Immortal History Lessons 13

Immortal History Lessons 13

The Choices We Make

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It wasn't until the next morning that Methos managed to get another crack at the Watcher's file on Rafe. He would of cursed at his sudden lack of priorities, but those priorities had changed recently. Sydney had needed him last night and he wasn't about to deny her that. Especially if there was a good chance that this short time was all they had.

So the ancient immortal waited, thanking five thousand years of experience put to good use last night that had tired out his mortal lover. If good luck was still with him, Sydney wouldn't be up for some time so he could make sense of what he was dealing with.

So with a fresh kettle of tea and a plate of biscuits, Methos sprawled out on the couch and got to it. Several hours later, the floor and table littered with papers and photographs in a pattern that only the ancient could make sense of, Methos began to feel his gut churn in a particularly nasty way.

Rafe hadn't just been killing random immortals in the quest to become stronger, he was killing them for their pasts. Methos knew every name on the list of the dead, could place each one of the bloodthirsty bastards by their choice of torture or mayhem, some he'd never met but damn well heard about through the years. At least half of them had reformed like Darius and Methos, but that didn't seem to make a difference to Rafe. It gave Methos a startling look into what could have been if MacLeod's habit of being the judge, jury and executioner sometimes had been mixed with a fair amount of lunacy.

The Quickenings of so many dark immortals was enough to drive any poor soul insane, and Methos felt a twinge of pity for Rafe as well as a deep seated fear that crawled up his throat and left a heavy tang on his tongue. This man wasn't evil, but not truly good either. At one point or another Rafe's morals had been jumbled up and then reinvented in a manner that suited his vendetta. It was a wonder Rafe even paid heed to the sanctuary of holy ground with the reports of his erratic behavior.

He smelled her before he saw her. Fresh from the shower, one of his shirts over her, a towel wrapped round her hair. She stood in the bedroom doorway, looking at the wreckage around him. "Need another pot of tea?" she asked.

"I was going to clean it up," Methos said meekly, being the center of the tornado aftermath. Though in all honesty his mind was far from the mess or a cuppa since he was having a slight case of envy over the proximity of his shirt to her skin.

"I'm sure," she said laughing. She walked over and looked pointedly down at papers stopping her from sitting next to him.

Methos got the message and scooped them out of the way, and for good measure bundled up the photos and the odd paper out that had been supplying his teacup with a cozy cover. Joe wasn't going to appreciate his copies having caffeine rings on them.

She sank onto the couch beside him. "Do you have something you need to do today?"she asked. "Because I'd very much like to go to the Sorbonne this afternoon. A friend is there and I'd like to say hello."

Methos hissed through his teeth. "Probably not a good idea. Adam Pierson happens to have a PhD. in Classical Studies from Sorbonne and I'm pretty sure the staffing hasn't changed much in the last decade. So many questions, so little time to make up the answers."

"How convenient for you," she said with a laugh. "Well, do you mind terribly if I make an appointment to see her late this afternoon then? You can avoid the place."

Methos gave her a look. "You know I don't like the idea of you going alone. I can sneak in if you like, wear a fake beard and talk with a polish accent, they'll never know it was me."

"I'd pay to see that. Better yet, you could be a mime. You wouldn't have to worry about someone recognizing your voice."

Methos gave a shudder. "And thank you for that horrible mental picture."

"Well I don't think I have a dress that would fit you, but we could go shopping."

Methos sighed and sank back into the couch. "No, you go ahead. By the time I get something properly clever together your friends going to gone."

"I'm so disappointed. You'll have to promise me to go out in public in drag though. I'll introduce you round as Melba Pearce, my cousin from.. uhm.. Alabama."

Methos gave her a baffled look. "I swear, anything to get me in tights."

"Can you blame me?" She batted her eyelashes at him. "I've got the hots for your bod and looking helps."

Methos had to force down the mouthful of tea he had before shaking his head. "Come here." He said, smirking and pulled her down into a kiss.

---

Late afternoon found her dressed to go out and Methos lounging on the deck of the barge. She walked up to join him, enjoying the view of Notre Dame. "Yes, before you ask, I'm armed," she said, patting her purse. "Let's hope there isn't a metal detector at the library. So you'll meet me on the square at seven?"

