Chapter Twenty-Five
Niebos, later that night:

"You're certain about this," Eleanor asked Greg Powers thoughtfully. She looked at the readouts on Kenny for the past few weeks since they'd arrived at the island. All of the sudden peaks on his chart had been noted in red ink and the times written in. Had Marianna been there each time?

Eleanor turned to Denara. "Tell me when you took Marianna to the hospital."

Denara shrugged. "I know it's important… but sometimes we just stopped by to see you or Grace."

"And did you leave her alone in the ward on other times besides today?"

Denara thought carefully. Finally she nodded. "I didn't think she needed to be running around the hospital with me. I figured her being in the ward where there were attendants was safer."

"It was," Eleanor assured her. "And perhaps it has given us an idea."

"Then I'm not in trouble?"

"No." Eleanor smiled at her. "I only wish I'd known about this sooner. I truly appreciate all you are doing in keeping her occupied for a time each day. You are a big help."

Denara folded her hands and crossed her feet as she sat in the big chair. She was such a tiny thing and yet certainly not a child. She was the perfect baby-sitter for Marianna, as she appeared to be the same age. She could keep Marianna occupied for a few hours, even if it meant she had to pretend to be the one thing she wasn't… a little girl.

Eleanor dismissed her as she, Grace, Phillip, John, and Greg considered their next step with Kenny.

"If Marianna can reach him… then we owe it to him to help him out of this well she says he's in," Greg proclaimed after Denara had closed the door behind her.

"Kenny is and always will be a menace to us," Phillip reminded them. "He cannot be trusted."

"He's a child," Grace insisted.

"He's not a child. But he is our responsibility," John added.

Eleanor stared at the readouts. "If this works with him, maybe we'll have an idea about how to rouse the others."

"Kenny is like Carl. The holder of his quickening lives."

"But we might still get an idea on how to reach the others. They don't deserve to be left as they are. We should keep the machines on him and carefully record everything."

"It's dangerous for him to see Marianna," Phillip protested.

"Why?" Eleanor replied. "As far as he'll know, she's just a pre-immortal child."

"He shouldn't see Grace," John murmured softly.

"I agree," added Greg.

"On that I think we're all agreed. He'll likely see her in time, though." Eleanor met their gaze evenly. She felt very unsure of herself and did not really like being in charge of the situation. Yet they were all looking to her to have the answers. She supposed that Methos and MacLeod often felt this way. Usually everyone looked to them for answers. She knew she did. But they were busy elsewhere. Eleanor sighed and offered a thin smile. "Let's work out a plan for everything we can think of that might happen," she suggested.

Phillip chortled, "Realizing that no matter what we come up with… something unforeseen will happen."

Greg groaned. "But we have to reach him… or at least try to."

"Then let's figure out what we can. After all… one of us can always kill him after he awakens if he threatens any of us," Eleanor shrugged.

Phillip guffawed. "Right you are. At any rate… we should consider our next steps carefully and not rush into anything." With a somber air, the five immortals began discussing how to handle an awakened Kenny… provided they could awaken him.

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Washington, DC:

Blearily, Sarah Manning became aware of voices buzzing about her… and more importantly… the presence of another immortal. With greater urgency, she began to climb her way back to full awareness, aware of a bitter taste in her mouth. She found that she could not freely move. Her hands were currently shackled above her head to bedposts. One ankle was likewise shackled to another bedpost so that she was more or less spread-eagled on a flat surface. Urgently she began to thrash.

"There… there… sweetheart," she heard Daryl Miller say. He sat beside her on the bed and ran a hand over her partially bare breasts, stopping to tweak one with his fingers. "It's all right. You're fine."

"Let me go you asshole!" she screamed as she continued to struggle.

"Hey… hey… hey… darlin'," Miller continued. He ran one hand up under her top. She could feel his cold hand on her skin. "It's all right. No one is gonna ask you to do anything you don't normally do. Besides," he grinned, "We're gonna make you immortal."

Something in the way he said it made Sarah freeze. Maybe he didn't know. Still… she was manacled to a bed and not exactly in fighting form for whoever was out there. She licked her lips. "What do you mean… make me immortal?"

Miller chuckled. "I told my people you'd play along." He gestured behind him with his free hand, the other still massaging her breast. She could see a bead of sweat trickle down one side of his face. She looked where he pointed and saw a camera and a handful of scruffily dressed people.

"I don't understand," she smiled at Miller with a calm that she did not feel.

