Author's Notes:
OK, this is my first update on this story. I mainly write original fiction on FictionPress.com. I just work on this little piece of fanfiction when I'm tired of my other stories (this happens sometimes), so I don't know how often I will update this one.
BTW, this is my first Highlander fic, so please let me know how I am doing (if it's really bad I won't torture you with this, if it's really good I might be more motivated to write this). I also created some past on Methos. But I just saw the most recent seasons lately, so maybe I completely messed it up with "reality." If so: Sorry!
__________
1)
Joe couldn't help but wondering on what place on earth Duncan MacLeod had met this woman. Mac has a lot of immortal friends, and at least half of them are kinda weird. And Anne Bridger was no exception.
Mac had brought her here and had told Joe she was a friend he hadn't seen in more than hundredth years. As far as Joe knew she was about the same age as Mac. She was blonde, ugly and arrogant. She also had the most annoying laugh Joe had ever heard in his life, it actually hurt his ears. But Mac seemed to like her, they were talking and laughing as old friends.
Joe cleaned some empty glasses while observing Mac getting awfully close to Anne. He wondered what would happen if Amanda would come through that door. The thought made Joe smile.
When he saw both MacLeod and his counterpart freeze and turn to the door, he knew he would have another immortal guest.
It was Richie, and he looked like hell. First, he was completely wet. The water was dripping off him so he was leaving a trail of water on the floor. He made Joe think of a wet dog.
But his clothes showed Richie had done more than just riding through the rain. His jeans were torn and covered with mud and blood. Now Richie got closer, Joe could also see mud in his hair and on his face.
'Jesus Richie, what happened to you?' Mac asked. 'Did you slip with your bike or had a challenge?' he joked.
Why did Mac had to ask it so directly? Richie didn't look like he wanted a conversation, and certainly not with a for him unknown immortal present. Luckily it was already late, so nobody who shouldn't had heard this.
'Both,' Richie snapped, answering Macleod's question.
Joe looked at Richie again. His long experience with immortals told Joe Richie hadn't suffered a quickening. Mac would have noticed if he had too, and if he had Mac wouldn't have made that joke about a challenge.
'What?' Mac asked, evidently shocked.
Richie wasn't about to tell more. He sat down on a stool and Joe hurried to give him a drink. Joe noticed the shaking hands of the young immortal. He was in a bad shape.
'Look Duncan, it is obvious you and your friend have a lot to talk about.'
Joe was glad the woman seemed to have some tact. MacLeod was looking from Anne to Richie and back again, and eventually nodded. 'Don't leave town, we still have a lot to talk about.'
'Don't worry!' She left, and Joe could feel nothing but relief. The woman had gotten on his nerves.
Mac came to the bar and took the stool next to Richie, who had buried his face in his hands. 'What happened?'
'Mac, give me a break will you!' Joe felt sorry for Richie. All the kid wanted was to be left alone, and than he gets questioned by the persistent Duncan MacLeod. Joe knew Mac meant it well, but the man should have more patience sometimes.
Mac wasn't going to give his protégé a break. His face told Joe he wanted answers, and now. 'It was a draw,' the Scot tried.
'No, it wasn't a draw. I ended face down in the mud with a sword to my throat!' Richie was agitated and Joe suspected his pride had been hurt too.
'So why didn't he take your head?' MacLeod didn't get it, and he had to admit it, neither did Joe. There were not many immortals around who did take challenges, won them but didn't take their opponent's head. Joe thought it was weird and intriguing.
Richie sighed. 'I don't know. He just smiled at me, said I didn't do a bad job, and told me to leave. He even gave me my sword back.'
Richie had been lucky. But he clearly didn't feel that way. He had been beaten, and the thought that there was an immortal around who was better than you was not reassuring. Joe knew that losing a challenge could have a big psychological impact on immortals.
'Did you know the guy?' Joe wanted to know. He was a watcher after all, and he hadn't heard about any immortal arriving in Seacouver except for Anne Bridger.
