Immortal History Lessons 12

Immortal History Lessons 12

Sins of the Past

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Sun coming through the porthole into the bedroom awoke her. She panicked for a moment to discover she was alone in the bed. She pulled on Methos's discarded shirt that was way too big and easily served as a robe. She padded barefoot out into the main living area. She saw shadows moving from the deck above and heaved a relieved sigh.

She made coffee and got two cups, taking them out onto the deck of the barge with her. She stopped to watch him.

He held the blade at eye level, staring down an invisible opponent, sweat beading on his brow as he circled. His body was lean, his movements quick steps and fluid jumps back and to the sides. Looking more like a dancer or acrobat with his blade then a fighter, as he played on the defensive. Blocking with a downward swish of his broadsword, deflecting with glancing blows. All against the invisible air. Only the way he tensed, the hard glint of his eyes said there was someone on the other end of his blade, or very soon would be.

Sydney paled as she watched him, suddenly realizing what he intended to do. She'd hoped the man had just gone away, and that all would be as it had been. She sank to sit on the edge of the barge and shivered in the early morning chill.

Methos raised the sword above his head and with a dangerous twirl of metal came down in a specific arch at shoulder height, and then he stopped, breath coming quickly from the exercise. Only when the deadly trance had finished did he notice her sitting there. Relaxing his muscles with a slight wince, he walked across the deck and sat next to her, blade tip resting on the floor between his bare feet.

She held out the cup of coffee she'd brought for him, her own forgotten."Good morning." She was trying very hard not to sound as emotional as she felt.

Methos took the cup and set it aside wordlessly even though he needed the caffeine right now. "You know this has to be done, Sydney." He said quietly.

"Do I?" she asked, as much herself as him. She looked up and met his eyes.

"Do you want to run?" He asked. "Because I'm good at running, I've made a lifetime out of it." Methos set the sword aside to take her hand. "But if we run, we won't ever stop. Not until either Rafe or I are dead."

"Then running gains us nothing. Unless time would somehow better your odds?" Her hand trembled a bit but her words and her look were steady.

"I bought a plane ticket today." He said instead of answering.

"One?" she asked.

Methos nodded. "Back to America, it leaves in a few hours."

"I'm sorry you've wasted the money,"she replied.

"He'll come after you." He said.

"You won't let him," she replied. "I'm not going anywhere except with you."

"And if I can't beat him?" Methos asked, anger boiling just under his words. "I'm sure you'll be able to lift my sword and take his head, no problem."

"If you can't then what happens afterward is not your problem," she shot back. "You just take his head. I'm depending on that."

"Then you're putting your faith in false gods." Methos said, grabbing his sword and walking back into the barge.

Sydney squeezed shut her eyes, willing away the tears. She sat there for a few more minutes before she got up and walked into the barge, got a change of clothes and ignoring Methos went to take a shower.

Fifteen minutes later she opened the bathroom door, showered now, and fully dressed. "Coffee?" she asked him. "I'm going to make a fresh pot."

Methos was sitting on the couch, and looked a bit miserable. "Sydney, I need to talk to you."

She looked over at him, nodded, and walked over to sit beside him. "I'm not catching that plane."

He grinned. "I think you made that point quiet clearly."

"Good," she said, meeting his eyes. "Now, what else do you need to say."

Methos took a deep breath and let it out. "I need to tell you who this Rafe is, because maybe then you'll understand why all this is happening."

She pursed her lips and then said, "You don't have to. But if you need to tell me, then I'll listen."

Methos nodded. "Do you remember from your history book what the Bronze Age was like?" He asked.

She concentrated for a moment. "Clan fighting clan, limited resources, harsh environment much of the time, war always."

"Yes, and from that time was a very obscure myth that terrified every man, woman and child. Tales about four men, who could not be stopped, who couldn't be killed. These men, they killed thousands of people for sport, because they enjoyed it and had nothing better to do than destroy the lives of anyone that crossed their path." There was a time Methos would have nearly ground the words out between his teeth. But now he said them dispassionately, knowing he'd lose more then a friend this time even though the world wouldn't suffer for his past again.

"They were so arrogant that they went by the names that were given to the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse. Famine, Pestilence, War...and Death."

