Disclaimer: I don't own Highlander, thats the creator's joy. I am in LOVE with ALL things HIGHLANDER and have been since the day I was born. If you don't believe me, ask my 'rentals.
Chapter 2- Run for the Shadows.
Duncan and Methos' P.O.V.
Duncan watched Methos from the door. He was gliding his blade through the air, practicing his technique. It seemed to be a dance, he was slow with his movements, moving his feet with every changing motion. He was working his muscles as well as his sword. "Is there something you wanted, MacLeod?" Methos asked, not ceasing his dance. Duncan crossed into the practice area, removing his jacket and brandishing the manila folder that Iliana had given him. Duncan crossed his hands in front of him, holding the file. Methos saw the file and looked up to Duncan's face. "Whats that?" Duncan just stood there. Then it hit Methos. "You went to her, didn't you?" He stood up straight. Duncan tossed the file to him.
"I did." Duncan said, walking closer, just a step closer to Methos. "She gave me that. She's not a bad person, Methos." Duncan told him honestly.
Methos looked up from the file. "So, you talk to her once, knowing what she was, and that makes you an expert?" He questioned angrily.
"No. But I know good when I see it and she-"
"She's what? Good? She is not good. She has NEVER BEEN GOOD! You think you know? You KNOW nothing! She's cold, she's precise, she is manipulative and one day-one day, she is going to kill again. And then-then you will see that you were wrong! I know her, and sooner or later she's going to snap." Methos said. Duncan just glared at him. Why was he so blind? They both looked towards the door as the felt another Immortal approach.
"You know, for someone who claims to love her, you sure are blind when it comes to her." A familiar figure amerged from the darkened doorway. Amanda, her hair plantinum blond again, she walked through the door, hands in pockets, looking at the two men on the floor.
"You're back?" Duncan asked. Amanda nodded and smiled.
"I got a phone call from an old, very old girlfriend. I believe you know her, Methos. About 5 foot 4, 110 pounds, long blonde hair, the eyes that brought down Rome, and the voice that melted a million hearts?" Methos just nodded. "Methos, if you can reform, if I can reform, why can't you trust that she can too?" Amanda asked looking him in the eye.
"You always tell me that you can't break the world up into good and evil, but with her thats what you do. You make her evil, so you can justify that you were the one that made her a killer." Duncan said.
Methos looked at him. "You're right, I'm the one that made her what she is. Its my fault that she kills without mercy, because we knew nothing of mercy. And I have to be the one to stop her." He said.
"She's not that woman anymore, Methos. She hasn't been for as long as I've known her." Amanda said.
"And how long have you known her?" Duncan asked looking at her, as though he was surprised that she kept her knowing Iliana of Devon from him.
"Lets see, I met her after I left Rebecca...so it was around 860 a.d...um, a little over 1100 years." Amanda calculated. Duncan looked at the two older Immortals.
"Well, I've known her alittle under 11 hours and I think that you two need to talk this out." Duncan said to Methos.
Flashback: c.860 a.d., France.
I wondered through the French country side, taking in the ever changing landscapes. Rebecca Horne, an old friend of mine, told me that her latest pupil was on her own and she wanted me to track her, make sure she was ok. I followed a path until it hit a stream. There had been a string of robberies throughout this area, and I knew that her pupil was a professional thief. Her tracks led towards the stream. I approached with caution, knowing she would sense me anyway. "Who-whose there?" The tentative voice asked. I stepped out of the shadows and met her face to face. "You-you're one of us, aren't you?" She asked.
"Yes, Amanda. I am. Rebecca sent me. I'm not here for your head." I told her honestly. She nodded. I walked around to her and sat beside the young Immortal by the bank. "She's worried about you, scared that you're not ready to face another one of us."
"She's not wrong. Whats are you called?" She questioned.
"Iliana, Iliana of Devon." I told her.
"Rebecca told me of an Iliana of Devon. You're an ancient, aren't you?" She asked.
"I don't think I'm old enough to be called an ancient. I don't know exactly how old I am." I answered. She looked at me.
"You're not French." She observed.
"No. Greek. I think I am anyway, its possible that I was born somewhere else, but I must've spent 1,000 years in Greece before coming over here. You're young. How old were you?" I questioned.