Richie sighed again and shook his head. 'Nah, but I had the impression he just arrived in town.'
'What did he look like?' MacLeod was gathering information about a possible adversary. It would give Joe the opportunity to get the information he needed to identify the unknown immortal.
'White, athletic builds, fought with an Ivanhoe and he was good, really good.'
__________
Shit, shit, shit! Sometimes everything bad comes at once. First Richie almost lost his head and now this. Joe didn't know how he had to tell MacLeod, if he had to tell it at all.
As soon as he would hear it, the highlander would try to find whoever did this and try to take his (or her) head. That was what the man was about, touch one of my friends and I'll touch you.
If Joe didn't tell him nothing would happen. Mac would easily believe she took off without telling him. Mac would be sad, but he would get over it. But if he would find out while Joe had held this information back from him, MacLeod would never forgive him.
Do not interfere. The holy rule of the watchers. Was telling Mac about this interfering The Game? He would unleash a very pissed off highlander. Unfortunately, the Watchers hadn't a rule for this because Watchers shouldn't become friends with their assignment. This left Joe with the problem, and he didn't like this at all.
'This is a bar, right?'
The familiar voice disturbed Joe. He cursed and closed the laptop. He had been trying to identify the mysterious immortal out of the database, and the immortal who just showed up was not supposed to see this. Not that this truly mattered, he knew everything about the database, but Joe wanted to stick to the rules by at least some extend.
'A lot of immortal activity lately?'
'None of your business Methos!' Joe got up and gave the 5000 years old man a not very effective shove. 'Out, now!'
The old man laughed, but went to the bar area anyway. Joe got him a beer while thinking of what to think of this man. MacLeod had provided him with a brief summary of what happened in France. Eventually Methos had helped his friend fighting his fellow horsemen, but Joe still didn't understand why.
'So you're back, huh?'
'Evidently.' Methos took a swallow of his beer as if nothing had happened.
'MacLeod knows?'
'Nop.'
Neither of them said anything for a while. Joe thought of Anne Bridger again. 'You know Anne Bridger?'
Joe had asked it before he realized it. Methos looked up at him, he definitely hadn't expected a question like this. 'I don't know the name, but that doesn't mean I never met her,' he spoke diplomatically.
Joe didn't know what to make of this answer. It could mean Methos never met her, but also he had taken her head. It was the kind of answer that raised more questions than answers.
'What about this Anne Bridger?'
Joe realized the question was for him. But could he just answer it? 'An old friend of Mac. She was here with him last night, and now she's dead,' Joe answered truthfully. Maybe Methos could give some advice.
Methos' face was blank, Joe couldn't tell what the man was thinking. The 5000 years old man was sipping of his beer as if they had been talking about football or something irrelevant like that. 'MacLeod knows?'
Joe shook his head. 'You think I should tell him?'
Methos grinned. 'Are you wondering if you would be interfering The Game if you did?'
The old man had a damn good intuition. 'Personally, I think it is none of my business. But I'm afraid MacLeod won't see it the same way.'
'You could be right about that.' Methos emptied his bottle before continuing. 'MacLeod has a rather unique interpretation of honour and friendship sometimes.'
'Tell me about it!'
'Any suspects?' Methos asked.
Joe almost had to laugh about Methos' choice of words. "Suspect" implied something illegal. Of course, taking someone's head was illegal by US law, but not by immortal standards. 'Apparently, there is a new immortal in town.'
Joe could almost hear Methos groan inwardly. It was obvious he wasn't happy with the news. 'Apparently?'
'Richie came across a stranger last night, but I can't find any sign of him in the database.'
'So maybe he isn't located by the Watchers yet,' the ancient immortal suggested.
'According to Richie the guy was a good swordfighter. He must have fought a challenge before.'
'If he was so good, why is Richie still alive?'
'He just didn't take Richie's head.'
Methos shook his head in amazement. 'Lucky Richie.'
'Yeah, you could say that.'
'And now you think this mystery immortal killed Bridger?'