She studied his face, heard the words, listened to the tone in which he spoke. "And he called you Death," she finally said. "Were the others immortals, too?'

Methos closed his eyes and nodded, unwilling to meet her eyes. "My 'special ability' was killing, the skill with which I killed is how I came to be called Death. I didn't discriminate from child or man, woman or elderly. They were humans, the whole world was full of them so why not take the time to enjoy ridding it of a few thousand here or there?"

Sydney's mind was having some difficulty grasping that the gentle man she'd come to know could have been a killing machine. She stared at her hands, trying to think of something, anything, she could say. He didn't want absolution and she couldn't offer him that anyway.

And he was right. Death didn't discriminate then, just as it didn't now. War was always worse for the weak, the children, the women, the elderly. Men she admired had fought in wars and grappled with similar issues. Did the number of victims make much difference? Perhaps. But the guilt and pain had to be similar.

She knew she had to find words, any words to say to him. She didn't want him to think she hated him, nor did she want him to think she took this, and his need for some sort of atonement, lightly.

In the end she said the only thing she could. "I love you." It was a whisper, but they were words.

Methos laughed, a harsh mirthless bark of laughter that cut itself short as he covered his face with his hands. His shoulders began to shake but he made no noise other then the sound of his trying to drag air into his lungs which only got worse.

She wanted desperately to take him into her arms and hold him, but she was afraid of how he might see it. Would he think she saw him as weak, or .. or worse.

She snaked one hand over to rest on his thigh. A tiny gesture perhaps but it was all she dared do. Should she tell him to run? Run with him? Remind him of their conversation when they first met, about how she believed people could change? But he'd known then, now that she thought about it. Now that she knew this. He'd reacted, hearing it. He knew. Could he remember now? Could he believe in her enough to realize it was more than just words?

His leg tensed under her hand, his body coiled as if she'd struck him. Methos opened his mouth to speak, she could see the way his chin moved beneath the shelter of his hands, but she heard nothing besides another shaky intake of breath.

It felt forever before he could finally drop his hands away from his face, he didn't look at her still, eyes staring at her hand instead as he reached out and covered it with his own, curling his fingers tightly around her palm.

She finally dared to take in a real breath again. "How can I help you? What do I need to do? If it will keep you alive I'll go back to New York."

He swallowed, looked up at her and brushed his thumb over the top of her hand. "All I want, is to hear you say that again."

"I love you," she repeated, quietly. "I love you. Flaws and all. I love you."

The last time she said it, the words were swallowed by his lips as he kissed her. His hands cradled her face gently as if she were something fragile and breakable as his mouth worshiped hers, praised her, thanked her and returned the words in kind without saying a thing.

Tears of relief, of fear, of joy, of every emotion fighting inside her leaked out on her, and she clung to him, terrified that she might lose him so soon. She wasn't sure she could bear it.

"Shh," he whispered against her lips as he pulled back. "Shh," as he cradled her face and kissed her tears away, catching the stray droplets at the corner of her mouth with his tongue before he pulled her to his chest where she could plainly hear that her heart wasn't the only one beating out of tune. "I don't want to see you cry." He whispered in her hair. "Don't cry, don't cry.."

She nodded against his chest, fighting to make the tears and the fear stop. To give him the one thing he asked for. It took a bit of time but finally the tears stopped. She heard his own heart begin to slow as hers did.

Dund, dund, dund!

The noise made Sydney jump. "What?" she asked, looking around a bit panicky, wondering if Rafe had come to the barge.

"It's not an immortal." Methos said, reading the tone of her voice.

"How can you tell?" she asked, trying to get herself together as he got up to answer the door.

"No noise," He said, tapping his head. His emotions all ready in order and locked away after years of practice. "And I know the sound of that cane against the door all too well."

With that he opened the door and Joe walked in. "About time." The watcher said, a file tucked under his arm.

"Hullo, Joe," Syd offered. "Uhm, excuse me," she said, and made for the bedroom to erase the wreckage of her tears.

"You two still fighting?" Joe asked wearily.

"What did you find, Joe?" Methos asked, ignoring the question.