"I'll be there," He promised.

She kissed him and walked off up the Quai toward the Sorbonne, a far shorter walk than attempting to navigate Left Bank traffic would be.

Some half-hour later Methos had his nose back in the notes he'd gotten from Joe when a shout came from the deck. He got up to answer the door to find a florist delivery boy standing there.

"For Sydney Watson, monsieur?" the boy said, holding out a long box with a note attached.

"Ah hell, I don't have to pay you anything, do I?" Methos asked a bit miserably, his eyes sweeping the length of the boy and then the area keenly in his fained annoyance. Joe was most definitely not sending Sydney flowers, so something was up.

The boy looked irritated to get no tip but left the box and stalked off.

Methos held the box at arms length, as if he were handling a rather sensitive bomb, and there was little evidence that it wasn't at this point. Plucking the letter off the top, he set the box aside and tore the envelope open.

1800
Jardin de Tuileries near Rue de Rivoli
Come alone
Rafe

Methos read the note without emotion and opened the box, a dozen withered red roses inside. He checked his watch, it would take all the time he had left to get there, and the message was very clear.

He was dialing Joe's number before he was inside the barge, grabbing his coat and sword. The Watcher picked up on the second ring.

"Joe, I need you to bring the car, Rafe just left me a present and I only have a few hours to get clear across Paris." Methos said quickly as he looked down the blade of his sword. "And Joe, don't forget your gun."

---

With Joe's insane driving skills, they both made it to Jardin de Tuileries in one piece and with ten minutes to spare. Methos got out of the car, pulling the Ivanhoe from his coat when he saw the park was empty. The driver's side door slammed shut and Methos tossed a glare at Joe who was cocking back the hammer of his gun.

"Get back in the car, Joe." Methos said dead pan.

"I'm not letting you go in there alone." Joe argued.

"Yes you are," Methos said, holding the Watcher's gaze. "Because if you get killed no one is going to be able to tell Sydney what happened."

Joe's face was wiped of expression with that.

"Get back in the car, Joe." Methos said again, gentler this time and the other man did as he asked. Leaving the old immortal to go in alone.

Methos made his way through the open gardens, eyes darting in every direction as obstacles like statues and benches left cramped but possible hiding places for Rafe to jump out at him from. He'd lost sight of Joe's car fifteen minutes ago and he'd seen nothing, felt no Buzz of another immortals presence, the deep wrongness of it sliding down Methos's spine. He came to a cluster of statues in a small paved seating area when he saw the dark thing dangling from one of the figure's marble hands.

It was a withered rose tied to the hand of a female statue, a black voice recorder being the weight at the end of the rope. Methos pressed the play button even as a voice in his head screamed for him not to.

"Everything you love dies." That was all it said.

Joe got out of the car when he saw Methos barreling towards him, sword in hand.

"What's going on, I didn't see a Quickening." Joe said urgently as he saw the look on his friends face.

"Rafe's not here," Methos said as he got in the car, Joe stumbling into the drivers seat.

"What are you talking about?" Joe demanded as he started the engine.

"It was nothing but a wild goose chase," Methos hissed,slamming his hands against the dashboard. "We need to get to Sorbonne, he's gone after Sydney."

Joe cursed and threw the car in reverse.

---

Sydney was still laughing as she and her friend Yvonne walked down one of the ancient hallways in the old and wonderfully historic Sorbonne. They'd caught up, although granted Sydney had been less forthcoming than Yvonne might have liked. Sydney had some time yet before she was to meet Methos, so they were doing a tour of the building, seeing some of the fabulous paintings and scrollwork so carefully preserved and guarded.

There were few people about this late in the day, most of the students having long gone, and since it was beautiful outside, they had the building mostly to themselves.

So Sydney and Yvonne were surprised when a young man in a hoodie and trench coat banged into them as they rounded a corner.

Yvonne cursed in French and then fired rapid questions at the student, but the questions died on her lips when she found a curved knife laid up against her throat.