"We want to film you in action. I'm always on the lookout for good talent… and baby… you got it in spades."

Sarah tried to pinpoint the immortal. But either he wasn't one of the ones she saw, or he was a very good actor. "You want them to film us having sex?"

Miller laughed, withdrawing his hand from beneath her shirt and slapping the bare skin of her thigh. "Not me… babycakes. I'm in sales. I told you that. No… someone else."

Seeing motion at the edge of her vision, Sarah turned her head to see a muscle-bound man being oiled by another. He had on a mask and some sort of metal-studded and leather costume that managed to cover nothing. Sarah drew in a sharp breath. But as the man moved, stretching and limbering up, joking in some sort of guttural and accent-laden English… she knew he wasn't the immortal. His presence was steady and unmoving. Perhaps he was in the shadows somewhere… out of the light.

"Not him," Sarah said as she shifted her hips provocatively. She licked her lips and smiled at Miller.

"Sorry," he said with real regret. She could tell he was aroused. "I don't perform on film. Maybe later… after the film is done. Now be a good girl and follow directions. The sooner we're done… the sooner you're free to go."

Sarah didn't believe him. And still the unseen immortal teased her senses with his presence. She began to struggle once more… attempting to break free.

"Really darlin'," Miller said, "there's nothing to be afraid of." He motioned for the actor to take his place as he backed away from the bed and out of the light.

Sarah thought frantically as the oiled actor lowered himself onto the bed, carefully posing to best show off his physique. He leaned over her and began to fondle her. She waited until he moved his face over hers and tried to kiss her. At first she kissed him back, as if she eagerly awaited him. She sucked at his mouth and shifted her hips until he darted his tongue into her mouth… nearly choking her, so massive was it. She was barely aware of the man behind the camera yelling instructions. Evidently sound would be added later. She could feel the actor's hands reach under her clothes and begin to rip them slowly off of her. Then she bit down as hard as she could keeping her teeth clenched as the actor flailed up and down, desperately trying to free himself. Blood filled her mouth.

He let out a strangled cry as he tried to leverage himself free. Sarah bit harder. Then she felt a prick on her arm and a warm, burning sensation begin to fill her veins. Above the actor's screaming she thought she could hear voices buzzing in the distance. Gradually she relaxed her bite and he pulled free. The lights above her seemed to whirl with abandon… then darkness claimed her. And still the ominous presence of the unseen immortal had not moved.

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She could still taste the blood. Groggily Sarah licked her lips and swallowed. Her throat was dry and she ached. The room was a dark, but she could smell cigar smoke, and she could still sense the immortal.

"I know you're there," she spat bitterly. "This isn't a fair challenge." Her eyes grew accustomed to the darkness. She saw the faint glow of the cigar as the immortal drew on it, and then smelled the smoke he breathed out.

"Well get it over with," Sarah finally said after some moments. "But not this… I am not going to perform for you."

The immortal chuckled and his shadowy form shifted as if he'd un-crossed his legs… and then re-crossed them. "I rather think you will," a thin voice finally said from the darkness. "Perform in the film as asked… and I will free you afterwards."

"What makes you think I'll trust you?"

"Oh… you can't. But if you refuse… I'll kill you now. No one is here. But it's such a shame. Miller couldn't stop talking about you. Imagine my surprise when he brought you in that you were immortal."

"You aren't hunting?" Sarah felt like if she could keep him talking, maybe she could get some insight into him and what he wanted.

"Not at the moment," he replied smoothly. "As I say… you were a surprise. What were you… a prostitute at one time?"

Sarah looked away.

"Ah. Killed by a lover some long ago night."

She felt her face burn and pulled the wriest shackles angrily.

"Yes. Training and blood tells it all. I'd say you've put on a brave face and become a self-assured businesswoman. But with a secret vice. You still like having men… only you have them and leave them begging for more."

Sarah screamed and tried once more to free herself.

"I'll bet you've never really loved a man. So no one will miss you once you're dead."

"You're wrong. Ben will find me."

"And who is this Ben?"

Sarah slowed her breathing wondering what to tell this guy. Certainly not the truth. Maybe just a shade of truth. "My teacher… Ben Adams." In a way, she could say that. Ben was the first immortal she ever met that she knew of. That she had still been pre-immortal at the time and that he hadn't deigned to teach her were little white lies.

The immortal drew in a quick breath and held it.

Sarah thought furiously. What had she said? Something had broken through that icy exterior.