"30. How old were you?" She asked.
"I don't remember. Somewhere around 16, 17 maybe. No matter how old I get, I'll still be a child." I said.
"You were a child. I can't imagine how horrifying it was for you. Its been 10 years since I died and I still can't handle it." She said in awe.
"I never really thought about it before. I just thought it was the will of the Gods that I be this young for all eternity. Being what I am didn't become hard until I left England." I let her know. She looked at me curiously. "My past is not something you should know much about. In this life, we make mistakes, and many of them unforgiveable, and all of them for the wrong reasons. I was a horrible person, one of the worst, and I did it for love. He left me, so I left the country. And we'll leave it at that." I finished. Someone as young as her shouldn't know the horrors I've done or seen, it would break her. "Come, lets get you out of here, I'm not the only one tracking you." We got up and slowly ran through the briar along the swamp.
Present
"Captain Michaels, as I understand it, many of your men were on shore when the body was found?" I asked the Captain of the U.S.S. Seahawk, which was docked in at the time of Matt's murder. I wanted to see how many witnesses to the murder I could find, more information I got, the closer to tracking him down I was.
"They were. Why is Interpol interested in some random slash and hack? Shouldn't the local police be handling this?" He asked.
"The victim was one of our men. He was hunting down a known killer in Europe. I'll need a list of the men on shore and a place for interrogations by 4 o'clock, Captain." I said, looking at my watch, which was covering the tattoo on my wrist. He nodded and buzzed his First Mate, Commander Caver. He opened the hatch and we walked down to the wreck room, which he then had cleared. I had given him 20 minutes to get the list and start bringing in men. I set up the digital tape recorder that I had to give to my superiors once we brought in Kemp or Duncan kills him. He brought me the list and started bringing in the men that were on shore leave and that had come from the ship. I had them state name and rank for the record and then let them recount their stories of what they saw once reaching the shore. I had gone through all the men but one. Richard Powell, the only officer that was on the dock at the time of the murder. When I sent out the last enlisted man, I felt his Immortality before he even walked through the hatch. I stood and recongnized him from the Watcher's database, the only question remained, was it Greystoke; who had dropped out of existence after 1997, or Ryan; who was reported dead in 1997. 10 years later, the only way the two could be told appart was Greystoke was 500 years old and had a tattoo on his temple, the Japanese symbol for war. There would be no way to tell until the man removed his hat. I pressed record on the DTR. Powell looked at me, though standing at attention, his eyes were on me. "Lt. Commander Powell, I'm Elena Elden with Interpol. State your name for the record." I said.
In a clear, American voice, Powell said, "Lutienant Commander Richard William Powell, U.S.S. Seahawk."
"Please recount the events on September the 23rd leading up to your discovery of the body of Matthew Avery." I ordered. He recounted the advents the way only an Immortal could recount advents, our memories tended to be better than most. Unless you lived as long as Methos or me. But, his details were changed."Thank you, Commander." I hit stop. "Now, remove your hat and tell me your real name." I said.
He looked at me. "Its off the record." I said.
He removed his hat, no tattoo. "Richard Ryan. Richie." He said. "Now, your turn."
"I don't think that my name would mean anything to you." I removed my watch and brandished my wrist. "Did you know, Mr.Ryan, that you were reported dead by Watcher Joe Dawson in 1997, your body buried in Paris?" I said.
He nodded. "I know."
"Why don't you tell me what really happened the night you found Avery's body." I ordered.
"I sensed another one of us while I was on deck, checking the planes. I was walking off the ramp when I saw him behead the watcher. I didn't have a sword, so I shot him. He ran off. Towards the bad end of town, my old neighborhood. So, um, do you know Adam Pierson?" Ryan asked. I nodded. "So, I guess that means that you know MacLeod then." Again I nodded. "Would you mind not telling him-about me?" He asked. I shook my head.
"I'm sorry, no. As soon as we're through talking here, we're going to go to the Martial Arts studio and you're going to tell Duncan the truth. Dawson told me about the misery your death put him through, and I'm sorry, kid, but your Naval carrier is done."
"Who are you calling kid? I'm 32 years old." I stood up and put on my coat and gathered my papers and recorder.
