Immortal History Lessons 21

Suitcases lay open on the couch and table. Methos was running around muttering about cleaning the barge before Mac took his head, which Janie luckily thought was just an expression.

"So," Syd said to her best friend. "I'm so glad you got to see Paris! Too bad it wasn't longer."

"Yeah, well, I'm overdue back at the cop shop already. My partner is gonna have my head."

Syd bit the inside of her mouth trying not to smile. "And you're okay with Adam now? Really?"

"Well," Janie grudgingly admitted, "he's not a serial killer so far as I can tell, but he's got serious paranoid delusions running around with a sword."

"Aww.. It's just a family heirloom, you know? He's so attached to it I think it's kinda cute," Syd countered.

"I guess I can deal with cute," Methos sighed as he walked by with clean sheets for the bed. His ears perking when his cellphone rang, but patting down his pockets produced no phone.

"Wait," Syd said, moving the suitcase to check the pillows on the couch. She found his phone and tossed it to him. "He's worse than me," Syd muttered.

"God help us all," Janie retorted.

"At least I lose them in practical places." Methos countered as he answered the phone and after a few words stepped out of the barge to take the call.

"Hrumph. Come on, help me make the bed, Janie," Syd suggested, taking pity on Methos for the moment. "I hope that isn't the airline changing our flight out. I guess you've got someone gonna meet you at the airport?"

"Yeah, my sister. She demands I bring her something from Paris. I'm taking back a stale croissant for her."

"Oh, bad sis!" Syd laughed.

"Well, it looks like I won't be joining you ladies on the flight." Methos said, slightly annoyed as he ducked back inside and grabbed his coat. "Old employer wants me to have a word with my replacement, something about my bad filing system giving the poor guy a headache."

"You have a filing system?" Syd asked, wide-eyed.

"We do try." He said defensively.

"Who did you say you worked for again?" Janie asked, earning her a frown from Sydney.

"Research company, I do all the historical leg work for authors and movie writers. Surprisingly, people pay a lot of money to be historically correct." Methos said easily as he closed Sydney's suitcase and handed it to her. "I'll call a cab for you two and be on the next flight out."

"I'm in no hurry. We'll call a cab for Janie," Syd replied. "You don't mind, do you Janie?"

"Nah, used to traveling alone. Besides, I'll get some sleep that way."

"Great. An extra day in Paris... I'll have to thank your boss personally, Adam," Sydney said, giving him a beatific smile.

"And Adam said unto God: Why do I even bother?" Methos said dramatically as he dialed up a cab for Janie.

They stood together on the Quai waving Janie goodbye some twenty minutes later. "You know, I don't much appreciate you trying to pack me off," Syd commented. "Without even asking..." she added, eyes narrowed. "So what's really up?"

Methos stuck both hands in his pockets before wrapping his coat tighter to his body. "Sherlock's informed me that they've already found my replacement on the Methos Chronicles while I'm out on fieldwork. I wasn't lying about the horrible filing, they're my journals, I never had a proper system of actually chronicling my life. And I don't leave transcripts around. I want to have a talk with this guy and maybe pick up some of the journals I don't want anyone reading."

"Good plan. Think you can smuggle them out? I could help," she suggested. "I'll flirt with your replacement and get him all off-balance and you can scarper with the goods."

Methos smirked. "No, I don't think that'll be necessary. I keep all the books I don't want anyone poking at in a special nook at the Watcher's main library. I'll just have a little chat with Mr. Simons and take a swing by the library on the way out."

"Ah, I thought you might be smarter than to just leave them hanging around. Once you rescue them, do I get to read any? I don't know that much about you after all, since I've been so good at not asking a lot of questions."

"I don't know how good of a read they are, I haven't found many that can still read Ancient Sumerian." Methos said lightly.

"Oh come on! I'm a historian. You've got original source material. And I've got to publish or perish. Surely you'll give me a crumb or two..."

