Heads And The Women That Love Them Until They Die Tragically'. Perhaps the title needed a little work.
MacLeod broke the silence of eating by carrying on the Richie-baiting which, Adam had to admit, had a certain charm. "Greta, make him take you to at least one decent restaurant while you're here."
She glanced affectionately at the man who was steadily eating at her side, watching as he tried to swallow his mouthful of food in time to answer first and failed. "We tried, the menu scared him. He wouldn't stop muttering about Fruite de Mer"
Richie ended up talking with his mouth full, using his fork to punctuate his words. "It was a traumatic experience. Except for the company."
Greta smiled, saccharine sweet. "I'm going to pretend I don't know which beautiful brunette you're talking about." She daintily twisted her pasta around her fork and Richie yelped quietly as, Adam guessed, he received a kick under the table.
The young man grinned ruefully "A psychic girlfriend? Also scary."
"I'm inclined to believe you." Adam felt that adding 'but don't worry, she'll soon go mad and no longer trouble any of us, particularly me, but you'll meet someone just like her in a generation or two' probably wouldn't go down well as an addendum. Wisdom you didn't bring to the dinner table, indeed.
When the meal was done and the dishes were being cleared he excused himself from the chaos to escape to the far of the barge.
Rain spat thickly against the glass of the porthole, tricking the lights on the bank opposite into giving each drop its own luminescence. Some Immortals he had known could have spent hours looking at the effect; at least one would have written a heart shattering poem, and all he could muster was vague relief that he wasn't out there getting wet.
Maybe that was what too many years did, stripped you down until all you really had were practicalities. What you could do and what you couldn't. He decided it clearly must on the basis it would make him less of a bastard for the half-truths he was about to tell. It was for their own good and, more importantly, for his own good.
After a few minutes he could hear the others settling themselves onto the couch and chairs, but he still couldn't think of how to tell the information they were waiting to hear.
And then he could.
MacLeod had wanted a story; he could give them a story. He began to speak without turning around, affecting a sing-song style fashionable in all the best kindergartens.
"Once upon a time … Once upon a time, the world was exactly the same as it is now, but the people were real. They knew there was a Heaven, and they knew there was a Hell, and what they did they did despite it … especially if they knew they would avoid judgement for a very, very long time.
"And, before there was time, the world was exactly the same as it is now, but the people weren't real at all. They knew the underworld was below them and they knew the Gods were amongst them. And what they did, they did to spite them … especially if they knew they could be judgement for a very, very long time."
He heard Greta's sharply indrawn breath but she didn't speak. Good to know the young could be taught.
"Somewhere between the two, a man decided to be judgement to the real people. He killed indiscriminately, becoming a walking Pestilence for anyone that paid him enough. Eventually, he came to the village of the hero of our story." He couldn't help the mockery that entered his tone but paused for a moment to return to the same impersonal sing-song of before.
"'Kill me and become me', said the man. Our hero forwent the Challenge, bade him leave and he named the price love. But this was the real world and, in the real world, the price … was too high.
"Love died with the sun and the hero sought the man again. He found him by the sea and he said 'Take me to your masters and I will spare your life.' The man took him to his masters and the hero spared his life. But he took just a little of the man's Pestilence and he walked amongst his masters.
"As the last one was dying, our hero spoke again. He said 'Take me to your master and I will spare your life'. "'But', cried the master, 'I have no master' and the hero did not spare his life. But he took just a little of the master's Pestilence and he walked amongst his people.
"When he trod only on the dead, the hero looked for the man again. He found him by a forest and he said 'Take me to your master and I will spare your life.' The man drew his sword and said 'With regret, I have no master'.
"They fought there, in the forest, until at last the hero cut the man down. 'Kill me and become me', said the man. 'I have been you', said our hero, and prepared to strike. But, before the sword could fall, another stepped forward. A traveller stood between them and turned the blade aside with his hand alone.
"'Kill him only if you can give another life in his place', said the Traveller.
"The hero knew he could not and the man went free. The Traveller led our hero to a sacred place and bade him wash in the spring there …"
"He showed you the spring you took me to." The Highlander's voice cut across the memories threatening to swamp him and Adam glanced back with a look old fashioned enough it bordered on Neolithic.
"Yes, MacLeod, he showed me the place. I hadn't taken a Dark Quickening, before you ask."
"Then how did you know it would work for me as well?"
"Hope springs eternal. Quite literally, in this case. Did you want me to go on or …" A flicker of brighter light in the darkness caught his eye and he looked back through the porthole. It came again, closer this time, bobbing up and down over the water like a particularly unseasonable mayfly. "… or do you want to take a look at this?" He nodded his head towards it as MacLeod unfolded himself from his seat on the floor and leant in to watch whatever it was flow closer.
After a moment he felt the man tense and draw back. "Everybody out."
"What is it?" Richie tried to move in but was firmly grabbed by the arm and pushed towards the door.
"I only know what it looks like, move." Now MacLeod rounded on Greta who was still hesitating and raised his voice. "Move!"
She moved and Methos had to admire the tone of command, until he discovered he was jumping to it as well and took appropriate steps to slow down and look unconcerned. He drew on his coat and returned his sword to its rightful place within it, then followed Richie and Greta out when it was clear MacLeod intended to be the last one off the barge.
They made it to the inner edge of the gangplank before Greta screamed and ducked down behind the thin cover of the rails, hands tight over her head to protect it from a non-existent threat. He ducked with her, the reflex to follow the point's actions so ingrained he didn't even think about it.
