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Life is All About Change
Part 1 of the New Beginning cycle
by Jennifer Campbell
Methos, MacLeod and Joe don't belong to me, and I
promise to return them to Panzer/Davis in top condition when I'm done with
them. I make no money off this, unfortunately.
No beta on this story, so please forgive any typos you might stumble
across.
part 1
Methos walked through Seacouver in a daze. People in
three-piece suits hurried by him, bumping their leather briefcases into
his legs, but he hardly noticed. All he really felt was the cold bite of
his sword against his side, and that particular day, the weapon felt
heavier than usual.
MacLeod's fight with O'Rourke had been several months ago, but this
was the first time Methos would see his friend since that fateful night.
Mac had left the morning after without a word even to Joe or Amanda,
returning to Seacouver and the dojo after almost a year in Paris. Joe had
muttered something about having to relocate every time Mac had a moral
crisis, and
Amanda had left for places unknown, leaving Methos alone in Paris.
Normally, he wouldn't have minded -- MacLeod attracted immortals like
a magnet, which made him an unsafe man to hang around -- but the French
city reverted to a dull, lifeless prison without his friends. So when his
classes ended, Methos packed a small bag and jumped a plane for Seacouver,
determined to track down Mac wherever he might be hiding.
But he found a nasty surprise at the dojo. He intended to sneak in the
back door, grab a beer from the fridge and camp out on MacLeod's couch
until the immortal came home. But when he broke in, he was greeted by the
sight of a spotless, empty loft. Alarmed, he took the lift down to the
weight room and found it too had been gutted.
For lack of a better idea, he left and headed toward Joe's bar, hoping
it was still there. On foot, the hike was a substantial one, but he'd left
his car in Paris. So it was that he walked down the streets of Seacouver
without really seeing anything, just hoping that, after all he'd had done
to keep Mac in one piece, the Highlander hadn't managed to lose his head.
About an hour later, the neon-blue sign outside Joe's bar came into
view, giving Methos a much-needed wash of relief. Although it was early,
he knew Joe already would be there, probably working on Watcher business.
He masked his tension beneath a passive expression and opened the door.
Joe was sitting at the bar, hunched over a laptop computer. He looked
up as the immortal entered and, as always, Methos was fascinated to watch
an entire spectrum of emotion cross Joe's face in a heartbeat. The Watcher
seemed finally to decide on annoyance, just as Methos expected he would. He
snapped shut the laptop and glared at his unexpected visitor.
"Well, well. Look what the cat dragged in," Joe said. "What are you
doing here, Methos?"
Methos smiled slightly and took a bar stool across from Joe. "Good to
see you, too. So, where's MacLeod?"
"After months without one word, all you have to say is 'Where's
MacLeod'? There is such a thing as keeping in contact with your friends."
Methos shrugged. "You knew where I was. It's not like I sold my house
and vanished. That honor belongs to someone else, this time."
Joe broke eye contact with an almost guilty look and pulled two
glasses from under the bar. Methos relaxed. If Joe was offering him a
drink, that meant he'd recovered from his initial surprise and was ready
to be cooperative.
Joe pulled out a bottle of scotch and poured. "When Mac got back, the
first thing he did was sell the dojo. Too many memories of Richie, I
guess. He bought an old, out-of-the-way church outside of town and has
kept himself busy by renovating it into cabin."
"Nice of him to tell me. It was quite a surprise to find the dojo
empty." Methos lifted the glass and drained it.
"It's not like you haven't pulled the same stunt, Adam," Joe said.
"I know, but I'm different. Mac is not the type to pull a disappearing
act. I am."
Joe leaned forward to refill Methos' glass, and the immortal
recognized the concern in the Watcher's eyes. Apparently pulling a Houdini
wasn't Mac's only stunt recently. Whatever the Highlander had been up to,
it had worried his Watcher more than a little. Methos thought that maybe
his visit was long overdue.
Joe leaned over and began rummaging under the bar. He reappeared a few
moments later with a long object wrapped completely in cloth, but Methos
didn't need him to uncover the object to know what it was.
Mac's sword. The idiot Highlander was running around Seacouver with no
protection. Methos softly ran his fingers over the wrapping and turned
down one end of the cloth to reveal the hilt. He ran his fingers over the
carved white dragon and looked up at Joe with an expression than needed no
words.
Joe lifted his arms in a gesture as if to say it wasn't his fault.
"Hey, I tried to to talk him out of leaving it here, but he's one stubborn
son of a bitch."
"What happened, Joe? I thought he'd accepted Richie's death and moved
on."
"I think he is over Richie," Joe said, watching Methos' fingers
explore the hilt. "But sometimes Mac reaches a point where he just wants
out of the Game for a while. It's happened before."
"Mac wants out, and you've been keeping his sword under the bar?"
Joe sighed. "Look, Methos, you have to help him."