Sydney had already gotten a hand into her bag and was ready to draw out the Glock when she caught sight of not only the knife but the face of the man under the hood.

"She'll be long dead before before you can draw that weapon," he said, sounding calm and completely unconcerned.

"That may be but you'll kill her anyway," Sydney replied. "And although I won't be able to kill you, I'll make certain you're wounded badly enough for Methos to kill you." She was amazed her voice was so steady.

"Death. His name is Death. Call him by his true name, Ms Watson."

"Let her go. Please. She has no part in this. She's an innocent," Sydney asked, her eyes filcking to her friend's eyes, trying to will Yvonne to stay calm and not excite him to immediate violence.

"Give me your purse. Leave the gun in it. Put it down on the floor and kick it over toward me. Then I'll let her go."

Sydney froze. she'd been taught that you never give up your weapon. It was the only thing you had and giving it up was foolish and most likely fatal. Still, the knife was at Yvonne's throat. And Methos should be here soon. Possibly, as jumpy as he'd been, he might even get here early. Surely he'd sense Rafe and find them?

"All right," Sydney said, and took her time, stalling for every second to put down the purse and then kick it over toward him.

Once Rafe had the purse well away from her he said, "He isn't coming. I made certain of that. I took his head."

---

Joe's car screeched its tires and jumped the curb before it stopped. Methos was out the door before it even stopped, taking the stairs two at a time when a woman came running out of the building with tears running down her face.

She looked at him and yelled, "Help her! There's a madman in there with a sword! They were going toward the library!"

"Joe, take care of her!" Methos shouted as he ran into the college, his feet guiding him to the library without thought.

At the door he felt the presence of another immortal. Methos pressed his back against the wood, pulling his sword from the coat he discarded, he sucked a breath in through his teeth as he slowly turned the doorknob. The presence was stronger as he pushed the door open and slid inside, his feet set apart, his sword held at the ready. But the library looked empty. All the desk lamps were extinguished and the tables unattended among the silent book stacks. But it didn't fool Methos, he could taste Rafe's immortal Buzz in the back of his throat.

A knife was suddenly streaking toward his face from out of nowhere.

Methos ducked but he was too late to avoid the blade completely and hissed in pain. His hand came back from his face covered in blood from the deep gash on his cheek. His eyes flashed in the light coming from the windows as he turned to the stacks.

"Come out, Rafe! You want Death, well here I am, come and get me!" Methos yelled.

A mocking laughter echoed through the empty room. At least empty of people, if not of books. "The librarian back amongst his books. Wasn't that what they called you? When you pretended to be meek and gentle and called yourself Adam as if you were made in the mold of the Lord."

Methos eyes darted about but Rafe's voice was echoed throughout the room. "Oh I'm not the only one pretending in here." Methos taunted as he slowly made his way to the shelves. "Playing at being the right hand of God, aren't we Rafe? I've seen the list of immortals you've killed. I won't argue with you over some of the heads you've taken, the world's not gonna miss them any time soon. But what do you charge them of?" He hissed. "What did they do to you? Their pasts never touched yours!"

"They, like you, Death, thought themselves above humanity. Thought they were God, could decide who lived and died, who could kill children, children Death, with no remorse. There is no forgiveness for that, Death. And, as I've heard you say, you enjoyed it. So. You have a choice. You try to fight and stay alive and your lady dies, or you put down your sword, I take your head, and she lives."

Methos hands tightened around the hilt of his sword. "Let me see her."

Rafe stepped out from behind one of the stacks, his hand around Sydney's neck, his blade to the side of her face near her eye. "One slip, could be so unfortunate. I've told her not to speak, not to move. She's quite intelligent this one. And rather feisty. Still, she's rather vain and my threat to remove her eye seems to have tamed her."

Methos took a breath and let it out, and away with the breath went Adam. Another breath and so went Methos. Instead there was a stranger in the ancient immortal's place with a dangerous glint in his green eyes and a menacing grin. And a cold voice creeped past the immortal's lips that he had tried for centuries to forget had been his own once.

"Well at least you found something that shut the woman up."

Sydney's jaw tightened a bit and there was an answering gleam in her eye, that promised him a black eye if she ever got her hands on him again.