"Compared to me, you are a kid. Go pack your bags, we'll write your resignation when we get to Duncan's. Go." He left and I went to the Captain's Quarters. I knocked.
"Enter." I went in.
"I concluded my interviews. Your Lutienant Commander Powell will be turning his resignation from the Navy by the time you dock out." I told him.
"Why?" He asked.
"Because, he was on a missing persons list I had and now that he's been found, I'm returning him to his family. Thank you for your time, Captain." With that I left. Richie Ryan met me on shore, his things packed. We walked in near silence, besides Richie's occaisional protests. When we reached the dojo, we walked up to the apartment, where we heard arguing. I listened at the door. "You're right, I'm the one that made her what she is. Its my fault that she kills without mercy, because we knew nothing of mercy. And I have to be the one to stop her." One voice said. Methos.
"She's not that woman anymore, Methos. She hasn't been for as long as I've known her." That was Amanda. I knew her voice well.
"And how long have you known her?" And that was Duncan. "Mac?" Richie said, sadness ebiging on his voice.
"Lets see, I met her after I left Rebecca...so it was around 860 a.d...um, a little over 1100 years." Amanda again. Wow, had we known eachother that long. "Who are they talking about?" Richie asked.
"Me." I said. He gave me a shocked look. "Well, I've known her alittle under 11 hours and I think that you two need to talk this out." Duncan again. Then there was silence and I knocked. I had sensed them before even reaching the door, but their arguements kept them from feeling us. I heard footsteps and a hand grasp the door. Richie put his hat back on.
"Elena, we were just talking about you." Duncan said. He opened the door wide enough for us to enter. "Whose your friend?" He asked, taking my coat.
"He's not my friend. But I believe he's yours." I told him. I nudged Richie and he removed his hat.
Flashback. 1707, Rome.
"Amanda, I'm going out. Do you want anything from the market?" I asked. Though going to the market was something that we would normally have a servant do, I enjoyed going on outings and went out on errands myself.
"No. I'm fine." I walked out into the cold Rome air. I wrapped my cloak around my bare shoulders. I went out among the peasants in the market. They were smiling, talking to those that they knew and I walked among them, knowing that they thought I was just another Noble who wouldn't spare them a dime. I dropped 3 coins so that they would find them. I bought some oranges and pears, for the cook. Cherries for my own liking. Then went out in search of a dress maker. I saw a vendor in an alley, set off from the others. "Excuse me, sir, do you know where to find the dress maker?" I asked in clear latin. He gave me a smile, his teeth barely there, grossing me slightly, but I remembered that he had not had the same opportunities as I did. Something told me to run from this situation, but I told myself that I was just frightening myself. He pulled out a blade, a small dagger. Before I knew what was happening, he grabbed my throat and crashed me against a stone building. He brought the knife up, smiling toothlessly as he did so. I put up a hand to keep him from stabbing me. I clasped his wrist and used all my strength to keep him off of me. My hand slipped and I clasped his hand just as the tip of the sharp silver touched the swell of my breasts. I shoved him off of me and tried to run, but he caught me. He tried to stab me again. But I caught the man's wrist and I tried to twist his wrist so he would let the knife go. He hadn't notice me twist his arm to where the blade was pointing at him and lunged. The dagger slide into him as easily as butter. I pulled the knife out of him and blood spilled onto my hands and the front of my dress. I sensed another Immortal draw near as this man fell to the cobblestone. I turned. "Iliana." The man said, in a strangely familiar voice.
"Methos?" I questioned. He walked towards me.
"You haven't changed." He said looking at the knife and blood.
"I have, this was a mis-" I stopped as he drew his sword. I pulled mine from its sheath on my belt. "I didn't kill this man, Methos." I told him honestly.
"The evidence is to the contrary." He lunged and I blocked his sword while side stepping out of the way. I threw down the bloody dagger and faced him. I wished with my whole heart that the man would trust me. Listen to me, at the most. He gave me a look of pure hatred before charging again. I sheathed my sword and stood there. His knife went through me, completely. I felt the steal and gasped. It had gone through corset and layers. I fell to my knees as he pulled it out. His eyes were mixed with sorrow and anger. Conflict.