"Well..." He drawled. "There was that small incident in Troy. I think that ones in Ancient Greek, so spend a few months brushing up on your languages and you should be able to read it."

"You are so sweet, you know?" From the look on her face she was already plotting. "So when do we meet your replacement?"

"We don't meet them, I do." Methos said as he got out the phone. "You're going to wait in the cab."

"But why? I can be charming, you know. Okay, maybe not as charming as you, but still. I won't bite him. He's a watcher, right? I want to see one in the wild. Pretty please?"

"You can't go into Watcher's headquarters without one of these." He said with a laugh, displaying his tattooed wrist.

"You have to flash it at the door? Wave your wrist in front of a wrist scanner, or what?"

"You walk around enough and they are going to notice a lack of tattoo, yes."

"I could wear long sleeves. One of your ubiquitous sweaters."

"Ubiquitous?" Methos asked incredibly. "It's a sweater, not the Tardis."

"Ah, but still. Come on, I'll be good. I'll just look and learn and I won't even ask any questions. I won't even take my sonic screwdriver with me."

Methos watched her through narrowed eyes before sighing.

----

Methos came around the cab as Sydney got out and latched onto her elbow, directing them towards a huge mansion with expansive grounds.

"Now listen to me, you're an apprentice Watcher, you haven't even finished your academy training. It's the only explanation for you not having the tattoo yet. Don't say anything, don't touch anything and pretend as if this is an assignment, not a field trip. Understand?" Methos said in hurried words under his breath. "The stakes here are just as high as they were in Turkey."

Her eyes went wide. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," he replied.

"Okay. I'm a mouse." Sadly, given her hair, looks, figure and short skirt she didn't look much like a mouse.

"Why am I already regretting this?" He asked aloud before they reached the guard at the gate. "Adam Pierson, research." Methos said, showing his ID to the guard. "I'm here to talk with my replacement before transfer to field. And this is Candice Hollworth, she's an apprentice at the academy," Methos shrugged. "Kid wouldn't stay in the car, what can I say?"

The guard glanced at Sydney with an appraising eye and shared Methos amused smile. "We were all that excited to see the real action ourselves."

"Yes we were." Methos agreed and the guard waved them through.

Sydney looked back and winked at the guard who laughed.

"See, that was easy," she assured her lover. "Not a problem."

"Want to save that jinx until we're on our way out of the building?" Methos asked crossly as they entered the building, the immortal staying one step ahead of her in the halls instead of the normal intimate press of shoulders as they walked.

Methos nodded to a few, said a cheery hello and a gleeful Adam Pierson declaration of being transferred to actual fieldwork to a few old colleagues but didn't stop to chat with anyone.

Sydney didn't have to work too hard at looking fascinated by it all. When no one was near she whispered, "I feel like I'm infiltrating Torchwood."

"Yeah, well sometimes I wish it were that interesting." Methos mumbled back as they reached an offshoot of the library where men and woman of all ages bent over thick history books in ancient languages and scraps of paper that needed expert care to stay in one piece.

"The research department." Methos announced in a hushed voice. "And I already see our man." He said, nodding his head lightly in the direction of a highly agitated man in his early forties who was squinting aghast at the page in front of him. Methos covered up a cough that sounded very much like a snicker.

"My god. They're still in the dark ages. It's like Name of the Rose all over again," Sydney muttered. "What, they're allergic to computers?"

"Oh I dragged them into the 21st century kicking and screaming years ago," Methos said offhandedly. "This is where all the books in all the world that never make it into museums go. And where journals that belonged to immortals as sentimental as me go." Methos grinned. "And by the looks of it Mr. Simons is enjoying a rather colorful entry in one of mine, I wonder if his poor heart can take the details."

"Hmmmm. I wanna read that one," Syd replied.

Methos chuckled as they approached the poor scholar.

"Mr. Simons?" Methos said softly as not to disturb the man, but the older looking gentleman still jumped in his seat and turned around with wide eyes before they focused on Methos and Sydney.

