Immortal History Lessons 11

Immortal History Lessons 11

Holy Ground

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Sydney woke up to the smell of coffee permeating the air of the barge. "Mmmmm," she said, rolling over to see Methos standing by the bed with two cups. "Service in bed too. How lovely."

"I live to serve," He said, sliding back into bed with her.

She snuggled up against him as she sipped her coffee. "So.. little out of the way church today, right? And maybe a nice walk along the quais and on the older streets of the Left Bank?"

"That sounds like a plan," He said, kissing her neck. "Which we can start this afternoon."

"Ah, and what's on the agenda for this morning? Fresh croissants at a nearby place, and shopping?"

Methos smiled against her shoulder. "I was thinking more along the lines of whatever is in the fridge for breakfast and more time in bed."

She yawned. "True. You didn't let me get much sleep last night. Good idea."

Methos let out a frustrated groan. "You do realize that you're evil, correct?"

Syd frowned. "I am? Tell me more."

"Now see, that depends on what you want to hear." Methos said, setting his coffee aside to prop himself up on his elbows. "Do you want to hear how your hair looks like spun flaxen, or that your smile could light a thousand starless nights? Or would you like to hear how your insane mocking humor makes it incredibly impossible to not either strangle or kiss you sometimes?"

She sighed. "Yes, I do have a horrible sense of humor. I know. I was a trial as a child too. I blame it on being an only child and growing up with adults."

"And yet it keeps me highly entertained at the same time." Methos said with a smirk as he stood and grabbed a fresh towel from the linen closet.

"When you aren't considering strangling me at least," Syd added.

"There is that," He agreed and disappeared into the bathroom.

----------

That afternoon Sydney, not having gotten any sleep at all, found them dressed and ready to face the world.

"So now you've got me paranoid," she said as she finished her makeup. "I'm going to be afraid to crack wise at all," she said sadly looking up to where he stood watching her wield her lipstick.

Methos watched her with a sly grin. "You have such little faith in my self control." He joked.

He came up behind her and caught her gaze in the mirror. "And your sense of humor is one of the reasons I love being around you, not many people I know can dish out what they get. Especially from me."

"Oh good. That's a relief. So, are you and Joe going to play for me tonight?" she asked as she put her makeup away, made up the way she liked, the effect more like she wore none than a lot.

She pulled on a pair of walking shoes and grabbed her shoulder bag and was ready to go.

Methos frowned as he held the door open for her. "We're here for an entire week, why tonight?"

"Because I know full well you'll have an excuse to keep putting it off. And really, I want to see you and Joe on stage. I want to sit dreamily in my seat in the audience and know I get to go home with you."

Methos sighed and dug his cellphone out of the fathomless pockets of his coat to call Joe. The conversation didn't last very long and a large portion that she couldn't hear had to be shameless gloating by the death glare Methos was wearing. With a seething warning of 'No Tom Waits!', the immortal flipped the mobile shut with a snap and stowed it away.

"Happy?" He asked with a look of petulant suffrage.

"Immensely," Sydney replied with a happy sigh. "It really doesn't take much to please me, so you should indulge me."

"That shouldn't be too hard," He said, taking her hand and threading his fingers through it.

"So, mysterious church. Should I have brought rice paper for tomb rubbings?" she asked. "I'm never organized enough," she added sadly.

He smiled. "Again, I remind you, we're here all week. If you see anything you like, I doubt the priests would mind if you wanted to take something so simple as a rubbing home with you." He said as they walked along the quai. "So we can always come back."

"Okay, I won't worry then. So Darius? Your friend? What did Joe mean about holy ground?"

"Not my friend, unfortunately. He never lived long enough for me to meet him. But I'd heard of him, a warlord who took his blood lust with him into immortality. One day he slew a pure hearted immortal and was given a rare thing called a 'Light Quickening'. It changed him, a day later he disbanded his army and devoted his life to God, and there his heart stayed till the day he died." Methos said, weaving the words in a way he thought it should be told, as a revered tale of true human merit.