"You've one." I said, painfully. I looked into his blue eyes. He drew back, and I prepared for the final blow. But he stopped. "Will you not finish it? You've broken my heart, and my spirit, you wish not to hear my pleas of innocence, take my head and be done if you loath me so." He just gave me a look of frustration and sheathed his sword. He turned and walked away from the alley.
Present
We were sitting at opposite ends of the floor. I was on a weight lifting bench, Methos on a mat. When I finished telling him what happened, he just looked at me. "You really didn't kill that man?" He asked. I shook my head. "What happened after that?"
"I left Rome. Went to Paris. I stayed at the monestary with Darius until the Great War, then I signed on as a Naval nurse for Britain. I've done that for every war since. Then, just before Vietnam, I joined the Watchers. I went by Veronica Kalis, then she was 'killed' in the war. I waited 20 years, and joined as Elena Elden. Methos, when you left the Horsemen, I realized why. I didn't know why I had been with them for so long until you left. Then I left too. I spent alot of time on Holy Ground, trying to make sure that Kronos didn't try to kill me." I told him. He looked at me.
"I have been blind." I looked at him. He didn't move from his spot. "I didn't know-I didn't want to. I've been trying to forget you for 2,000 years." I got up and looked at him.
"I didn't exactly give you any reason to trust me, did I? I'm sorry, for what I've done. I've been waiting for you to kill me, but I knew what that meant when you didn't. This last time, I thought for sure that you'd be able to. Yet, you still threw down your sword." I gave him a questioning look. He stood and walked around the floor, deep in thought. He looked out a window and looked far too serious. I watched him. He moved differently now. Not like he was Death on a Horse, but like he was just Methos. Just a man. Not a god. He wore an oatmeal colored sweater, with the sleeves pushed up his forearms. A pair of blue, Levi jeans and Nike trainers. His sweater sat on his waist, just above the belt line of his jeans. His hair was now cropped short, as is the fashion now, and not a shock of brown hair, matted and uneven. Of course, now, my long golden hair wasn't matted and dirty either and I was wearing actual clothes not an old potato sack. I watched him pace, thinking.
"I don't know what to think of this. I've believed one thing about you for so many centuries and to find out I've been wrong, so desperately wrong. I don't think I can trust you. And believe me, I want to, its just-"
"Hard. I know. I don't expect that this new revelation will bring us together. I don't expect anything from you. I just hope one day that you'll forgive me for what I was and what I did. Until that day, I hope we can atleast be friends." I looked at the clock. "I have to go. Talk to you later." I put my coat back on and walked out of the dojo and into the chilly Seacouver air. I walked towards downtown, keeping my hand on my folded sword. In 1985, I came across a technitian for the American CIA on advanced hidden weaponry. I had recently acquired a Katana, made by one of the few traditional samerai blacksmiths in Japan. This Katana was one of the most brillant to ever be made. I asked this technitian what he could do with it. I needed to find a way to keep my sword hidden, easily concealed from other Immortals or the Watchers. He took the katana and broke it in its two weakest spots and fit it with a lock system and hinges. Then he fashioned an arm sheath that, when a button that rests on the palm of the hand is pushed, rockets the folded sword out. You catch the sword, flick left to lock one fold; flick right lock the other fold. Once locked, you can only fold it back by manually releasing the locks, by running your thumb and fore finger over the lock and pressing. I rarely wore the sheath, since I hadn't gone into battle in so long, its unnecessary, so I carry it in my pocket. I walked the downtown streets, following tracks that led from the docks. I felt the presence of a younger Immortal, not the one of Kemp. I knew who it had to be. "Richie, why are you here?" I asked. I crutched down and picked up the dirt from the tracks and sniffed it. Oil, motor oil. On his shoes.
"Adam said that you left, I thought you might need help, I know these streets better than anyone." He said. I threw down the dirt and stood. Trying to look for the next track.
"Shouldn't you and Duncan be talking?" I asked, finding the tracks again and following them. He followed behind me. "We had our heart to heart. He screamed, yelled, and I wrote my letter of resignation. Now, I'm helping you." I looked at the building in front of me. "Why did you stop?" He asked.
