9 PM. Darla was heading to church for the nth rematch. She felt the usual buzz when she entered, but it was double. Another immortal was with Darius. She put her hand on the hilt of her sword as she entered. Three people were arguing near the altar. Darius, Methos and a man in his early fifties, holding a cane and stuffed in a very warm coat. Darla grinned as she approached, noticed by the two immortals.
"Dawson." She muttered.
"Hey." Joe Dawson answered without any friendliness.
"What's up?"
"Let's go inside." Darius suggested.
They went to a large room in the first floor and sat around a small wooden table.
"What's so important for a Watcher to get involved with immortals?" Darla queried. "Another immortal is using you to take heads?."
"The smart Sister of Death has spoken." Dawson mocked. There was not a good atmosphere, and they evidently did not like each other.
"Once people called me Death." Methos tried to relieve the tension. Both Dawson and Darla stared him down. He raised his eyebrows and went quiet.
"I'm here because our rules have been broken. One of us has made contact with an immortal. And this time, there's no justification for it."
"What immortal is so desirable to make his Watcher try and make contact?" Darla asked, giving hardly any relevance to the matter.
"Her... you, Darla." Methos spoke now.
She blinked. Pieces fit in the puzzle she had never noticed. Methos was not looking strangely at Christophe because he was a pre-immortal. He knew him. She shook her head and breathed out slowly.
"Why he'd do that?"
"You're not very smart, girl. Look at yourself." Dawson uttered. "A beautiful young-looking immortal who is the only known apprentice of the Kurgan... I knew I should have assigned someone else. He admires your master and knows all about him." He shook his head. "My mistake."
She felt cheated, stupidly deceived.
"You know that he...?"
"He doesn't." Darius spoke.
"Know what?" Joe asked.
"He is immortal... or will be one." Darla replied.
"That's a problem."
Footsteps were heard in the main floor. The structure of the church made every noise echo everywhere in it, even in the smallest crannies and nooks. Someone called out. Darius went downstairs and returned after a while. He handed an envelope to Darla. She opened it. "200 KM N PARIS. ALONE. MIDNIGHT. I HAVE HIM."
"What is it?" Joe asked.
"Gabriela has Christophe. He wants me in this location by midnight."
"Gabriela María Cuadra Saavedra?" Joe asked.
"Yes."
"You and her were... " He grinned sardonically "Close friends. She must have learnt of MacLeod."
"I'll take you there." Methos offered.
"No, thanks." She replied angrily.
"I'll take you." He repeated.
"Fine, but I'll go in the backseat. I'll avoid surprises that way."
"OK."
They left. Joe looked awkwardly at Darius, knowing himself out of place. The priest patted his shoulder amicably.
"Do you play chess, Joe?"
"Sure. Why not?"
-----
Midnight came and Darla and Methos were still on the road. She was looking through the window as Methos drove. There was a total quiescence of sounds.
"Will you fight her?" Methos broke the silence.
"If I have to die so that he lives, I will."
"I won't let you do that."
"I'm a grown girl, Methos. I can decide for myself."
He grinned. "I promised Victor I'd watch your ass."
"You liked what you watched? It's small but firm." The comment made him chuckle briefly before he went serious.
"I mean it. Let me handle her."
"Victor is dead, Methos. You don't have to keep your promise."
Methos was on the verge of saying something but kept quiet. He slowed down and the car lights illuminated the speed limit sign, which was covered by a long coat. He pulled over and they got off the car, swords in hand. They received a single strong buzz. A field of grown grass was ahead of them.
"Do you sense him, Methos?" she asked worriedly.
"No."
"Gabriela!" Darla called out. "I'm here."
No reply. She tried again. They entered the grass. There was a hole in the middle of the field, where there was no grass. There was a scarecrow in the centre of the hole. They moved towards it, and heard low gasps.
"Christophe!" she called. A sad moan replied. Almost at the clear spot, she noticed his hair and face, lying underneath the scarecrow. His mouth was open and he was struggling to breathe. Gabriela probably was somewhere around probably. She entered the clear field and shrieked. Methos saw the image and took her in his arms, shielding her from the view.
Christophe lay engulfed in blood. His legs had been severed off. So had his arms. They had been tossed away nearby. Rats were already nibbling them. A hideous smell of rotten flesh pervaded her nostrils and she went away to vomit over the grass. Methos did not seem affected. Darla wiped her mouth and squatted beside her friend.
"What has she...?" she said barely able to produce words.
"Darla... I'm... immortal?" he mumbled. Pain poured out through every syllable.
"Yes..." she replied, tears rolling down her cheeks.
"I'm... sorry I... didn't... tell you... who I... was."
"It doesn't matter."
She caught a glimpse of the moonlight reflected in something near her. She looked up. Methos had his sword ready. She knew what it was for. She stood up, her blade in position.
"You will not do it, Methos."
She attacked. Methos opposed his blade to hers. He pushed her slowly downward and punched her in the face. She fell but stood up immediately. She lunged again, trying to slice his throat. He ducked and slashed her stomach. As she gasped and fell, he kicked her blade away. The wound healed quickly enough for her to stand up and jump over him before he beheaded the maimed man.
"Darla, stop it!" he yelled pushing her away. She ended up amid him and Christophe.
"You won't take his head, you bastard!"
"Then you take it!" Methos spat up as he dropped his guard. "What's the point of letting he live like that?" He turned and began to walk towards the car.
"He's... right..." Christophe mumbled. "Do it... please." Darla grasped her weapon, knowing it was the only way. It had to be done. She knelt and moved the large broadsword over her head.
"Adieu... mon amour." He mumbled. Always a romantic, even in the end. She closed her eyes and slammed her sword hard against the floor, taking Christophe's head in the way.