"Some say Darius was hiding on holy ground by becoming a priest because one of our oldest rules is no immortal shall do battle on holy ground. A church, a graveyard, a temple. Anything blessed by a religion as holy we cannot fight on. So these beautiful buildings become our sanctuaries and sometimes our cages." He said, casting his eyes to the looming towers of Notre Dame.

"The idea of sanctuary goes back to before written history," Sydney replied thinking about it, "so it would make sense Immortals would find it compelling to follow that rule. Is it never broken? And do many become priests or monks or I suppose nuns in order to hide from the killings?"

"I know people who've tried, but it becomes difficult after a while. How are you able to preach the word of God when you continually question if the being you worship has damned you to walk this world forever and not be allowed to taste the fruits of heaven?" Then he simply shrugged as if dislodging the heavy words like a rather annoying gnat. "I'd personally rather risk the world than have to deal with than question every day of my life."

"Well, I hope the world offers a few consolations for you," she teased. She looked around her as they walked along taking in the beauty of Paris in the early summer, and the throngs of people on the streets, and the sounds of languages that drifted toward them through the crowd.

It had been quite a few years since she'd been to Paris, most of that time spent madly rushing from one tourist attraction to another, and not much spent on leisurely taking in the spice, sounds and feel of the city itself.

He tugged her hand a fraction in a direction away from the quai, a small lazy smile on the old immortal's lips as he watched her become so submerged in the world around her. The buildings changed as they went farther into the city, finally coming upon a small gated churchyard, almost tucked secretly away from the beaten track.

"An old section of the city indeed. I suppose this once was off on its own," Sydney said reaching out almost reverently to touch the old stone into which the gate was set.

"At one time." Methos said as he opened the wrought iron gate, holding it open for her.

She stepped inside looking around curiously noticing the stonework and the worn stone walkway and stairs. Ancient indeed, worn by thousands of footsteps down through time.

"If these steps could talk alone..." Methos said with a little laugh, hands stuffed in his pockets as he kept a few steps behind. "They might just start cursing at me."

She looked around startled. "Why?"

He smirked. "For being a constant annoyance to them over the years."

"And you revel in that don't you," she replied a smile playing on her lips. "Brat."

"Just a little," He admitted, walking past her to open the large wooden door. "Come on," He said before disappearing inside where the cool shadows swallowed him up.

She followed, stopping at the door, her eyes needing time to adjust to the comparative darkness inside. It was a simple church, and elegant in its basic line and form.

"Oh, it's lovely. Tell me about it, please."

"Wouldn't that be cheating for a historian?" Methos asked smugly, leaning against one of the walls, his voice echoing off bare stone. "Asking someone who's been there isn't half as interesting as digging in the archives in the basement."

"And will I find, in those archives, stories about this pain-in-the-ass immortal who keeps turning up and driving the poor long-suffering priests crazy?" she asked grinning. "How many penances were said because of you, sir?" she asked archly.

"Oh, I spared the poor priests from my presence. The only time I ever stepped foot in this place was for MacLeod, or for a few words with someone who wouldn't judge me." He said.

Sydney wandered through the church, touching the ancient wood of the confessionals. "So it was Duncan who brought you here?"

Methos looked around. "Somewhat, yes. And I wanted to see what drew Darius here."

"Did you find an answer?" she asked curiously.

Methos nodded. "That not everyone sees sanctuary in the same light. This was more than a safe haven from the Game for Darius, it was a sanctuary for his soul." He chuckled. "A priest who had actually found God."

She watched him for a moment, considering what he'd said. "Some do. Find God. Normals do, certainly, so why not Immortals? Do you think being an Immortal is a curse, Methos?'

Methos shrugged. "I stopped asking that question a long time ago."

"It didn't sound like it," she replied, as she continued her careful walk round the church, looking up at the stone arches and squinting into the darkness up near the ceilings.

Methos didn't reply, he simply tracked her with his eyes.

"Thank you," she said.

"You're welcome," he said softly.

Then Methos turned sharply to the door the same time a man stepped through it, clapping.

"Bravo, I could hear that bullshit leaking out into the street." The stranger said, shoulder length brown hair obscuring his face but not the youth of his voice, stained with bitterness far beyond his years.

"Sydney, get behind me." Methos said calmly.