The glowing end of the cigar brightened as he took another puff, and then lowered it, evidently tapping the cigar on something to remove the excess ash. "So you know Benjamin Adams. And how is the good doctor?"

Doctor? Ben was a doctor in some previous life? Sarah realized she was playing a dangerous game with this immortal. Besides… she didn't want Ben dead so much as in her life and in her bed. "He's fine. When I see him, I'll let him know what a kind host you were."

The immortal chuckled for several moments. "Ah yes. You seem to have the good doctor's rapier wit and gift for sarcasm. Relax. It's not him I want. But he has a friend… a burly fellow. Goes by the name of Gerard sometimes."

Sarah wracked her brain for an immortal who might have visited the club in San Francisco with Ben. She couldn't recall him with anyone. She shrugged. "I don't think I know him," she said smoothly. That was better than trying to lie about someone she'd never met. "But then Ben and I aren't always together. We lead separate lives. It's not wise for immortals to have long relationships when any argument can result in a loss of… life."

Staring confidently at the shadowy figure she tried to appear bored. "What name shall I give him? He'll want to know who you are."

The immortal laughed and then laid his cigar aside. He rose and leaned over her, turning on a small lamp. She noted his dark hair, cut short and neatly trimmed. About his full mouth was a dark goatee. His gray silk shirt was stylish and expensive. "My name is Martin Kingsley. At least… that was the name I knew Adams and Gerard by once upon a time.

Sarah shook her head. "Never heard of you. You must not have made an impression." She pulled at her shackles and glanced at them and then at him. "Are these really necessary?"

"Afraid so, my dear. Now get some rest. You'll have a full day of filming tomorrow… and if you expect to keep your head… there will be no more little stunts like today. Time is money. Perform as directed… and I'll see to it you go free. Besides," his smile widened. "You being immortal has given me an idea on how to make this film a real killer project." He turned out the light.

Sarah sobered and pulled again at the shackles.

His lips were suddenly next to her ear. "Death can be so painful… even if it's not permanent." He kissed her ear, then straightened and left still laughing.

She could see light as he opened the door and then the darkness descended once more. She was alone… and she needed to find a way to free herself. "Remind me to be more careful about whom I pick to play with next time," she said softly to herself through gritted teeth. Ben's name had given Kingsley ideas. But if he thought she'd help him locate Ben to kill… he had another thing coming. She re-doubled her efforts to no avail.

Eventually exhausted, Sarah Manning slept fitfully.

Chateau de Valicourt, early morning:

Methos rubbed hands over his face. He'd been up all night and nothing he'd said had made one whit of difference. He'd spent time with both Gina and Robert. Neither was ready to listen to what he had to say. Gina tried coming on to him… and Robert threatened to skin him alive if he so much as touched Gina. They'd yell sweet nothings back and forth until one or the other of them thought of some little peccadillo they other had and it started again. No wonder Amanda was exhausted.

Methos had sent her to bed soon after he'd arrived. He hoped she'd gotten some sleep… although he doubted how anyone could in this madhouse. Once again he silently cursed MacLeod. This whole community of immortals was his idea. All Methos wanted was to live quietly with Eleanor for the time being and raise their children… preferably someplace out of the way and safe. But no… he'd agreed to help MacLeod with his little project. He'd agreed to come out of hiding and to meet with selected immortals along with Duncan and support him in this crusade of his to end the game.

Part of him knew this was the right thing to do. He didn't want his children growing up only to inherit the same game that had haunted their forebears' lives. He wanted them to live in a peaceful world. But dammit! These were MacLeod's friends… not his. Gina had even tried to kill him once upon a time. They still didn't really know who he truly was. He was still Adam Pierson… MacLeod's friend.

Rising, Methos padded out of the bedroom where Robert was confined, locked the door, taking the key with him, and descended the stairs in search of the kitchen, and coffee. Entering the kitchen, he was startled by Amanda's presence. "I thought you were upstairs sleeping," he said relaxing the sudden grip on the hilt of his sword.

Amanda shrugged. She was seated on a high stool at a counter, her long legs crossed as she gripped a large mug of evidently cold coffee. Her red silk kimono set off her dark hair perfectly. She arranged it over her legs with a rueful smile. "I made coffee."

Heading toward the coffee maker, Methos poured a cup and lifted it to his lips. He nearly spit it out. It was strong and quite bitter. He smiled and saluted her. "Good coffee!"

Privately he wondered how much of the vile concoction he'd have to drink. He settled onto the stool on the opposite side of the bar. "So why couldn't you sleep?"