I shushed him. We walked into the automachanics shop. This was where the tracks led to. Judging by the oil on his shoes, he was either working here, or lived in the apartment above. It was closed up tight. I looked at the padlock on one of the garage doors and pulled out a piece of plastic explosive I had in my purse. I also grabbed a small fuse from a bottle rocket that was lying by a dumpster. I pinched off a tiny amount of the explosive and put it on the padlock, around the bars. I pushed the fuse into it and grabbed a lighter I had in my purse as well and lit it. I grabbed Richie and we ran to the other side of the dumpster and I pushed his head down. The explosion wasn't loud, but was effective, bits of the lock were scattered across the empty alley. I grabbed Richie again and we walked to the door. I moved the clasp that used to be the lock, and, with Richie's help, we lifted the garage door. He wasn't home. We walked through to the office door and Richie kicked it open. I grabbed the lock to the upstairs and we unlocked the door. We walked up three flights of stairs, reaching a tiny apartment. Richie started going through paperwork on a living room table. I walked through to the one bedroom and opened a wardrobe. Swords of every kind lay in the wardrobe. I looked at the bottom board that appeared to be loose. I crutched down and shook it open. Inside were pictures. I looked at one, and took in a breath. It was Matt and I talking in London, three weeks ago in front of a small bookstore. I ran through the rest of the pictures. Some were of him, most of them were of me. I took the pictures and stuffed them into the folds of my coat. I felt an Immortal presence and looked out the window, he was back. I ran through the house to Richie. "Come on!" I whispered. He took out a pistol from a pocket in his jacket and shot a window. Then he grabbed my arm and we jumped through the window, landing hard on the pavement below. I felt several bones break, ribs. But we jumped up, limping, the both of us, and ran out of view. I knew he would think we were probably burgalers. I was the only known Immortal that could sense another one of us from that distance. When we'd reached a safe distance, we both passed out.
Flashback: 1659, Normandy.
"Dear, Iliana, you should really learn to use the fine art of writing. Come, I'll start your lessons once we return home." Rebecca said.
"But, Rebecca, I have no need to read or write. I've survived countless years without such devises, why learn now?" I questioned her. Rebecca dearly wanted me to be a scholar but what was the point of using such things? Writing had been around for nearly 3,000 years and I still found it useless. The presence of an Immortal approaching caused our conversation to hault. We looked out unto the woods. Two men came closer and closer to us. One of them with pipe in hand and the other, a handsome blond with striking eyes. The blond removed himself from his horse and looked at us both.
"Rebecca Horne, lovely as ever." He said, kissing her hand. He turned to me. "Who is this beauty?" He asked turning towards me, stretching out a hand. I raised mine to him and he clasped it, kissing the top of my hand. "Connor MacLeod, of the Clan MacLeod at your service." He spoke in a soft Scottish accent.
"Iliana of Devon." I said, breath taken away at the handsomeness of this man. He was absolutely charming.
We all sat around Rebecca's parlor, our drinks being served to us. The man with the pipe, I soon learned, was Hugh Fitzkaren. He was a flirt, but spoke of notions of romance, that seemed to draw in Rebecca's favors. He was handsome enough, but I couldn't help but be drawn towards the Highlander. His eyes never left me, even on the ride back to Rebecca's home. I stood for air, away from the smoke that rose from Fitz's pipe. I always considered pipe tobacco to have the most wretched smell. I walked through to the study and looked out of a bay window onto the vineyards. "May I join you?" A familiar voice said. I smiled to myself briefly before turning round to see MacLeod standing there.
"Certainly, Mr.MacLeod." I said politely. He came foreward slowly.
"Please, call me Connor. I must say, Iliana, you are a beauty. Legend says that you are, but it doesn't give you justice." He said.
"Legend? I didn't know that I was legend, nor that it said I was a beauty." I told him honestly. He stood beside me now, and I took in his intoxicating scent.
"You are. One of the oldest Immortals. Everyone has heard of you. Some believe that you are myth, like Adam and Eve." I smiled. "You're youthful appearance must help hide your age." He interpretted.
"Aye, it does. But to look so young can be a curse. I am never considered serious." He touched my cheek, caressing it gently. His face drew near.