"Fine then, leave me out." Joe grumbled, slapping the file into Methos hand. "This guy's bad news, Methos. We've tried to put a Watcher on Rafe at least three times in the last thousand years, each time the guy either killed our people or completely disappeared. The only time we've been able to get any info on him any time before or after that period was from the Watchers of the immortals he killed."

Joe stopped talking but his eyes said there was more.

Methos studied his eyes. "Joe, what aren't you telling me?"

Joe sighed. "It's his kill count. He's taken 327 heads, that we know of."

Sydney, still in the master bathroom, could hear them. She slumped against the wall, suddenly feeling faint. Dear God. Would it always be like this? How could he stand it?

Methos shuffled through the small pile of grainy photos, most taken by the Watcher's of Rafe's victims during challenges. But there was no mistaking that man in the photo was the same immortal from the church.

"And it's just 'Rafe'?" Methos asked.

"That's a hypocritcal question coming from you. If he's as old as you say he is, I don't even think the kid had a last name." Joe said.

"Yes, but at least he'd have a clan name, something to tie him to a particular time and place." Methos reasoned.

Joe shook his head. "Sorry, nothing."

Methos sighed. "It's more then we had before, I just hope it's good enough." The old immortal looked thoughtful for a moment. "Maybe it's about time I had a Watcher of my own."

Joe was surprised to still have the ability to stand. "You hit your head or something?"

"No, I think it's a good idea." Methos smirked, enjoying the effect of his words. "This way everyone benefits. The Watchers can get more information on Rafe if they shadow me," he said, enticing Joe's curiosity.

"And what do you get out of it? You're name will be in the system then, the whole organization will know that you slipped in under the radar years ago." Joe ticked off the reasons this was a bad idea, wondering what Methos was up to.

"Because a Watcher doesn't just monitor the immortal, they take note of the people around them. I want you to be my Watcher, Joe, just long enough for this battle with Rafe. Because if something happens to me, you need to be the one who holds her back from getting herself killed."

Again, there was no question of who they were talking about.

Joe looked hurt. "All you need to do is ask, Methos." The words 'as a friend' went unsaid. But Methos heard them all the same and nodded.

"I know, but as my Watcher you don't have a choice." He said.

"I don't much appreciate you two talking about me as if I'm not here," Sydney said, walking back out into the room in order to better defend herself.

"You were in the other room," Methos complained. "We can't start the strategic foundations by ourselves?" He asked, looking petulantly put out for his forethought.

"Uh huh," she said not pretending to believe a word and moving to make a pot of coffee. "Joe, coffee?"

"Sounds good to me," Joe said, hobbling past Methos to reach the back side of the barge where the kitchen was located. He put a hand on Sydney's shoulder as he passed, looking as if he needed her support to pass but he saw that Methos quickly turned back to the file, so there was no used putting up a front.

"You okay?" Joe asked her gently.

"No, not really, but I'm working on it," she replied giving him a rather uncertain smile.

Joe smiled reassuringly. "Well at least that means you're breathing. Sit down, I'll get the coffee."

"Thanks," she replied, sinking wearily into a chair. The emotions had drained her.

"There's going to have to be a few ground rules, for both of you until this gets resolved." Methos said as he came to join them.

She rested her elbow on the counter and her chin in her hand. "Fire away," she said.

Methos took a seat. "These are non-negotiable, so I don't want anyone looking for any loopholes in them."

"Come on Methos, this ain't my first rodeo." Joe snapped.

"And I'm going to make sure it won't be your last, now sit down and shut up." Methos offered up a friendly grin, which Joe grumbled at but listened to, bringing three cups of coffee with him.

"First off, I don't want either of you calling Mac. He's got enough to worry about, and I doubt he'd think this enough of a trifle to leave New York for anyway." Methos said. "Joe, let the Watchers know Rafe's in town, don't tell them his target, just let them know to give him space. The last thing this guy is going to appreciate is some young upstart trying to bag himself a star assignment."

"I'll call them when I get back to the bar." Joe promised.

Sydney opened her mouth, thought better of it and closed it with a teeth rattling snap.

"I also don't want anyone interfering with the challenge, under any circumstances." Methos said, giving Sydney a pointed look. "If something goes wrong, well then I've lived a long enough bastard life to throw it away, I won't call anyone who jumps on his sword a hero."