Methos, or more appropriately, Death snorted at the look she gave him, turning to stare at Rafe. "Well go on, by the time you take her eye I can easily take your head. Fair trade I'd say."

"You see?" Rafe said. "I told you he cares for nothing. No one. You're a toy to him. A tool to be used. An idle fantasy, a play toy to be tossed aside the moment he tires of you."

Sydney's head turned a mllimeter toward Rafe and the blade near her eye brought blood from her eyelid. She moaned.

Methos eyes flashed, but he never dropped the mask of indifference, his eyes raking up and down Sydney's body as if she were a plaything as Rafe said, an object. "Mortals can be amusing, I thought maybe you'd already done me a favor by getting rid of her, but it's too bad I can't be granted small favors. I'll have to do it myself now when I've done with you, Rafe."

Inside Methos wanted to respond to Sydney, he wanted someway for her to see him through Rafe's villain, but he'd rather have her live then have her love at this point.

"Do you understand now?" Rafe demanded of Sydney. "Do you believe me now? He cares nothing for you!" Rafe hissed.

Her knees began to buckle as a sob escaped her lips. Rafe's blade moved aside a mllimeter to avoid taking out her eye. When he did so Sydney brought one high-heel clad foot up and stomped as hard as she could into Rafe's foot. At the same time Methos came up with his sword and sent the blade in Rafe's hand skidding away, ramming his shoulder into the younger immortal to send him sprawling.

"And obviously I'm a better actor then I thought." Methos said smugly as he put himself squarely between Sydney and Rafe, sword raised.

Rafe scrambled for his sword while trying to keep Methos in his visual field. Sydney managed to find her balance before she landed on her ass and skittered away well behind Methos, giving him room.

Rafe got to his feet, his visual field noticing Sydney well off and not within reach and Methos standing awaiting his move. He attacked. Methos jumped back, raising his sword point to take the blow and ducked the swing meant for his neck. But it gave time for Rafe to put full power behind another large swing of his longblade, not leaving time for Methos to block or put enough space between him and the sword, he turned his shoulder into it and took the cut across his arm instead of the chest where it would hamper him the most.

Rafe, breathing hard, pressed his attack while Methos was still off-balance from taking the blow across his arm. The longblade gave him the advantage of reach and he used it.

Methos tried to dodge the swing and backed into one of the tables, pushing himself back across the top of the table, Rafe's sword sung above him but missed and Methos kicked out with his booted foot. Catching Rafe in the chest and sending him back into one of the bookshelves.

The shelving tottered and Rafe reached out to help it fall, making Methos jump backwards to avoid the books spilling out across the floor and the heavy shelving itself which fell with a loud crash. When Methos had made certain of his footing he looked up and Rafe wasn't in sight.

"To the left," Sydney called.

Methos moved as quickly as she spoke and turned to catch Rafe's sword just above his head. With a grit of his teeth Methos used his leverage on the ground to push upwards and send Rafe's sword away then dove in with the blade of his Ivanhoe. Rafe screamed as he turned, only catching the blade in his side instead of the gut where Methos had aimed. But Methos had the advantage now and pressed Rafe back. Methos used threatening thrusts of his blade and the man's primitive fear of him to force him backwards towards a corner where the younger immortals longblade would count for nothing in such cramped quarters.

Rafe's eyes were wide with fury and madness. He used his other hand to sling books at Methos while he used his sword to block the blows, resolute and powerful, from Methos' Ivanhoe. And then Rafe suddenly moved into one of Methos blows and locked the handles together, grabbing Methos's hands with clawing fingers to stop the other immortal from throwing him off.

"Not the killing machine you one were, Death. I'll beat you yet," Rafe hissed. Suddenly Methos' sword was flying in an arc through the air and the old immortal was dodging for his life. He was slowing down and the next swing caught Methos across the stomach, making him double over and cry out, just barely able to miss the killing blow as he dove for his fallen sword.

Rafe turned and dove under the cover of the library tables and began on hands and knees to head toward where Sydney stood frozen in horror watching them. Her eyes were on Methos not on Rafe.