"I'm sorry, new here...I'm not used to people doing that yet." Simons said apologetically.

"I didn't mean to startle you," Methos said carefully. "I'm Adam Pierson, Sherlock Collins caught me on the phone before I left Paris. He said you were having trouble with my cataloging system for the chronicles."

"Oh yes!" Simons said a little too loudly and a round of 'shh's' echoed off the walls. "I'm sorry, it's just that it was taking me forever to decipher your odd way of keeping the Methos files. I mean, what on earth were the journals from the French Victorian Era doing in the comedy section?" Mr. Simons asked in utter bafflement.

Sydney was biting her bottom lip in an effort not to laugh or smile. "He liked burlesque?"

"Misfiling?" Methos asked helpfully.

"I suppose, I suppose." Simons said but he looked tired.

"Are you all right?" Methos asked.

Simons rubbed at the back of his neck worriedly and glanced from the mess of open books on his desk, disorderly in a way Methos didn't actually appreciate, to Methos and back again.

"I'm fine. But I was wondering." Simons said slowly. "There is a new head of research and he wants a full report on the Methos case so far. Maybe...since you have his current whereabouts, you would be the best man to give it."

Methos was nonplussed by the idea. "I really was hoping to take a flight out before tomorrow."

Simons looked dismayed. "It will only take a few moments, I promise. He won't expect a current report on Methos until you've made visual contact, I swear."

"Methos," Sydney said her voice making the name mysterious. "Please, sir, can I hear the briefing too?"

Methos gave her a hardly concealed glare before he gave Simons a forced grin. "Well if it's only a few minutes." He said as if agreeing was like pulling teeth.

Simons looked relieved and excited at this opportunity to not be fed to the upper authorities for lunch and scribbled down an address on a scrap of paper. "Oh thank you, Mr. Pierson. This is the place, just run by there before your flight and I'll be forever grateful."

Methos glanced at the paper and recognized the address of a very ritzy hotel in Paris. "Newly arrived?" He asked.

"Just flew in, he's staying at the hotel until we have a proper flat set up for him, and all his meetings are being held there at the moment." Simons explained quickly. "Thank you again."

"Don't mention it." Methos mumbled.

Sydney behaved while they stopped at the library to pick up his journals and acted the part of awed ingenue until they'd finally exited the compound. "Well, that was less than enlightening. I'm so disappointed. I expected Opus Dei and I got Opie instead. At least I've got your journals to look at."

"And just for that, I'm going to make the briefing about myself as long and dry as possible." Methos said as they got in the cab and handed the address over to the driver.

"I'll make faces at you from the back of the room while you give it."

"Do that and you'll never get to read these." He said with a grin as he tapped the top of three large old tomes.

"Oh, you play dirty," she replied with a frown. "Not fair. Okay, I'll behave."

Higgins nodded and released his death grip on Sydney's arm. "Thank you," she said to Higgins and got up cautiously until she was fully standing and the hurried over to stand just behind the other guy with a sword.

"All right," Methos said with a little less edge to his voice. "That's better, isn't it? I'm sure it would be even better if you put the sword away." He said, directing a look at Higgins naked blade.

"I'm not that trusting, Adam," he said emphasizing the name.

A dark little smirk formed on Methos face. "Good man. Then you won't mind me having this out, just in case you get any ideas about my head." He said, pulling out the gun he'd had trained on Higgins the whole time from his coat pocket.

Higgins sighed. "All right. So, how do we get past this impasse," Higgins asked. "I'm open for reasonable suggestions."

"Notre Dame." Methos offered.

"I beg your pardon?" Higgins asked.

"Holy ground," Methos said with some annoyance. "You want to talk and I don't feel comfortable doing that with a sword pointed at me. Take it or leave it."

"Fine. I'll take it. an hour. Leave your girlfriend home."

"Not on your life," Syd replied before Methos could respond.