She glanced from one man to the other, but did as Methos had asked of her, not asking anything, not wanting to distract his attention from the intruder.

"Come on old one, you know I can't hurt her or you here." The man laughed. "I mean, it's one of our oldest rules right? You know, the one you ignored for so many centuries when you butchered people in their own temples as they cried for mercy." The laughter that followed those words rang cold and chilling in the day lit church.

Sydney could hardly help but hear the accusation. All she could do at this point was try not to react since apparently that was what the intruder wanted. She remained where she was and erased what emotions she could from her face.

Methos was silent.

"You gotta be kidding, nothing?" The man asked, raking his hair from his face to reveal a man of about twenty, maybe even less. His features were old, telling of a rougher time in history when boys grew old too soon in their life and bore scars before they learned how to fight. "I thought, meeting Death after all these years, at least he'd have the decency to remember me."

"There's obviously been a mistake, I don't know you." Methos said. A hollow note ringing in his voice.

"Maybe it's been a while since you've been called that." The man said, advancing down the aisle, the gleam in his green eyes too bright. "How bout Methos? Or Adam, better names? You respond to those now? Trying to right the wrongs of your past and all that. I heard what you did to your 'brothers', I hope you didn't think that absolved you."

Syd willed herself to silence and immobility as hard as it was, as confusing as the scene was to her. The man was obviously sincere, not necessarily sane, and definitely dangerous.

"What we did was a long time ago, I can't apologize more for it, but it's over, it's done with." Methos said quickly, emotion finally showing as he took a step back, holding an arm up to block the man's path from Sydney.

"No!" The man shouted, his face no longer smiling. "I'm what I am because of you, because of what you did! And you're going to pay for that, Death! I'll make sure of it."

Methos tensed, but instead of advancing, the man turned on his heel and stormed back out the way he'd come.

"The name's Rafe, remember that at least, Death. That way you know who you can try to beg for mercy from some day." And he was gone.

It was a minute later when Methos finally relaxed, but the silence had already penetrated the church by then.

She was next to him before he even had a moment to think of her again. She put a hand on his arm. "Are you all right?"

She could hear him scoff, but Methos didn't turn to look at her. "Isn't that my line?"

"I'm fine, as you well know," she replied. He could hear a bit of confusion in her voice.

Methos shut his eyes, he wanted to block out the questions, erase the last few minutes from her mind. But that wasn't possible.

"I'm taking you to Joe's, and I want you to stay there until I come back for you." Methos said, his voice more clipped then he'd meant to be but it couldn't be helped.

"All right," she agreed, her voice quite small.

Methos swallowed. "You have to trust me, Sydney. I know that's going to seem hard to you at the moment, but I need you to do that for me."

She nodded. "I trust you, Methos. I'll do it."

---

Joe looked up with a smug grin on his face when Methos and Sydney came in, hell bent on making the immortal sit and listen to his plans for that night's show. But the reserved look Methos was sporting and the confused one on Sydney worried the Watcher.

"What's going on?" Joe asked with concern as Methos steered Sydney to sit but didn't himself.

"I need you to keep an eye on Sydney for just a little while. I'll be back in a few hours." Methos said quickly.

"Oh no, not till you tell me what's going on." Joe said.

Sydney took a seat and watched them, saying nothing.

Methos gave him a frustrated look before pulling the man aside so Sydney wouldn't overhear. "I need you to find out about a certain immortal who would of just arrived in town."

Joe nodded. "What his name? I can find out who's watching him."

Methos shook his head. "I don't know the full name, he just calls himself Rafe, but he would of been very young when he was turned and very old by immortal standards. 3,000 years old at least."

"Shit!" Joe cursed, having done the math properly in his head. "Man, you told me that stuff was all in the past."

Methos gave Joe a puzzled and slightly hunted look. "What are you talking about, you have no idea what's going on."

"That's a load of crap, and you know it." Joe growled. "If this didn't have anything to do with your Horseman days, you'd be telling her." The old watcher said, and Methos didn't have to ask who 'her' was. "So who is he?"

"By the sound of it, he was a victim. I don't recognize him but that doesn't mean anything." Methos said.