Every time MacLeod suffered from a fit of self-loathing, it seemed
that Methos was the one to slap him out of his foolishness. He briefly
wondered how the Highlander had managed to survive this long. Methos re-
covered the hilt and ran a hand through his hair. This would not be easy,
but someone needed to make Mac see reason.
"All right, Joe. I'll go see him," he said.
"Thanks."
"But I could use a ride."
Methos was surprised to see how far out of town Mac's newest project
was. After turning off a two-lane highway in desperate need of repairs,
they followed a dirt road for a couple miles before finally ending up at
the back of a large, ornate church with a lake stretching out behind it.
"Mac certainly knows how to pick a good spot," Methos said admiringly.
"Yeah, I'm think it was a popular retreat for the upper class about
twenty years ago, before it fell out of use. But he didn't chose it for
the scenery," Joe said.
Methos nodded. "Holy ground. At least Mac hasn't lost all his good
sense."
Joe pulled up next to Mac's Thunderbird, and Methos felt the familiar
presence of the Highlander -- and someone else. Mac had company, and it
was someone with a long lifeline. He resisted his first instinct -- to
tell Joe this wasn't such a good idea and get the hell out of there -- and
firmly reminded himself that he was safe on holy ground. It was probably
just Amanda, anyway.
"Methos, what is it?" Joe asked, reading the sudden alarm in the
other's expression.
Methos quickly masked his concern the best way he knew how; he slipped
into the guise of Adam Pierson and looked at Joe with his most innocent
expression. It was a dirty trick, Methos knew, but Joe tended to trust
Adam more because he'd known him long before he had met Methos the
immortal. "Nothing's wrong. I, uh, just sensed MacLeod, and it caught me off
guard. That's all."
Joe seemed to buy the story, making Methos relax the lie a little. Joe
was worried enough, and there was no point in making it worse. Methos
tightened his grip on MacLeod's sword and stepped out of the car before
his friend could ask anything else.
"Thanks for the ride. I'll take it from here."
Joe nodded. "Good luck."
Methos walked toward the church as Joe pulled out and drove back down
the mountain. He then dropped his guise, knowing MacLeod would pick up on
the change and immediately go on guard. He approached the church, and the
Highlander already was waiting in the open doorway.
Methos stopped and absorbed the changes that the past few months had
taken on his friend. He was regrowing his hair, which was barely brushing
his shoulders, and he looked more at peace with himself than Methos
thought he'd ever seen the other immortal. Methos almost envied him.
"Methos," MacLeod said as way of greeting.
"Mac. Nice place you have here."
MacLeod's eyes glanced at the bundle in Methos' hand, and he scowled.
"You've been to see Joe."
"Well, how else was I going to find you?"
Methos reached the doorway and let himself passed MacLeod into a
large, rather rustic looking living room. He noticed a stack of paints and
tools pushed into one corner -- the renovation obviously was not yet
complete. There was no sign of the mystery immortal, though. Then Methos
heard a toilet flush. The other would come out soon enough.
He also noticed that his favorite couch from the loft was sitting in
the center of the room, just waiting for him to stretch out his tired
limbs and unwind. It looked so inviting, especially after tromping through
the city all morning -- but he couldn't accept the invitation yet.
Business came first.
Mac shut the door and walked around Methos, meeting him face to face.
"What are you doing here?" he asked.
Methos wondered why that always was the first question out of
everyone's mouth. One might think he never stopped by for social calls.
"Oh, I just came by to visit for a few weeks. Maybe I'll even wait around
to watch your Quickening. It should be spectacular, and, if I don't miss
my mark, I won't have to wait too long."
"I need to have a talk with Joe," Mac muttered as he sat in a living
room chair. "And I'm not going to die."
"So, is that the lucky contestant in there?" Methos nodded toward the
bathroom. "Nice of you to let him relieve himself before the fight."
"Theodore and I are friends. He would never take my head."
Methos set Mac's sword on the couch and glared at MacLeod until the
other immortal met his gaze. When he spoke, his tone was low and intense.
"You are playing a very dangerous game, MacLeod. You can't afford to trust
anyone."
Methos heard the bathroom door click open and turned, expecting to see
a new face, but the one that greeted him was all too familiar. He was an
unusually big man and had a faint scar across his neck. Methos simply
stared at him, trying to place him. If the hair were slightly longer and
he grew a beard, he'd look just like --
Oh, gods preserve me.
Theodore took one look at Mac's visitor, drew his sword and
determinedly advanced on Methos.
"I can't believe you're still alive, you bastard," Theodore spat,
pointing his sword at Methos. "But I can fix that."
Methos quickly backed away and put the couch between him and his
assailant; MacLeod simultaneously jumped to his feet, ran to Theodore and
grabbed his sword arm, yelling the whole time.
"Theodore! Stop! This is holy ground!"
Methos ducked under his attacker's swing and dashed for the door. His
heart pounded so hard he was sure the other two immortals must be able to
hear it. Then he noticed that they still were locked together, Mac using
every ounce of his strength to wrest Theodore's sword away.