"I would always consider you serious. You are a prize and to be in the presence of such a prize and not be greatful would be a sin." With that he brought his lips gently on mine. I was surprised at this action. I had not been kissed in centuries. But this was nothing like the kisses I had been given by Methos. This was a touch of tendor expression. Of longing. Not the kiss of fire fed passion. This was a different type of passion. And it was wonderfull. For the first time since my seperation from the Four Horseman, I felt a touch of loving affection. I wanted to feel more. Connor drew back and looked at me, into me, with that intense gaze. "I apologize for-" I cut it off by laying another tendor kiss on his lips.
"Never apologize to me for showing passion, Connor MacLeod. You'll find that I enjoy it." We kissed again.
Present
We woke in an alley. My bones were completely healed and Richie's too it seemed. We got up. Kemp was on my mind. The photo's stuffed into my jacket meant something bad. I just didn't know what. We had to get back to MacLeod. Richie and I used eachother to hold us up as we walked back out onto the downtown streets. Richie walked to a motorbike on the side walk. He threw a leg over and sat on the bike. "Get on." He said. I nodded and got on the back. I held on to him. We sped off towards the dojo.
"They should be back by now." I heard a voice saying as we reached Duncan's door. "I'm going-" The door opened and he stopped. Duncan had a coat in his hand and looked at us. I knew Richie looked bad, I must've looked worse, because Duncan rushed to me and wrapped my arm around his neck, practically carrying me through the door. Methos and Amanda looked at me. "What happened?" Duncan asked Richie as I sat down. Methos came around the couch and cupped my face in his hand. He looked at every cut. They were healed, but blood must've dried on my face. Richie told them what happened. Methos unbuttoned my coat. My broken bones and cuts were healed but bruises took longer. I was bruised all over. When he opened the coat, the pictures spilled out.
"What are these?" Methos asked picking them up.
"I found them, in Kemp's armoire." I told him, pain trickling along my jaw. Methos looked through them and then handed them to Duncan. "He was targeting us. Me and Matthew. He must've thought that Matthew was the Immortal." I said.
"Well, now he knows its you. Methos, watch her. Amanda, you and I are going to Iliana's hotel and grabbing her clothes. You're staying here." Duncan said.
"No. I can't-"
"He knows where your hotel is." Duncan said handing me two pictures. The first one was of me entering my hotel, the second was me looking out the window of my hotel room, the day Duncan came to visit. "Richie, get to bed." Richie nodded and laid down on the couch. Methos helped me up and we walked to the spare bedroom. He helped me remove my boots and sat them to the side. He went to a closet and grabbed a shirt. Methos had me lift my arms, and unbashingly, he removed my shirt and looked at the settle hues of brown, blue, and purple on my torso. He slipped the shirt on my head and I threaded my arms through. "Unbuckle your pants." He said. I did. He removed my pants carefully, revealing more welts and bruising. He drew back the covers on the bed and carefully he sat me down.
"You don't have to do this." I said.
"I need to do this. Why would you go off by yourself?" He asked, lifting my legs, careful to avoid a sore spot, but hit one anyway, I drew in a breath. "Sorry." He laid them gently on the bed. The satin sheats helped with the pain.
"I had to track him. And I had Richie with me." I said.
"A lot of good that did." He sat beside me.
"I have a job to do, Methos. I just don't understand why I'm so bruised, it was just a 3 story drop." I said.
"Landing on concrete hurts worse. Get some rest, you'll be healed up by morning." He made to leave.
"No. Stay. Please." I asked. He looked at me.
"I'm not sure-"
"Just lay here, for a while. Just until I fall asleep." Slowly he nodded and walked to the otherside of the bed. He removed his shoes and climbed under the soft covers. He held me against him.
"We'll be friends." He whispered against my hair. Sleep came easier that night than it had in a long, long time.
Attention: Ok. That was chapter 2. Remember, there is a plot line! So, sex comes later. Leave me reviews, give me suggestions and tell me what you want to see. I like hearing opinions. Tell me what you think. Review people! Well, as for my hp story The Triumvirate I don't know when I'll be updating, I have to figure out how to continue it now that there's no longer speculation on how book 7 ends and I need to know what people need out of it. So, read, review, and look for the next chapter!