Joe could hear the unbelief in Methos' voice, and he perfectly understood why. He let Richie live, why would he kill Anna Bridger? 'I don't know, but there are not much possibilities here.'
'Bridger's Watcher didn't see anything?'
Joe sighed. He was not supposed to talk with Methos about these things. But he already knew everything about the Watcher organization, so what was the harm. 'Bridger's Watcher lost track of her an hour before it happened. When he found her back...'
Joe got Methos another beer. The immortal drank it slowly and seemed to be thinking. The silence between them was heavy and light at the same time. They were occupied with the same problem now and would probably agree on it, but the events from a couple of weeks ago were still hanging between them. Joe wondered how things were between Methos and Mac. Probably worse than between Methos and himself. Joe had the luck he hadn't been personally involved.
'You gotta tell MacLeod,' Methos suddenly said.
'Tell me what?'
Joe jumped when he heard MacLeod's voice. He had been so absorbed in his thoughts he hadn't seen the Highlander come in.
Damn Methos! He had felt MacLeod coming and when he was close enough to hear it, he had told Joe what to do. There was no way he couldn't tell Mac what was going on, Mac simply wouldn't leave before he had.
But he still had some time to think of what exactly he would say. MacLeod stared at Methos, who wasn't impressed and took a swallow of his beer. Those two had something to figure out first.
'When did you get back in Seacouver?'
Mac's tone was accusing, although Joe doubted he would have appreciated it if Methos had shown up at his dojo.
'Two days back.'
'And you're doing here...what exactly?'
'Having a drink,' Methos simply stated. 'This is a bar you know.'
MacLeod nodded and sat down. Joe handed him a Scotch and decided to take one himself too. He might need it.
'She's gone.'
Joe had no idea if MacLeod meant she left or if he already knew she was dead, so he just nodded.
'She had promised me to stay in town, but she left after all!'
Uh-Oh! He didn't know yet.
'After all these years we see each other again...'
'Mac?'
'...and then she leaves immediately. I thought...'
'Mac?' Joe tried for the second time, but he wasn't listening.
'...we were friends, but she doesn't even stay one day. I...'
Joe looked at Methos for help on this one. Methos didn't seem eager to help, but did it anyway. 'MacLeod, just listen to Joe for a minute will you!'
That finally got his attention. 'What?'
'She didn't leave without telling you.'
'What do you mean, did she leave a message?'
Joe sighed. 'No, she is dead.'
'But..,' Mac began. He got up and started pacing up and down the room. He was upset, as expected. 'But who did it?'
This was the moment Joe had hoped wouldn't come. 'I don't know.'
'What do you mean you don't know. You record right, that's what the Watchers do. Her Watcher must have seen it!'
'No Mac, he didn't see it. He had lost her after she left this bar.'
Frustrated, MacLeod put up his hands in the air. 'Who are in town?'
Joe looked at Methos, who returned a pitiful look. This was exactly what Joe had thought would happen, something he didn't like at all. 'Mac, I can't...'
'You can't help me? Come one Joe! Just tell me if there's someone in Seacouver I should know about.'
Joe sighed. He didn't want to help MacLeod every time, but he usually did it anyhow because MacLeod was his best friend. And there was nothing to hide anyway. 'There is no one, just you, Richie and apparently Methos.'
'But what about the mystery immortal Richie encountered yesterday?'
'Still a mystery Mac, still a mystery.'
__________
Methos parked his car and grabbed the three bags with groceries from his passenger seat. He entered the apartment building, walking through the door his neighbor held for him. He had to force himself to smile and thank the elderly lady.
Truth was, he was not in the mood to laugh or smile. In fact, he was very angry with himself. He had forced Joe to talk to MacLeod, but he hadn't told him. It would have been the easiest way if he had told it today, when he told Mac on a later occasion he would accuse him of trying to hide it. This in fact was true, if it was up to him MacLeod would never find out.
Methos sighed. Life wasn't easy, and he could know because he was around for a while.