Methos grabbed his sword and looked up in time to see Rafe's aim, his eyes meeting Sydney's for a moment before he jumped onto the closest table and ran along the tops of them, trying to catch Rafe before he reached Sydney. He kicked lamps aside in is haste, the glass smashing on the ground and the next leap across tables he miscalculated when he saw Rafe pass just underneath his feet. Methos foot hooked in the table and he fell. He couldn't stop himself from falling, but he had enough time to get his sword underneath him.

The momentum of Methos' fall drove the blade through the table and Rafe's spine, pinning the younger man to the ground. Methos instantly rolled off the hilt and the the room was sickeningly silent besides his and Sydney's breathing and the blood gurgling noises coming from Rafe's still breathing body.

Sydney dropped the heavy tome she'd picked up for a weapon, the noise of it hitting the floor breaking the spell. Methos looked up at her, blood along the side of her face where Rafe's weapon had come so close to maiming her forever. Her breathing abruptly stopped as she stood, the only witness to what had happened here. She found Methos' eyes.

He turned away from her gaze as he rolled off the table. Without a word he pulled the sword out of the wood. Rafe's body dropping loose as Methos kicked away the table. Raising the sword above his head, Methos hesitated long enough to say, "I'm sorry." And the blade came down with practiced precision and severed the immortal's head from his shoulders.

The action was followed by a deafening silence, and an unseen wind began to ruffle the fallen books' pages.

Sydney stood frozen, having stopped breathing for a moment, as if the wind of her breath could alter things, looked from Methos to what was left of Rafe, and then back to Methos.

The blade dropped from Methos limp fingers and clattered to the ground as he watched the shock on her features. He would of given anything to crumple and vanish into the floor like the dirt he was, but the Quickening crackled along Rafe's body and struck Methos without warning. His arm came up and a bolt of white lightening traveled out from it and shattered a lamp. Methos fell to his knees, the pain ripping at his insides, making room for what it had to offer, then it engulfed him. The inside of the library burst into a lighting storm then, bolts shattering the windows, rebounding off walls and striking Methos in the back, forcing him to curl backwards and throw out his arms, nails digging into his palms. The memories ripped into his mind, he saw himself, the others Rafe had killed, a glimpse at the immortal's madness as Rafe's Quickening tore apart the library.

He screamed as the books on their shelves exploded, paper showering down on them as one last bolt struck the light above them and left them both with nothing but a desecrated waste land of paper and glass. The wind stopped and Methos was left kneeling on the floor, blanketed in the pages of destroyed books almost as old as he was, willing the pain to stop so he could breath again.

When he did manage a ragged breath he found Sydney had scrambled over to him. She sat there on her haunches, too exhausted and still too terrified to say anything. Just one tentative hand reached out for him.

Methos turned away from her, face pressed into his shoulder so she couldn't see. A part of him expected her to strike him, a proper penance paid for what he just put her through, forced her to watch.

"Oh Jesus, oh God, are you all right?" she asked. When he didn't answer her she scuttled around on her knees to where she could see his face. She kissed his cheek, tears hot and wet on her face, her arms going around his shoulders. "Talk to me!"

"You shouldn't want me to," He bit out, but it was Methos voice that answered her, not Death.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," she replied, "I knew I shouldn't let him have the gun, they always say don't let them disarm you but he had Yvonne and I couldn't think what to do, so I gave him the gun knowing you'd come and then he told me he'd taken your head, and.. Oh, God.." she was clinging to him desperately.

He didn't think before pulling her into his arms, holding on almost as desperately as she. His fingers twining in her hair in an effort to know she was alive, real in his arms. "Shh."

"What was that, at the end? I thought.. I thought you'd survived the fight and then.. only to lose you then.." She kissed his chest the only portion of him her lips could reach.

"It was the quickening...nasty part at the end, some like to call it the good part..."He groaned, the last of the quickening healing his wounds, but it didn't mean they still didn't hurt. "...But I beg to differ." He said, trying to make a joke of it, to bring her away from going into shock.