"Maybe you didn't kill him. I mean, it's hard to forget the people you kill." Joe said reassuringly.

"I'm sorry if the faces tend to blend together after the first few thousand," Methos spat out acidly, making Joe step back.

"I'm sorry," Joe said. Methos backed down at the honesty.

"Look, just keep an eye on her for me. I won't be gone long."

Joe was a stunned. "You can't just not tell her, Methos."

"I just need some time, all right?" Methos couldn't keep the sharpness from his voice this time and Joe just nodded.

"All right."

Joe barely finished agreeing before he saw Methos's back retreating out the door.

Sydney watched her lover's abrupt departure and looked uncertainly at Joe. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to be a problem."

"You, a problem? Don't be dense, Sydney, we both know you're not bothering me." Joe said, setting up two glasses. "Come on, if we start now we'll beat the evening crowd."

"Thanks, Joe. Does it help?" she asked looking at her glass as he poured.

Joe smiled. "Not a damn bit."

"Will he be back?" she asked, looking over at him and meeting his eyes.

Joe's smile looked a bit worn. "I'm sure he will."

---

She'd lain down on a cot in Joe's office. It had been lights out when she'd closed her eyes and now as she awoke se saw the windows were dark. She could hear noises from downstairs, the hum of voices, the light clink of drinks glassware.

She sat up abruptly when she remembered where she was and why she was there. His profile was outlined by a lamp behind him. He'd been reading, but had looked up when she'd sat up.

A sigh of relief escaped her. Then she said, "Hello."

"I'm glad to see you're still talking to me." He joked lightly.

"Well, I was a bit miffed at getting dumped on poor Joe. But he was quite gracious about it," she replied trying to match his tone.

"I owe him for that." There was a brief period of silence and then, "I'm sorry."

"I know," she replied, reading his body language as best she could. But he was a puzzle so she was never sure she got him right.

"No you don't," he said, getting up from his perch to come stand by the cot but not join her on it. "And that's the part I'm sorry for, but I don't think we would of hit it off so well in the beginning if I had introduced myself as Adam Pierson, retired barbarian and murderer. It might not have turned out the same."

She stood up so he wasn't looming over her. "Ah. Here's where we're going to get into a complex multifaceted discussion regarding whether a man can change or whether once a barbarian always a barbarian, right? We could even discuss the efficacy of prayer with regard to redemption, if you've a mind to go there."

She stepped forward. "Could we put off the discussion for a future date and time? Right now I'd like you to just hold me."

Methos didn't move to do so at first, he studied her face, looking for something. Then he pulled her into his arms and held her close, tight to his chest as if he wanted to make them one person.

"I know I'm a bastard for saying this now when you have no idea what's going on, but I love you. And if anything happens, or you decide to leave then I don't want this to end without you hearing it at least once." He said quickly, letting his words out in a rush against her cheek.

She stilled in his arms for a moment, even her heartbeat seeming to stop for an endless period of time. Finally she said, "Can we go home to the barge now. I want to feel you without clothing between us."

Methos didn't know if it was right or wrong to agree. But at least this way he could love her one last time before the foundations crumbled under his feet. So he untangled himself enough to kiss her forehead and take her hand. "If it's what you want."

"Yes, it's what I want. Do you?" she asked searching his eyes.

"Yes."

She asked no questions on the walk back to the barge. She merely gripped his hand tightly. The moment the door closed behind them though she was in his arms and her lips were seeking his.

There was no teasing tonight, no games. He kissed her until her lips were red and swollen, leaving them both panting as they made little work of each others clothing. Sex was needy and demanding and there was no need of words. Afterwards, wet with sweat, they lay in the wreckage of the bedding, she with her head on his chest.

Methos should of been drowsy and sated, but he watched the dark ceiling instead, fingers combing through her hair.

She relaxed under his touch, feeling for the first time since they left the church that perhaps things would be all right.

He kissed her hair. "You should get some sleep."

She nodded and drifted off, curled up next to him.

Methos waited until he could hear her breathing even out before he slipped from bed, pulling on his pants and taking his sword, he walked out of the bedroom.

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