Another difficult thing was a lock. Especially when you are holding three grocery bags. He jiggled with the key, trying to get it to fit. A long time ago, when locks weren't invented yet, life was so much easier.
His mood didn't get any better when the buzz hit him. Why could MacLeod never let something be. This was exactly why he hadn't told MacLeod he was back in town, he would never be able to get rid off the highlander in an acceptable period of time.
'Just leave me alone!' Not very subtle, but he might get the point. He just hoped the neighbors wouldn't complain to the landlord.
Not to his expectations, he heard someone snicker. That was not MacLeod!
He spun around to see a man lean against the wall of the hallway. The man wore neat clothes and looked like he just had a haircut. Methos knew the long black coat was concealing a sword.
The man smiled. 'You know Methos, more than two thousand years and you didn't change a bit!'
__________
Constantinople, 1097 AD
Methos groaned. He really hated waiting. And certainly when being without a clue when the waiting would be over.
Armed forces coming from whole Europe were gathered in Constantinople. They were about to liberate Jerusalem from the Muslim control. Pope Urbanus II had called up the people of Christian Europe to save the holy places.
Methos looked at the red cross on his right shoulder. When drunk he had decided to join, now he couldn't understand why. Hadn't he seen enough wars already?
But there was no way back now. He sat at a camp fire with twenty other men. Actually not exactly with them, he and Menes sat apart from the rest. They sat in the dark, staring at the dark water about hundredth yards away from them.
There was no sign of war yet. They were camping outside Constantinople, waiting for permission to get over the Bosporus. Methos understood he local king didn't allow it, for obvious reasons. Nobody wants a foreign army on land you claim to be yours.
'Politics!'
Methos' companion laughed about his expression of frustration. 'Relax.' The word had been spoken in Italian, the language they were supposed to speak being Italians. Which they were not, but this couldn't be heard by their accent. Over decennia they had become skilled in how to learn a language relatively good and fast.
'Come on!' Methos got to his feet and pointed at the water. 'That's all, so what's the big problem!'
Menes laughed again. 'Like you said before, politics.'
Methos sat down again, still grumbling. 'You can be so damn patient.'
Menes smiled. 'Patience is a good quality.'
Methos knew the younger man was right. He usually was patient, but just not today. He had signed up for this damn army, now he wanted to fight so he would be done with it.
'You don't want to fight, do you?'
Before Methos could answer "No", he felt the buzz. A glance at Menes told him his friend felt it too.
'Then I'll take you,' the newly arrived said to Menes. The man apparently had heard his last words.
It wasn't a big surprise. They had known about the other immortals presence and had been waiting for the first contact. His name was Phillip Le Puy, a French knight. It looked like he wasn't interested in a further acquaintance.
Menes reluctantly got to his feet. Methos knew he wasn't fond of challenges. But that didn't mean he wasn't good at it. Phillip Le Puy had a reputation though, he was supposed to be the best French swordfighter. He had this reputation with both the immortals and the "normal" people. It wouldn't be an easy fight, but Methos wasn't worried about the outcome.
Menes turned to Methos before he followed the other immortal. 'See you tomorrow morning then.'
__________
'Menes?' Methos couldn't believe who was standing there, he hadn't expected to see this man ever again. 'I thought...'
'I am not that easy to kill, of all people you should know that.'
Methos knew all about that, he had lost their battle. 'But why didn't you show up!'
Menes hadn't returned to the camp. Of course the army left exactly that day, after more than half a year of waiting. The timing couldn't be worse. Methos had found out Phillip Le Puy was missing too, so he still had some hope. He had stayed behind to look for either one of them, but had never found anyone.
'I wasn't dead, but not very healthy either.'
Methos was thrilled and relieved to see his old friend again. They had so much to talk about. But a couple of questions had to be answered now, it were questions of life and death. 'How did you find me?'
After hesitating for a moment, Menes pulled up his sleeve. A very familiar symbol had been tattooed on his wrist. 'That wasn't very difficult, "Adam Pierson." Not difficult at all.'