"Oh, God, you were sliced up.. she pulled away looking at his arm, it already healing. "Oh... I don't get to play Nurse Nightingale then. And, oh, God, Yvonne...I need to find out if she's okay.."

"Joe's got her, it's all right." Methos reassured her, his hand finding blood on her face when he reached out to touch it. Something dark flickered behind his eyes for a moment, bunching up the sleeve of his sweater he used it to wipe the streak of red from her face. "She's not the one who got hurt."

"It's nothing. I'm fine." But she'd begun shaking in his arms now that the adrenaline was wearing off, or burnt off. "Really. Just give me a bit of time. I'm fine."

Methos put on a soft smile, but it was lacking somehow. "What have I told you about being 'fine'?" He asked. He scooped her up in his arms before she could protest, tossing a passing glance over the destruction around them before holding her closer. "Lets get you out of here."

Joe was waiting for them outside, having sent Yvonne home with promises of Sydney's safety and a call once everything was sorted out. The Watcher opened up the back door for Methos as he slid Sydney inside and wrapped his coat around her body. "I have to go back inside, I'll only be gone a moment." He told her gently.

"Wait, no!" she called out, but at a look from Joe she stopped protesting. Her eyes followed Methos, judging by his walk that he was healing quickly. She pulled his coat closely around her the smell of him reassuring her that it was real, all of it.

Methos easily found his and Rafe's swords, cleaning them both of blood before he took care of Rafe's body. The boy deserved a proper burial, but due to what they were, Methos couldn't offer that. So when he'd finished, the oldest immortal, the man who said faith meant very little to him, said a prayer over his victim of not once but twice. Then he left the unmarked grave behind and prayed that he'd somehow find forgiveness for himself.

Sydney had said nothing while Methos was gone, sitting still, staring at the door through which her lover had disappeared. Joe had, thankfully, or perhaps not so thankfully, left her to her thoughts. Truth be told her mind was a blank, a sort of swirling mist of impressions, not many of which seemed to make sense. Vignettes, and not all of them in order. A look here, an action there. A word. 'I took his head' a prominent refrain as background to so many of the memories of the last few hours, and especially of the last few minutes.

She let out a long breath, too close to a sob, when she saw Methos finally emerge from the building. She hadn't realized she'd mostly been holding her breath.

Methos opened the car door and slid the swords in the front seat before he came around to the back and crouched in front of her, so he wasn't looming. "How's it going?" He asked.

Her eyes were huge but she managed a nod. "I'll be .. It's going."

Methos smiled for her, reaching out an experimental hand to touch her arm. "I need to know where you want to spend the night? Joe's apartment isn't too far away, or we can take you to Yvonne's."

"But.. with you of course."

Methos was silent, feeling Joe impatient as his back to leave. He nodded and slid in the backseat with her as Joe drove them back to the barge.

"I'm sorry," she said soft enough so that only Methos could hear her.

Methos hesitated, then wrapped his arm around her. "You don't have anything to be sorry about." He whispered. "Close your eyes, we'll be back at the barge soon."

She did close her eyes and found out she'd fallen asleep when the slowing of the car at the barge awoke her. She looked around a bit panicky until she remembered where she was and with whom. "Oh," she said.

Methos got out of the car, but Joe stopped him before he could reach in for Sydney.

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" The Watcher asked, true concern on his face for Sydney.

"It's her choice, Joe." Methos said, shrugging his shoulders. "For however long she decides it's what she wants."

Joe left them at the barge, volunteering to call Yvonne as he left. Methos bundled Sydney into the barge, getting her ready for bed and bracing himself for the morning.

She let him shower her and put her to bed, her eyes wide with emotion, not saying much. Finally, when he pulled the covers up over her she spoke. "Why did Joe ask you if he thought this was a good idea?"

"Oh, I wouldn't worry about that," Methos said lightly. "Some things are best not to worry about until morning."

"Who is it who keeps telling me not to hide?"

Methos smiled, bending down to kiss her forehead. "I'm not hiding, I'm just waiting." He said before standing. "Good night, Sydney."