Amanda sighed. "Just thoughts."

"About?" He tried sipping it again, feeling the gritty stuff on his teeth and tongue.

"Duncan. I've left half a dozen messages asking him to call me. He needs to know what is happening here."

Methos nodded his agreement. "So what's so important that he's not here?"

Amanda leaned onto the bar, idly turning the cup in her hands. "He wants children," she finally said. "And I don't think I can do that. I like my life too much as it is to consider it."

Methos nodded in understanding. The children had changed everything. Giving up a part of his quickening to create them had been unsettling… but once done, he couldn't imagine not doing it. If only it were safer. There was still so much that they did not yet know about the process. And while Eleanor seemed fine, he worried what carrying the children did to her. "We should know more about the process once Grace's child is born," he said with a shrug. After all, Grace had not, like Eleanor, gone through a pregnancy in hours and given birth to some harbinger of another time as he sometimes thought of Alisaunne. Never having known her as a child, he still felt odd about thinking of her as his child… his and Eleanor's. Grace's strength would be much greater.

He sipped the bitter coffee absently, thinking of the thin lines around Eleanor's mouth and the dark circles about her eyes that he'd sometimes seen during her pregnancies. Too often, when she hadn't been aware, he'd watched her stumble or lean against something wearily. She'd never had a great deal of immortal strength, and he worried that what she did have had been used in carrying and bearing the children.

"You seem awfully thoughtful this morning yourself," Amanda said with a grin.

Methos shrugged. "Just thinking that Duncan's a damned fool for leaving you."

Amanda rose and leaned over to kiss his cheek. "And despite your attempts at dispassionate humor… you really do care about all of us."

Methos gave her a mock look of surprise. "Care? Why I don't know what you mean. My motivations are purely selfish."

"Of course they are," Amanda laughed. "Even Rebecca once told me that you hide behind that false face of weary detachment, was the way I think she put it. She said that inside you is a little boy desperate for approval and love."

"Rebecca was a romantic."

"I know," Amanda laughed. She gave him a little wave and left still laughing lightly.

After she left… Methos made certain that she was gone and then dumped the coffee she'd made into the sink and the grounds into the trash. He carefully washed the carafe and the cups and wiped down the coffeemaker inside and out before making a new batch. While it brewed he thought about Rebecca… or Xanthia, as he'd first known her over two thousand years ago. He saw her in his mind's eye as he'd seen her that first day. He'd been in the agora of Athens when he'd sensed her, and had turned slightly to see her walk through the crowd… the sunlight gleaming off of her red-gold hair. Many of those present had bowed slightly and moved aside for her. She'd been a rare beauty… Xanthia of the red-gold hair… amongst all those dark-haired Greeks. Tall and slim she'd been. She'd met his gaze with curiosity, wondering if he were a threat to her. He'd smiled and lowered his head to show that he wasn't. Later, he'd accompanied Socrates to her home. Xanthia… a womanwhose home was the scene for political and philosophical discussions of all kinds. Artists of all disciplines had likewise been in attendance.

"Are you hunting?" she'd asked him quietly in a private moment.

"Only for knowledge," he'd replied truthfully. It had been the beginning of a long friendship. She'd never known who he truly was, however. The name Methos was one he'd buried in the sands of time until he'd told Eleanor over a century ago… and it had remained a secret from all others until Duncan MacLeod had shown up on his doorstep that day nearly thirty years ago. He'd wanted to remain hidden from Kronos and the others. He could do so only by burying his past. It had almost worked. He sighed. Rebecca's loss was one that still stung.

The coffee finished brewing. Methos poured a cup and returned to his seat at the counter. He still needed to figure out how best to deal with the feuding de Valicourts. His musings on both current and old loves notwithstanding, he had plans to make.

A shadow crossed the bar. Glancing at the back door, he noted Madeline LeSeur with her face and hands pressed against the panes, looking for all the world like a lost waif. Methos snorted. Waif indeed! He rose and opened the door to admit her.

"Am I back in?" she asked eagerly.

"No… but I thought you could use some coffee." He poured her a cup and handed it to her, then watched with amusement while she ruined it with lots of cream and several tablespoons of sugar.

"So what happens next?" Madeline said as she settled onto Amanda's vacated stool and leaned over the counter, the cup in her hands.

Methos eyed the way her movements managed to pop the top button of her silk blouse so that her ample cleavage practically spilled out, and sighed. If he had thought it had been a long night, he now knew it was likely going to be an even longer day.

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