OK, this is my first update on this story. I mainly write original fiction on FictionPress.com. I just work on this little piece of fanfiction when I'm tired of my other stories (this happens sometimes), so I don't know how often I will update this one.
BTW, this is my first Highlander fic, so please let me know how I am doing (if it's really bad I won't torture you with this, if it's really good I might be more motivated to write this). I also created some past on Methos. But I just saw the most recent seasons lately, so maybe I completely messed it up with "reality." If so: Sorry!
__________
1)
Joe couldn't help but wondering on what place on earth Duncan MacLeod had met this woman. Mac has a lot of immortal friends, and at least half of them are kinda weird. And Anne Bridger was no exception.
Mac had brought her here and had told Joe she was a friend he hadn't seen in more than hundredth years. As far as Joe knew she was about the same age as Mac. She was blonde, ugly and arrogant. She also had the most annoying laugh Joe had ever heard in his life, it actually hurt his ears. But Mac seemed to like her, they were talking and laughing as old friends.
Joe cleaned some empty glasses while observing Mac getting awfully close to Anne. He wondered what would happen if Amanda would come through that door. The thought made Joe smile.
When he saw both MacLeod and his counterpart freeze and turn to the door, he knew he would have another immortal guest.
It was Richie, and he looked like hell. First, he was completely wet. The water was dripping off him so he was leaving a trail of water on the floor. He made Joe think of a wet dog.
But his clothes showed Richie had done more than just riding through the rain. His jeans were torn and covered with mud and blood. Now Richie got closer, Joe could also see mud in his hair and on his face.
'Jesus Richie, what happened to you?' Mac asked. 'Did you slip with your bike or had a challenge?' he joked.
Why did Mac had to ask it so directly? Richie didn't look like he wanted a conversation, and certainly not with a for him unknown immortal present. Luckily it was already late, so nobody who shouldn't had heard this.
'Both,' Richie snapped, answering Macleod's question.
Joe looked at Richie again. His long experience with immortals told Joe Richie hadn't suffered a quickening. Mac would have noticed if he had too, and if he had Mac wouldn't have made that joke about a challenge.
'What?' Mac asked, evidently shocked.
Richie wasn't about to tell more. He sat down on a stool and Joe hurried to give him a drink. Joe noticed the shaking hands of the young immortal. He was in a bad shape.
'Look Duncan, it is obvious you and your friend have a lot to talk about.'
Joe was glad the woman seemed to have some tact. MacLeod was looking from Anne to Richie and back again, and eventually nodded. 'Don't leave town, we still have a lot to talk about.'
'Don't worry!' She left, and Joe could feel nothing but relief. The woman had gotten on his nerves.
Mac came to the bar and took the stool next to Richie, who had buried his face in his hands. 'What happened?'
'Mac, give me a break will you!' Joe felt sorry for Richie. All the kid wanted was to be left alone, and than he gets questioned by the persistent Duncan MacLeod. Joe knew Mac meant it well, but the man should have more patience sometimes.
Mac wasn't going to give his protégé a break. His face told Joe he wanted answers, and now. 'It was a draw,' the Scot tried.
'No, it wasn't a draw. I ended face down in the mud with a sword to my throat!' Richie was agitated and Joe suspected his pride had been hurt too.
'So why didn't he take your head?' MacLeod didn't get it, and he had to admit it, neither did Joe. There were not many immortals around who did take challenges, won them but didn't take their opponent's head. Joe thought it was weird and intriguing.
Richie sighed. 'I don't know. He just smiled at me, said I didn't do a bad job, and told me to leave. He even gave me my sword back.'
Richie had been lucky. But he clearly didn't feel that way. He had been beaten, and the thought that there was an immortal around who was better than you was not reassuring. Joe knew that losing a challenge could have a big psychological impact on immortals.
'Did you know the guy?' Joe wanted to know. He was a watcher after all, and he hadn't heard about any immortal arriving in Seacouver except for Anne Bridger.
