"I never told him." Methos uttered, after having narrated the story of Helena's death.
Darla, Methos and MacLeod were driving towards the same golf club. Ramirez had to be stopped. If he had used mortals to kill immortals, what would be next? Joe had left them. The Watchers would not interfere. There were no renegades left, and what immortals did only concerned immortals. They were just there to watch and record.
The Spaniard was standing idly against a statue, having a smoke. "I had the feeling you would come... who shall begin?" MacLeod produced his weapon. So did Darla. Methos stepped back, and leant against the car bonnet.
MacLeod attacked first, eager for a rematch. Ramirez defended himself well. The Highlander was good at what he did, but the Spaniard was better. That was evident. It was not long before he brought MacLeod to his knees. Ramirez put up his sword to finish it, but Darla blocked the deathblow, and kicked away the Spaniard, standing between him and the Scot.
"You won't be able to defeat him. You should have let me die." MacLeod gasped. He was indeed right.
"I might have a shot if..." She said. Someone else was around. They could all feel it.
"If...?" That was MacLeod's last word. Darla sliced off his head neatly, and caught a glimpse of the just arrived before the Quickening blasted her insides. Her heart pumped blood unfathomably fast. Energy streamed through her in and out. She flew up into the air. With the power circulating through her veins, she fell to the ground, and felt a blade on her neck.
"Very impressive, young lady, but not impressive enough." Ramirez said. "Oh, look who's here." She looked up. Victor was standing by Methos, wielding his sword. He had shaved, and was wearing leather trousers and a white tee shirt.
"We have an unfinished business." He said. Darla saw in his eyes a certain spark she had not seen in a long time. "Let the girl go." Ramirez withdrew his blade. She stood up, and went towards the car. She passed by Victor, and exchanged a quick look with him. Determination, bitterness, and rage were the things she saw in his eyes. Then she leant on the bonnet next to Methos.
"He's so dead..." she muttered, with a tiny smile of certainty in her face. However, she was now regretting having beheaded MacLeod.
"All because of you..." Methos said.
Ahead of them, Ramirez and Victor, after a ceremonious reverence by the former, started their battle. Each blow was tremendous. Ramirez had finally found his match, and more. The Spaniard contained the attacks as he could, but he was being overpowered. Kurgan was relentless, and was slowly defeating the other. Ramirez tried to cut his opponent's chest, but ended up with his armed arm maimed. He held the stump as blood gushed out of it. Kurgan laughed viciously.
"THERE CAN BE ONLY ONE!" Kurgan bellowed before beheading the Spaniard.
Darla was wondering. What would it be like now? Would they wander the world as teacher and apprentice, and she would learn more about him? Would they become something else? Would they chat a while and then part, to meet again who-knows-when? Either way, she would have the chance to do what she had longed for a while: apologise, and express her feelings for him. Perhaps he would do the same. Or so she thought. A sharp pain in her back made her fall to her knees. "Sorry." Methos uttered. She fell dead to the ground, and saw blurry flashes of the Quickening before fainting...
-----
Darla woke up in her apartment. Only the cut in the shirt remained of Methos' stab. She hurriedly left the apartment and headed to the bar where she had met Joe. He would surely know where Victor was. It was closed. Ramirez was dead. Watchers mustn't get involved with immortals. So why in hell would he be there for her? In sadness, she returned home and went to the kitchen for coffee. There was something over the table. A black briefcase, and over it a golden relic with a chain. She gasped as she grabbed it. There was an H stained in it. She opened it. The picture of a brown-haired woman appeared. Helena. She resembled Darla very much. She might have looked like her now, if she had not been immortal. She opened the briefcase. Victor's custom-made sword appeared before her, divided in three parts that could easily be put together. Something cracked inside of her. "Son of a b----", she whispered, overcome by emotion and bursting into tears like she had not done in a long time. ---------