"Agreed." Methos said harshly, eyes only flitting darkly at Sydney for a moment. "One hour, Notre Dame."

Without waiting for Higgins to move or for a formal dismissal Methos grabbed Sydney's arm and escorted her out, not speaking or acknowledging what had happened until they'd gotten to the cab. Even then, Methos simply watched the scenery pass until they reached the barge.

"Is this the real Methos when he isn't on best behavior? I only ask so I know how mad I should be."

"That depends on if the real Sydney Watson is always so stupid?" Methos snapped. The cab driver looked a little unsure of his newest fare.

"How is it exactly that I'm stupid?" she asked quietly.

"This isn't a game, Sydney." He hissed. "I'm wondering now how many times I'll have to say it until you understand. I walked into that room knowing what danger we were in, I walked into headquarters knowing everything could go to hell if you even sneezed wrong. How am I supposed to be in control of the situation when you still flit into everything like it's nothing more then a battle of wits. Well wake up! Because it's so much more then that."

Methos seethed before he stared out the window again, trying to get control of his anger before it boiled over.

"I understand that. I'd just rather they not notice my knees knocking. I'm sorry. I'm not used to finding myself in life and death situations several times a day."

"You shouldn't have to." He said quietly.

"I'll go home."

His next intake of breath was sharp, but it didn't change the tone of his voice. "You still have your ticket. I'm sure they'll understand and switch it for you."

"No doubt," she said, keeping her eyes on the passing streets of Paris.

The rest of the ride was left in silence and the cabby was relieved when they paid and let him drive away. Methos, journals tucked under one arm, hands in his pockets moved into the barge with Sydney behind him.

She began packing without a word, and not looking at him while doing it.

Methos sat on the couch in front of the empty fireplace. He had opened one of the journals to pass the time, divert his thoughts, but it was quickly put aside. Now he was absently massaging the knots out of his hands, the varying degrees of pressure in his hands tracking the pattern of his thoughts.

She walked out of the bedroom a suitcase in her hand. "If you'd call a taxi I'd appreciate it." She paused, then added, "Be careful."

"You too," He said lamely, looking suddenly young and uncertain. Not knowing whether he was allowed to kiss her goodbye or settle for a handshake, he didn't even know if he'd be welcome back when he returned to New York. But then that was probably for the best. "I'll call the cab."

"Thanks," she said and disappeared into the bathroom one last time.

Methos bowed his head and took a deep breath. Hold it inside for just a little bit longer, he told himself. Maybe if he went outside it would be colder then in here. He made the phone call on the deck, watching Notre Dame's lights begin to wink on and suddenly hated it as the cab company picked up.

"Yeah, I need a cab to pick up a fare for the airport. No, just one." He said, gave the address across from the barge and hung up, watching the stream of people on the streets.

She came up onto the deck with her suitcase and looked at Notre Dame then at him. "Can I say something here?" She was biting her lower lip.

"Why not." Methos said lightly, giving her a weak smile.

"I'm sorry I got you in trouble. I'm sorry I'm stupid, but I loved every minute of it. Take care, and if I were you I'd run and not go to that meeting. I mean, what could he do? He'd only expose himself."

Methos frowned. "You're not stupid." He said, reaching out to touch her but aborted the motion. Wrapping his arms around himself instead, faining a rubbing motion to make his arms warm. "He'd expose me too. I can't risk that. I wish running were so simple these days."

"Yeah." A tear escaped and trickled down her cheek. "Oh, that must be my taxi." She picked up her suitcase and glanced back at him. "Goodbye, Methos."

"Sydney."

"Yes?"

Methos reached out and brushed away the tear on her cheek, smiling for her like he had that first night at the bar. "I loved every minute of it too." The tightness of his voice a goodbye he wouldn't voice.

"Right. Take care," she said as she hefted her suitcase and headed down the gangplank towards the taxi.

Methos waited until the cab pulled away before he walked in the opposite direction, towards Notre Dame.