Richie sighed again and shook his head. 'Nah, but I had the impression he just arrived in town.'
'What did he look like?' MacLeod was gathering information about a possible adversary. It would give Joe the opportunity to get the information he needed to identify the unknown immortal.
'White, athletic builds, fought with an Ivanhoe and he was good, really good.'
__________
Shit, shit, shit! Sometimes everything bad comes at once. First Richie almost lost his head and now this. Joe didn't know how he had to tell MacLeod, if he had to tell it at all.
As soon as he would hear it, the highlander would try to find whoever did this and try to take his (or her) head. That was what the man was about, touch one of my friends and I'll touch you.
If Joe didn't tell him nothing would happen. Mac would easily believe she took off without telling him. Mac would be sad, but he would get over it. But if he would find out while Joe had held this information back from him, MacLeod would never forgive him.
Do not interfere. The holy rule of the watchers. Was telling Mac about this interfering The Game? He would unleash a very pissed off highlander. Unfortunately, the Watchers hadn't a rule for this because Watchers shouldn't become friends with their assignment. This left Joe with the problem, and he didn't like this at all.
'This is a bar, right?'
The familiar voice disturbed Joe. He cursed and closed the laptop. He had been trying to identify the mysterious immortal out of the database, and the immortal who just showed up was not supposed to see this. Not that this truly mattered, he knew everything about the database, but Joe wanted to stick to the rules by at least some extend.
'A lot of immortal activity lately?'
'None of your business Methos!' Joe got up and gave the 5000 years old man a not very effective shove. 'Out, now!'
The old man laughed, but went to the bar area anyway. Joe got him a beer while thinking of what to think of this man. MacLeod had provided him with a brief summary of what happened in France. Eventually Methos had helped his friend fighting his fellow horsemen, but Joe still didn't understand why.
'So you're back, huh?'
'Evidently.' Methos took a swallow of his beer as if nothing had happened.
'MacLeod knows?'
'Nop.'
Neither of them said anything for a while. Joe thought of Anne Bridger again. 'You know Anne Bridger?'
Joe had asked it before he realized it. Methos looked up at him, he definitely hadn't expected a question like this. 'I don't know the name, but that doesn't mean I never met her,' he spoke diplomatically.
Joe didn't know what to make of this answer. It could mean Methos never met her, but also he had taken her head. It was the kind of answer that raised more questions than answers.
'What about this Anne Bridger?'
Joe realized the question was for him. But could he just answer it? 'An old friend of Mac. She was here with him last night, and now she's dead,' Joe answered truthfully. Maybe Methos could give some advice.
Methos' face was blank, Joe couldn't tell what the man was thinking. The 5000 years old man was sipping of his beer as if they had been talking about football or something irrelevant like that. 'MacLeod knows?'
Joe shook his head. 'You think I should tell him?'
Methos grinned. 'Are you wondering if you would be interfering The Game if you did?'
The old man had a damn good intuition. 'Personally, I think it is none of my business. But I'm afraid MacLeod won't see it the same way.'
'You could be right about that.' Methos emptied his bottle before continuing. 'MacLeod has a rather unique interpretation of honour and friendship sometimes.'
'Tell me about it!'
'Any suspects?' Methos asked.
Joe almost had to laugh about Methos' choice of words. "Suspect" implied something illegal. Of course, taking someone's head was illegal by US law, but not by immortal standards. 'Apparently, there is a new immortal in town.'
Joe could almost hear Methos groan inwardly. It was obvious he wasn't happy with the news. 'Apparently?'
'Richie came across a stranger last night, but I can't find any sign of him in the database.'
'So maybe he isn't located by the Watchers yet,' the ancient immortal suggested.
'According to Richie the guy was a good swordfighter. He must have fought a challenge before.'
'If he was so good, why is Richie still alive?'
'He just didn't take Richie's head.'
Methos shook his head in amazement. 'Lucky Richie.'
'Yeah, you could say that.'
'And now you think this mystery immortal killed Bridger?'