Syd considered this and couldn't see Joe jumping on Rafe's sword. As for her, she'd find her self a glock to fill him with holes first then take his head. "Right. Got it. What else?"

"If for any reason you're on your own and you see Rafe, run. Tell me after you've put a mile or so between you, but not before." He said sharply. "Joe has a gun, I'm going to take you out today so we can get you one. It won't stop him, but it will slow him down a bit. Long enough for you to get away."

"Right. Works for me. I'd prefer a Glock 32," Sydney replied. "Next?"

Joe was smart enough to stay quiet, Methos bowed his head over the table and chewed on his lip for a moment. "You seem to be taking to this rather well."

"You said I didn't have a choice. I'm taking you at your word," Sydney replied calmly.

Methos looked at her, holding her gaze hard.

"If I agree to do it, I'll do it, Methos," she replied, not flinching.

Methos got up to fetch the cream and sugar, glancing at Joe both men shared a look and Joe stood as well.

"Well if we're gonna catch sight of this creep, best time to start is now." The watcher said, grabbing his cane. "I'll patch a few calls into the council, see if Rafe's head hunting. I'll call you with whatever I find."

"Thanks Joe." Methos said as Joe patted his arm on the way out.

"Take care of him, Sydney," He said when he reached the door. "He's not the martyring type, but he'd try anything to be a pain in the ass." Joe joked.

"Be careful, Joe," she called out to him as he left, then turned her gaze back to Methos. "You could have let him finish his coffee."

"You could have not dropped the temperature down to below freezing either." He shot back.

"What should I have done instead?" she asked, curious.

"Reacted." He voice raised. "Shout, get angry, throws things around a bit, I don't know. Something other then that indifferent mask you're wearing now, it looks ugly on you."

"Indifferent?" she looked at him her mouth hanging open. "Indifferent? Yes, well, I suppose women are supposed to be emotional and sob and sit around and be terrified. Well, I'm not that sort of woman. When my friends were hanging out with the band, I was hanging out with cops. I learned to shoot. Granted I haven't practiced for a year or so, because I didn't want to meet my ex at the range. Even so. If Rafe comes at me I'll empty the magazine into his gullet."

"You know what I mean," Methos said, pulling his chair around to face her, taking her hands. "I know you've let down walls for me, I know you've risked a lot to trust me. But I refuse to take all that and return the favor by making you a killer, I won't let you become me."

"I've never shot anyone," she confessed. "But if I have to I think I can. I know I can hit what I aim at. But I don't want you worrying every minute about me. You worry about you. Because I'm worrying about you, too." She took a breath. "And besides. He's an immortal. I won't be killing him, just slowing him down."

"It won't feel like it."

"I know." She sighed.

It didn't take much strength or movement on Methos part to pull her onto his lap, but he'd already calculated the amount it took her not to fight him. Wrapping protective arms around her shoulders, he breathed in the scent of her clean hair.

"I'm doing the best I can, Methos." Her voice was muffled where her face was buried against his shoulder.

"I know." He said, resting his cheek on top of her head.

"So when do I get to hear you and Joe sing?"

A smile sprung up on Methos lips as he thought of the perfect way to distract her. "Who says we need to wait for Joe?"

"Oh, I'm going to get a command performance?" she asked looking up at him now, her lips curling at the corners.

"Why not?" He said, nuzzling into her neck before his lips brushed her ear as well as his voice.

"Here we are, isn't it familiar, haven't had someone to talk to in such a long time. And it's strange, all we have in common, and your company is just the thing I needed tonight..."

He sang low in her ear, his voice was soft spoken and rough in the places most peoples would be pure, and it broke from notes he just wasn't meant to hit even at a near whisper. But it didn't stop him.

"Somehow I think I should apologize, cause I'm just a little shaken but what's going on inside..." He pulled her tighter to his chest. "I should go, before my will gets any weaker and my eyes begin to linger longer than they should. I should go, before I lose my sense of reason, and this hour holds more meaning, then it ever could, I should go...I should go..."

She listened, rapt, to what he sang and what he meant.

Methos's voice eventually died off but he didn't let go of her, and he didn't disappear.

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