Nothing happened except MacLeod nearly tripping over him in the darkness. The other man had been a soldier enough times to take the same crouched position just within the barge's rails, tugging Richie down with him.
Then the Scot pressed closer, speaking under his breath. "What's the problem?"
Adam replied as quietly while scrunching down even further, trying to make as small a target as possible. "Either we're under a very quiet - very poorly aimed - attack, we're about to be under attack, or Greta has had a slightly delayed nervous breakdown."
MacLeod moved slightly out of cover for a better look and he followed, using the other man's bulk as partial cover. His night vision was good but it was almost impossible to pick out any hint of anything waiting for them in the shadows ahead.
It was quite the killing ground, if you looked at it properly. No real cover for them, but multiple points a half decent sniper could position themselves. At some point he'd have to ask MacLeod to consider putting his home in a more defensible position, considering the regularity with which it was attacked.
There was quiet murmuring from Richie as he tried to calm Greta, it didn't seem worth trying to make out the words. MacLeod began to move back and Adam moved accordingly.
When they were both once more within the scant shelter of the rails, his shield spoke quietly again. "I think it's a mine."
"Or somebody dropped flashlight." Adam smiled slightly, finding amusement in strange places again. To his surprise, MacLeod smiled back. He had expected to be treated with famous Highlander disgust after his 'story'. It was possible the man hadn't understood it, of course.
Or maybe he was prioritizing; old death versus current, personal risk of death had a clear winner. He didn't quite let himself believe MacLeod had both understood and accepted, he wasn't that lucky and the Scot wasn't that broad minded.
"I'd rather be paranoid than be palm sized pieces in the Seine."
"I'm uncomfortably proud of you."
"Thanks." MacLeod reached across to bring Richie from Greta's side closer into their little circle, hoisting him around like a cat with its kitten. "We might have a mine behind us. It's about twenty feet out and coming closer; if it's magnetic it'll be on there in four, five minutes. There's no way we can move the barge in that time. Get anything out of Greta?"
"She's talking about guns and explosions, she's not making a lotta sense but she thinks there're people waiting for us out there. Maybe if we surround her and make a run for the steps …"
"… they'll cut us down after five feet." MacLeod shifted as he spoke; pressing close enough Adam was forced further out onto the gangplank as the man tried to see what was ahead. Both caught the muted glint on the bridge above before it was quickly smothered.
Richie's head appeared behind him, edging even further out from the comparative safety of the desk before drawing back quickly. "Yeah, okay, bad plan. Why aren't they shooting already?"
"At a guess? Because they don't have to. Which means they're not amateurs, they know when to wait."
"That's comforting."
MacLeod just gave a hard half smile and drummed his fingers on one raised knee as he watched the bank. Silence fell for all of two seconds before Richie spoke up again, voice just a little too calm to be true.
"So we have a plan, right? Options?"
As MacLeod was apparently trying to will the men on the bank to death, Adam answered in his stead, ticking off the limited choices on his fingers. "Wait here and die. Run over there and die."
Richie spoke after a couple of seconds of expectant silence. "I'm waiting for the third option."
After a moment's thought, Adam managed to come up with on. "I suppose we could go back on the barge and die in the comfort of our own home."
"It's my home." MacLeod's tone was absent-minded, raising a token objection.
"Sorry, we can go back on the barge and die in the comfort of MacLeod's own home."
Leather creaking underscored Richie's agitation as he moved restlessly. "We can hit the water again."
"We'd survive that but I don't rate Greta's chances much in this weather, even if they're not shooting at us and we make it out of detonation range."
"I'm in awe of your optimism. What about killing the mine, Mac?"
"I know which wires to pull out of plastique, disarming a bomb in the middle of the Seine at midnight is a bit harder. Adam?"
"I don't play with toys that can remove my head from my body."
Both other men snorted at what he considered to be perfectly logical behaviour, only MacLeod muttered a reply. "Of course, what was I thinking?"
"Okay, so no disarming. What about talking to them?"
"Yes, and while we're at it we could ask if any of them know how to disarm a mine. I'm pretty sure they're not open to an honest exchange of views if their opening move is a bomb, Richie." Adam grinned at the sarcasm in MacLeod's tone; it was rarer than his own so he appreciated it more.
The younger man wasn't dissuaded, steadfastly trying to come up with a way out like the cornered street rat he was. Methos had to respect that, even if he wished he'd shut up and let him think. "Call the police?"
"With what? Smoke signals?"
"It's called a cell phone, Mac. Know and love it."
"Where's yours?"
"The Seine ate it."
"Adam?"
"I hear they can track you with those things. I don't play with toys that could let people find me and remove my head from my body."
Again came the twin snorts and he thought back to his mental Immortals: Teacher and Student paper. This time it was Richie to throw in his two cents. "You lead a very limited life."
"That's fine as long as I'm leading one. Does anyone even know what they want? If it's just Richie we could give him to them. They don't know he's Immortal."
"Gee, I'm feeling the love here. Anyway, they saw me take two in the chest. If they didn't know I was Immortal then, they do now."
MacLeod finally spoke again, tone decisive. "I'll go for the bridge with Greta. Adam, you and Richie aim for the stairs, we'll regroup at your apartment; first ones there phone Joe and let him know what's happening."
Methos felt he really needed to put his opinion in now, while he was still alive to have one. "That's not a good plan and when we're all cut down like so many sheep, I want you to know my last words were 'I told you so'."
"Come up with a better plan, you have thirty seconds or so."
He couldn't and glared at MacLeod's uncaring back with as much irritation as he could muster through the low grade panic.
"There isn't one."
"So go."