Joe could hear the unbelief in Methos' voice, and he perfectly understood why. He let Richie live, why would he kill Anna Bridger? 'I don't know, but there are not much possibilities here.'
'Bridger's Watcher didn't see anything?'
Joe sighed. He was not supposed to talk with Methos about these things. But he already knew everything about the Watcher organization, so what was the harm. 'Bridger's Watcher lost track of her an hour before it happened. When he found her back...'
Joe got Methos another beer. The immortal drank it slowly and seemed to be thinking. The silence between them was heavy and light at the same time. They were occupied with the same problem now and would probably agree on it, but the events from a couple of weeks ago were still hanging between them. Joe wondered how things were between Methos and Mac. Probably worse than between Methos and himself. Joe had the luck he hadn't been personally involved.
'You gotta tell MacLeod,' Methos suddenly said.
'Tell me what?'
Joe jumped when he heard MacLeod's voice. He had been so absorbed in his thoughts he hadn't seen the Highlander come in.
Damn Methos! He had felt MacLeod coming and when he was close enough to hear it, he had told Joe what to do. There was no way he couldn't tell Mac what was going on, Mac simply wouldn't leave before he had.
But he still had some time to think of what exactly he would say. MacLeod stared at Methos, who wasn't impressed and took a swallow of his beer. Those two had something to figure out first.
'When did you get back in Seacouver?'
Mac's tone was accusing, although Joe doubted he would have appreciated it if Methos had shown up at his dojo.
'Two days back.'
'And you're doing here...what exactly?'
'Having a drink,' Methos simply stated. 'This is a bar you know.'
MacLeod nodded and sat down. Joe handed him a Scotch and decided to take one himself too. He might need it.
'She's gone.'
Joe had no idea if MacLeod meant she left or if he already knew she was dead, so he just nodded.
'She had promised me to stay in town, but she left after all!'
Uh-Oh! He didn't know yet.
'After all these years we see each other again...'
'Mac?'
'...and then she leaves immediately. I thought...'
'Mac?' Joe tried for the second time, but he wasn't listening.
'...we were friends, but she doesn't even stay one day. I...'
Joe looked at Methos for help on this one. Methos didn't seem eager to help, but did it anyway. 'MacLeod, just listen to Joe for a minute will you!'
That finally got his attention. 'What?'
'She didn't leave without telling you.'
'What do you mean, did she leave a message?'
Joe sighed. 'No, she is dead.'
'But..,' Mac began. He got up and started pacing up and down the room. He was upset, as expected. 'But who did it?'
This was the moment Joe had hoped wouldn't come. 'I don't know.'
'What do you mean you don't know. You record right, that's what the Watchers do. Her Watcher must have seen it!'
'No Mac, he didn't see it. He had lost her after she left this bar.'
Frustrated, MacLeod put up his hands in the air. 'Who are in town?'
Joe looked at Methos, who returned a pitiful look. This was exactly what Joe had thought would happen, something he didn't like at all. 'Mac, I can't...'
'You can't help me? Come one Joe! Just tell me if there's someone in Seacouver I should know about.'
Joe sighed. He didn't want to help MacLeod every time, but he usually did it anyhow because MacLeod was his best friend. And there was nothing to hide anyway. 'There is no one, just you, Richie and apparently Methos.'
'But what about the mystery immortal Richie encountered yesterday?'
'Still a mystery Mac, still a mystery.'
__________
Methos parked his car and grabbed the three bags with groceries from his passenger seat. He entered the apartment building, walking through the door his neighbor held for him. He had to force himself to smile and thank the elderly lady.
Truth was, he was not in the mood to laugh or smile. In fact, he was very angry with himself. He had forced Joe to talk to MacLeod, but he hadn't told him. It would have been the easiest way if he had told it today, when he told Mac on a later occasion he would accuse him of trying to hide it. This in fact was true, if it was up to him MacLeod would never find out.
Methos sighed. Life wasn't easy, and he could know because he was around for a while.