Watching him walk out and leaving her there alone was possibly the most confusing thing of all of it. What had she done wrong? Well, yes, everything. She refused to cry about it. She was too weak, too much a liability. He was right. Exhaustion interrupted her angry thoughts at herself and she fell into a troubled sleep.

---

When sunlight filtered into the barge, Methos simply stared at the sunbeams, at least they'd changed the ceiling he'd been watching for the last twelve hours. This night had most definitely given a new meaning to no rest for the wicked. He'd actually given thought to running, just disappearing from her life and letting her be, let her be happy. But he was a selfish creature, always had been.

She walked into the living room area showered and dressed. Bruises on her neck from where Rafe had held her had darkened, a clear thumb print near the base of her neck. She put on a shirt with a mock turtleneck but it didn't hide all the bruises.

She stopped halfway across the room and said, "You didn't come to bed."

"No, I didn't," He agreed, sitting up on the couch. He eyes flicked up to the bruises, swallowed and tried to look somewhere else. "I thought you'd want the time alone to think."

"I see," she said, her eyes narrowing. "Thanks so much for thinking for me, since I seem to be doing a pretty rotten job of it lately."

"Sydney, I didn't say that." Methos said, standing up. "I was shaken up last night, and obviously you were too. You nearly went into shock and I can't blame you for that." His voice rose as his rant progressed, saying all the things that had passed through his sleep deprived mind. "And it's not because I think you're weak, it's not because you're human. I nearly lost you last night, do you have any idea how scared I was? That while Rafe was planning on murdering you slowly I had to dredge his very real nightmare and risk losing everything I loved even as I saved your life? So yes, I gave you time to think, to put together what happened last night and decide if you can still love or even stand the sight of a murderer. Because that wasn't some grand bit of acting last night. Three centuries ago that was me, the same face, the same person standing here! Rafe didn't lie to you."

She stared at him for a moment, her mouth hanging open. "Don't you listen to me at all? Do you, what, have all these things in your head and you think you understand me and assume that you know me?" She took a breath then added, "I know we don't talk seriously very much. It's a fault. We need to work on that. Sex gets in the way. But we did talk about how people change. We did have that conversation. I didn't say it because I thought it was something you might like to hear. It's something I believe. I have to believe it. I want to believe it. I don't care who you were! Well, okay, maybe I do, but only with regard to who you are now. Because it's who you are now that matters, not then."

"And what do you think of me now?" He asked, walking towards her, forcing her to back up with the way he was coming at her, but he did it slowly. "I may have changed, but I haven't stopped killing. Rafe won't be the last, and staying with me only means you'll see the same thing last night over and over again."

"And would you have killed him if he hadn't come after you?" she asked. "Was it your choice?"

"It was," He said. "I could have run, but I didn't. The man's dead because for once I couldn't be the old reliable coward."

"Agreed. We talked about running. He was mad. Running would have only put off the inevitable. You said that, you realized that." She stood her ground as he kept advancing refusing to step back again. "I'm sorry I'm not a warrior. I'm sorry I make you vulnerable. If you want me to leave because you want to be safe I will. But if this is about you thinking last night changed anything with regard to how I feel about you then you're wrong."

Methos suddenly stopped, looking like he'd been slapped. "Sydney, there's going to be at least one battle I won't make in time for. Once is all it will take, and I'll lose you."

"So your answer to that is to drive me away now? Forgive me if the logic of that escapes me."

Methos' eyes closed, turning on his heel he went over to the couch and let himself collapse face first onto it and let out his frustration into the pillow he'd used last night. "I'm too bloody old for this," His muffled voice complained.

"I'm making tea," she announced. "And breakfast. I'm starving."

"Right, you do that, luv." Methos mumbled into the pillow.

"Breakfast," she said some twenty minutes later, "is ready. Will the old fart join me or not?"

"Respect your elders, young lady." He groused, taking a seat. His green eyes caught her blue across the table. "You're not leaving, are you?" He asked seriously.

"Short of you tossing me into the Seine, no," she replied dishing out omelets. She sat and poured herself tea. "So, what's on the agenda for today?"

"Everything and anything you like," Methos said grandly, shoveling a forkful of omelet in his mouth. "Because obviously I have a lot of groveling to do."

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