Methos knew this might be his only chance to escape. "Maybe I'll come
back some other time, MacLeod," he said, "when you don't have company."
Mac gave one last yank at the sword, and it came loose into his hands.
As Theodore yelled in frustration, Mac turned to the doorway only to find
it empty. Methos was gone.
Joe returned to the bar and found a young man sitting patiently at the
front door, waiting for the return of the owner. Joe recognized him. His
name was John Baker, and he'd been assigned to watch Theodore. But what
was he doing in Seacouver?
"Hey, John!" Joe said as he got out of his car. "How's it going?"
The other man stood, walked to Joe and extended his hand for a shake,
which Joe readily accepted. "I'm doing well. I just got into town
yesterday and thought I'd stop by and say hi."
"I'm glad you did," Joe said, guiding the younger man toward the bar.
"So, is Theodore in town?"
"Yeah, he's here visiting MacLeod," John said. When Joe's eyes widened
in surprise, he added, "You didn't know? He's in town to help MacLeod
finish his renovations. In fact, he's up at the church right now."
Joe almost lost his balance and had to grab at John's arm to keep from
falling. Theodore was at Mac's cabin? Methos must have known there was
someone else there, and he didn't say anything. And he went in anyway?
"Whoa, Joe. Are you OK?" John asked as Joe steadied himself.
"I'm fine. So, were you up at the church today?" They reached the
front door, and Joe unlocked it as he spoke, hoping he wasn't showing his
nervousness.
"Yeah, but I left a couple hours ago."
Joe breathed a sigh of relief. If he had left that long ago, he hadn't
see Joe and Methos. At least that was one worry off his mind.
The two sat at the bar, and Joe began making small talk -- the
weather, John's flight -- anything to avoid talking about immortals. He
was afraid that John would notice something was wrong if they came back to
the subject of Theodore and Mac.
After a couple hours and a few beers, they were interrupted by the
front door opening. Joe turned to see MacLeod walk in, and the immortal
looked worried. He glanced back at John, who was staring at Mac in shock.
This is not good, Joe thought.
"Dawson, have you seen --" He stopped when he saw John. "Sorry, I
didn't know you had company."
"Um, no problem, Mac. I'd like you to meet John, a friend of mine.
John, this is Duncan MacLeod."
John shook his head in disgust and stood. "Thanks for the beers, Joe.
I have to go." Without another word or look at MacLeod, he grabbed his
coat and stormed out of the bar.
Joe breathed out explosively. "Well, it's not like the Watchers don't
know we're friends already, but I think John just lost some respect for
me," he said. "So, Mac, what's up?"
"Have you seen Methos?"
"Not for several hours. What happened?"
MacLeod sat down as Joe went to the bar and poured him drink. Mac
related the story, leaving out nothing, and when he finished, he stood and
began pacing the bar, his drink forgotten in one hand. It had been several
hours since Methos had vanished and Mac had come to town, leaving Theodore
at the church. MacLeod was torn between annoyance at the immortal's abrupt
departure and worry that maybe he'd met a mishap -- one that carried a
blade.
"Mac, will you please sit down? Pacing won't bring him here any
faster," Joe said.
MacLeod rejoined Joe and finished his drink. He gripped the glass so
hard that it cracked in his hand, and he set it on the bar with an guilty
look. "Sorry, Joe."
"For what? The glass or your impatience?"
"I just wish I knew where he was." He paused. "I've never seen
Theodore so furious."
"Adam will show up when he's ready. Don't worry, Mac. He can take care
of himself."
As Joe finished talking, Mac felt the distinctive presence of Methos,
and he thought he'd maybe never been so happy to sense another immortal. A
moment later, old man walked in. He didn't miss a beat as he saw MacLeod,
and his stride was slow and steady as he crossed to the bar. He was
wearing that damned blank expression again, which, Mac knew, meant he had
something to hide.
"Took you long enough," Mac said.
Methos sat next to MacLeod and shot him a withering look. "I'd like to
see you walk down that mountain any faster. I think I made pretty good
time."
"What's with you and Theodore, Methos? You owe me an explanation."
Methos met MacLeod's eyes, and Mac was sure he saw a trace of anger
flicker across the hazel depths, but it vanished so quickly that Mac
wondered if it had been his imagination.
"I owe you nothing, MacLeod."
"I saved your head from a nasty death on holy ground," Mac said. He
saw Methos' resolve begin to crumble as the older immortal broke eye
contact. He decided to push a little harder. "You can't tell me you don't
know him. It didn't work with Cassandra, and it won't work now."
He sensed the older man's surrender as he looked back at MacLeod and
sighed. "His name isn't Theodore," Methos said. "It's Theodorus, and he
was a Trojan."
"And," Mac prompted.
An evil smile crossed Methos' face, a relic of a life he'd long since
left behind. If the Highlander wanted the truth, he'd more than oblige.
End of part 1
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Posted October 5, 1998