Another difficult thing was a lock. Especially when you are holding three grocery bags. He jiggled with the key, trying to get it to fit. A long time ago, when locks weren't invented yet, life was so much easier.
His mood didn't get any better when the buzz hit him. Why could MacLeod never let something be. This was exactly why he hadn't told MacLeod he was back in town, he would never be able to get rid off the highlander in an acceptable period of time.
'Just leave me alone!' Not very subtle, but he might get the point. He just hoped the neighbors wouldn't complain to the landlord.
Not to his expectations, he heard someone snicker. That was not MacLeod!
He spun around to see a man lean against the wall of the hallway. The man wore neat clothes and looked like he just had a haircut. Methos knew the long black coat was concealing a sword.
The man smiled. 'You know Methos, more than two thousand years and you didn't change a bit!'
__________
Constantinople, 1097 AD
Methos groaned. He really hated waiting. And certainly when being without a clue when the waiting would be over.
Armed forces coming from whole Europe were gathered in Constantinople. They were about to liberate Jerusalem from the Muslim control. Pope Urbanus II had called up the people of Christian Europe to save the holy places.
Methos looked at the red cross on his right shoulder. When drunk he had decided to join, now he couldn't understand why. Hadn't he seen enough wars already?
But there was no way back now. He sat at a camp fire with twenty other men. Actually not exactly with them, he and Menes sat apart from the rest. They sat in the dark, staring at the dark water about hundredth yards away from them.
There was no sign of war yet. They were camping outside Constantinople, waiting for permission to get over the Bosporus. Methos understood he local king didn't allow it, for obvious reasons. Nobody wants a foreign army on land you claim to be yours.
'Politics!'
Methos' companion laughed about his expression of frustration. 'Relax.' The word had been spoken in Italian, the language they were supposed to speak being Italians. Which they were not, but this couldn't be heard by their accent. Over decennia they had become skilled in how to learn a language relatively good and fast.
'Come on!' Methos got to his feet and pointed at the water. 'That's all, so what's the big problem!'
Menes laughed again. 'Like you said before, politics.'
Methos sat down again, still grumbling. 'You can be so damn patient.'
Menes smiled. 'Patience is a good quality.'
Methos knew the younger man was right. He usually was patient, but just not today. He had signed up for this damn army, now he wanted to fight so he would be done with it.
'You don't want to fight, do you?'
Before Methos could answer "No", he felt the buzz. A glance at Menes told him his friend felt it too.
'Then I'll take you,' the newly arrived said to Menes. The man apparently had heard his last words.
It wasn't a big surprise. They had known about the other immortals presence and had been waiting for the first contact. His name was Phillip Le Puy, a French knight. It looked like he wasn't interested in a further acquaintance.
Menes reluctantly got to his feet. Methos knew he wasn't fond of challenges. But that didn't mean he wasn't good at it. Phillip Le Puy had a reputation though, he was supposed to be the best French swordfighter. He had this reputation with both the immortals and the "normal" people. It wouldn't be an easy fight, but Methos wasn't worried about the outcome.
Menes turned to Methos before he followed the other immortal. 'See you tomorrow morning then.'
__________
'Menes?' Methos couldn't believe who was standing there, he hadn't expected to see this man ever again. 'I thought...'
'I am not that easy to kill, of all people you should know that.'
Methos knew all about that, he had lost their battle. 'But why didn't you show up!'
Menes hadn't returned to the camp. Of course the army left exactly that day, after more than half a year of waiting. The timing couldn't be worse. Methos had found out Phillip Le Puy was missing too, so he still had some hope. He had stayed behind to look for either one of them, but had never found anyone.
'I wasn't dead, but not very healthy either.'
Methos was thrilled and relieved to see his old friend again. They had so much to talk about. But a couple of questions had to be answered now, it were questions of life and death. 'How did you find me?'
After hesitating for a moment, Menes pulled up his sleeve. A very familiar symbol had been tattooed on his wrist. 'That wasn't very difficult, "Adam Pierson." Not difficult at all.'
