Disclaimer: I own no one and nothing

At least not in the literary field

Someday, n'challa

Chapter Two

Saitou and Kenshin regained their feet with impressive speed considering the circumstances. That they didn't trip over each other as they did so was just another indication of their skill. Well, that and how long they had known each other. Two pairs of eyes focused first on the figure in front of them, and then on each other. Why weren't they dead?

Unconsciously, Kenshin's off hand (the one not holding a sword) brushed over a rip in his clothing. Carefully probing the flesh beneath. There was no wound. There should have been a wound. He remembered the explosion, an impact, and then . . .

Nothing. He couldn't remember anything further. Everything had gone black. The redhead searched his mind somewhat frantically, but it didn't help. All he found was darkness. Something he should be worried about, all the ex-assassin's instincts screamed at him.

His companion held similar thoughts. Especially as unlike the former hitokiri, he had not been killed instantly. Saitou had lasted a whole twenty seconds before succumbing to his wounds. And he knew he hadn't imagined that. The evidence still lay on the ground below them, written in crimson.

"Who are you?" the wolf growled at the stranger. "What have you done to us?" His gripe on his blade did not tighten. He was too experienced for that. Saitou remained in a perfect position to either defend or attack, depending on what happened next.

"A logical conclusion I suppose," Methos said. Blowing a stray bit of sweat soaked hair out of his eyes before placing his hands on his pockets and slouching slightly. An action purposely designed to make him look less threatening. Neither of the war veterans were fooled. "But I am afraid you did it to yourselves."

The pair shared another look. Now what the heck did that mean?

"Congratulations," the ancient continued dryly. "And welcome to immortality."

There was a long silence. Then Saitou snorted. "So we're immortal are we." His voice wasn't truly disbelieving, in spite of the vibe he was trying to give out. But he wasn't ready to just accept the other at his word either. "And I suppose you are as well."

"Of course," Methos replied nonchalantly. Carefully, as not to alarm his audience, the brunette pulled one of his many concealed knives. Pulling the blade deeply, but not too deeply, across his palm.

In his long life, the ancient had known more than one immortal who went with the knife through the heart routine. Not him though, dramatic death scenes had never been his style. At least not ones with him in the staring role. For starters, it fucking hurt.

Methos held out the limb for their inspection. It had already begun to heal, the power of his quickening dancing across the small wound. A moment later it was gone entirely. There wasn't even a scar. "Satisfied?" he asked, wiping away the remnants of blood on the dark inner lining of his overcoat.

Another silence, this one longer than the previous ensued. The newly immortal pair lightly slicing the tip of one finger each. The result was predictable. The wounds vanishing nearly as quickly as they had been inflicted.

Slowly, Kenshin flexed the digit. A wound that would have normally taken days to heal had done so in seconds. There wasn't even any residue pain. A pair of violet eyes came up, locking on the stranger. "So what's the catch?" His soft voice was slightly husky. Those who knew the ex-hitokiri well would have heard the unspoken warning in the tone. Saitou certainly did, but he said nothing. After all, this was their lives. He wanted to know the catch too.

Slowly, Methos smiled. "Smart," he commented. Just his kind of people. Perhaps, he considered, this wouldn't be such a chore after all.

Kenshin said nothing, merely shrugging in response. Everything had a catch, and life was rarely fair. That was a lesson he had learned long before he had earned the name Battousai. If it was, he would probably be a farmer now.

"You are only immortal," the older man informed them. "As long as you keep your head."

"I assume you are speaking literally," Saitou said calmly. Quite calmly really. But then, there had been more than one person over the years who had sought to place his head on a pike. In fact, he had only just escaped that fate at the end of the revolution. There had been many in the new government who had felt he was too dangerous to live. It was hardly a new concept for him. Nor Battousai.

"Why?" It was Kenshin who spoke next. He didn't bother to elaborate which why he meant. It was fairly obvious.

"Several reasons," Methos answered. Formally acknowledging the pair, if only in his own mind, as his students. "The first being power."

If he could have, he would have probably foisted at least one of them off on someone else. But Methos hadn't been to Japan in nearly half a millennia. He knew of no one in the country to whom he was willing to entrust a fledgling immortal. Heck, he didn't know anyone in the general area period.

No one could truly understand a Quickening without experiencing it for themselves. The unique mix of pain and pleasure proved an irresistible temptation for some immortals. They got addicted. Fortunately for him, that was one affliction Methos had never suffered from. Any benefits a quickening bestowed just weren't worth the risks, at least in his opinion.

The brunette was a skilled fighter. Far more skilled than he usually let on, even to his friends. But that didn't mean he liked it. Even as Death he had avoided battles that could have lead to a less than temporary demise. Which, now that he thought about it, was probably one of the reasons he had survived to be an ancient.

"And the other reason?"

A sneer crossed Methos' face. "The Game." As long as Immortals continued to be born, created, whatever; there would never be Only One. The world was a big place. If their population ever did take such a dangerous dip, a group of a hundred or so could probably wander millennia without encountering each other.

Oh sure, every few centuries some young buck would claim it was the time of the Gathering. Such things always passed though. In time. Besides which, Methos would never admit it to anyone, but he could remember a time when there The Game did not exist.

Usually the ancient wasn't nearly so free with his personal opinion of the closest thing the Immortal race had to a religion. Not that most of them saw it that way. But Methos had a good feeling about these two. They were taking their entrance into the world of immortality very well. Of course, it was possible the pair was just in shock, but he didn't think so.

"You are very lucky you know," Methos told them. Lucky that no one had seen their bodies. "Most new Immortals don't have the luxury of arranging things before they have to disappear."

Kenshin balked. "What do you mean disappear?"

"Well you can't stay here," Methos said reasonably. Not for long anyway. "Sooner or later, someone is going to notice you're not aging."

The redhead's expression went mulish, his eyes creeping towards a steely blue. "That is for the general public," he said in Battousai's voice. "Not my friends."

"Surly you aren't planning on telling them the truth?" the ancient chocked. This was one complication he hadn't seen coming. Studying the younger's expression, Methos came to the conclusion that yes the other was. "They won't accept you," he warned. "A demon, that is what they'll call you." And if words were all that were flung, he would count them all lucky.

Kenshin merely shrugged, turning to start down the path that lead back to Tokyo. If they did, well it would hardly be the first time now would it.

SSSSSSSSSS

Well, someone is going to be in for a surprise

And I doubt it will be Kenshin

But to find out for sure, please tune in next time

For Speak Softly: Chapter Three