VI - Words of wisdom

Plunged in grief, she returned to the car. Her eyes were red after shedding so many tears. Blood had stained her sweater. She was absent. Methos chose to be silent and begin the way back. It was not till they were almost back in Paris that she spoke.

"Thanks." She said simply.

"For what?"

"For letting me do it."

"He was your friend."

She grinned and shrugged. "This must be a karmic retribution. If I hadn't blamed you for Victor's death, I wouldn't have undergone all this..."

"The Game is one of tangled webs. Our actions bring about consequences we like and dislike. Each of us has at least another of us who cares. Every head you take entails someone else claiming your head."

"So when you took his head, you knew how I would react?"

"That's not the same." Methos uttered.

"May I ask why?"

She was not feeling anger against him anymore. Perhaps it was the proximity of Christophe's death that made all her feelings turn towards Gabriela. Or the fact that she had tried his sword and been thoroughly defeated. Whatever the reason, she doubted she would be able to behead him when, and if the opportunity came.

"We're back." Methos said, parking the car near the church.

-----

"He's a rather good player." Darius said.

Dawson looked down modestly. They had played three matches. Dawson had won the first one. Darius the second. The third one had been hard for Joe, but he had managed to put Darius into stalemate. Darla and Methos had returned when they were about to begin the fourth match.

"Where's Christophe?" Dawson asked.

Darla shook her head, went out in silence and sat dejectedly near the altar. Methos sat down beside them. He took the black king in his hand and examined it in silence.

"Did she take it well?" Darius asked.

"His extremities were maimed... she had to finish him."

"Oh Lord." Darius went out to comfort Darla. Dawson and Methos remained in the room. Joe glanced at Methos, who remained lost in the shapes of the king.

"Thinking of something?" he asked.

"Just of life. If we know all the answers, and whether we must withhold them when we do."

"She doesn't know...?" Dawson queried.

"No. You will tell us where Gabriela is."

"Isn't it enough with keeping your true identity in secret?"

"Let's make a deal: give us the data, and I'll add some information to the Chronicles of Methos... hundred years are fine?"

"Fair enough. Let me do a couple of calls. But you will still owe me one."

-----

An hour later, Darla was again in the second floor window, and again Methos joined her. She had taken off the bloodstained sweater, and was letting the cold freeze her by wearing only a thin long sleeved white shirt.

"You will catch a cold." He said kindly.

"It won't kill me." She replied in a whisper.

"Tell me. How long has it been since you last looked at the relic?"

Darla put her hand under the shirt and took out the golden relic she wore in her neck. She passed her finger over the H carved in it. Helena MacDonald. She was Victor's fiancée and he had witnessed her murder.

"A long time."

"You recall what happened when he found her assassin."

"How could I forget it?"

"Then you know what I'll tell you."

"I can't fight her, Methos."

"Is this The Sister of Death speaking?" he joked. She grinned. The nickname was not nice anymore for her.

"I... killed him... and I can still feel his pain."

"Christophe's?

"His, and all the other immortals whose heads I've taken."

"We all do. But it wasn't you who killed him. You just let him rest. She's gone insane, Darla."

"I wouldn't know where to start looking."

Methos handed her a paper where a full location was written. She stared at him in gratitude. He smirked and began his way out.

"I had to give away a couple of centuries of my past to the Watchers, but what the hell?"

He left the room and took the stairs. Darla called out.

"What's it like to feel him inside of you, Methos?"

Methos carried on his way downstairs, not having listened.