Between Love and Obsession

by Gillian Leeds

"Make sure you lock up behind me." He smiled at her. Then, after kissing her softly on the forehead, he moved off down the steps and into the night.

When the alarm went off at 7:45 the next morning, Methos' first reaction was to groan audibly and throw his pillow toward it. Then a red-haired image flitted across his mind, stirring him into consciousness. Bryn! He swung out of bed and stumbled to the shower, trying to clear the cobwebs from his head.

It had been almost dawn when he had finally managed to fall into bed. He had stopped by the bar on his way home, knowing that Joe would be up. Methos had told the Watcher the story, leaving out select parts here and there. Then he had bluntly outlined exactly what he expected from Joe -- co-operation and complete access to Watcher files and information on Stefan DeWinter. He casually reminded the Watcher that he had saved his life once. And that if that wasn't enough, he should simply consider that crossing a man 5,000 years old could be hazardous to one's health.

Joe had looked into the immortal's eyes and, for the first time, been afraid of him. The same easy-going Methos still sat across from him, more sprawled in the chair than sat in it. But the eyes carried a flicker of darkness Joe had never noticed before.

Half an hour after the alarm went off, dressed in jeans and a dark green sweater, Methos headed downstairs to his Range Rover. Although the radio had predicted the rain would return by afternoon, the sun shone and the day was bright. Methos whistled cheerfully as he drove, aware that within him bubbled an excitement that had been missing for many years. Despite Stefan DeWinter, and the ungodly hour, it felt good to be alive.

"What happened here last night?" Tara looked at Bryn as she poured herself coffee. She hadn't had the chance to ask before now. Bryn had returned to the living room and immediately announced that she was going to bed. Neither Tara nor MacLeod had missed the flush in her cheeks and the slight faraway look in her eyes. Tara suspected that neither had anything to do with Stefan DeWinter but had been put there by a very old man.

"What do you mean what happened? We told you." Bryn popped the last piece of croissant into her mouth.

"No, I mean with you and Adam?" Something was definitely going on. It wasn't like Bryn to be secretive.

"Nothing." Bryn avoided her sister's eyes. Still in the process of trying to sort out her own feelings, the last thing she wanted or needed right now was sisterly advice, at least in the romance department.

"Don't "nothing" me, Bryn Siobhan O'Neill! I have known you all your life, and never have I seen you look like you did when you came back into that living room last night. Never. And it had nothing to do with those two men who attacked you, or with Stefan." Tara sat across from her sister and eyed her critically. There was so much she didn't know, didn't understand. And if what MacLeod said was true ... no, it couldn't be.

Bryn said nothing, chewing slowly.

"Bryn." Tara reached across the table and took her sister's hand. "Be careful okay. I know you think Adam is a nice guy, but ... there are things about him you don't know."

"What things? Is he married? Does he have a girlfriend? Will he ...?" Bryn whispered, staring at Tara, her eyes finishing the unvoiced question, almost afraid of what the answer might be.

"No, nothing like that. It's just that ... well, you haven't known him very long, a few short hours ..." Tara broke off as the doorbell rang.

"I'll get it." Bryn jumped up and headed for the front door.

"How did you sleep?" Methos asked, following her into the kitchen.

"Well, thank you," Bryn replied, in stark contrast to the dark circles under her eyes. "You?"

"Great."

They smiled at each other, their eyes meeting, knowing full well that they had each been caught in a lie. Methos moved to the stove and helped himself to coffee.

"Good God! It's 8:45 and you're up!" MacLeod quipped, entering the kitchen. "I didn't think you breathed before noon."

Methos gave him a dirty look. "So, are you ready to go?" he inquired of Bryn.

"Yep, I just have to grab some stuff from upstairs." She rose and placed her coffee mug in the sink. "I'll be right back."

"I'll help you." Tara followed her.

Methos watched Bryn leave the room, mentally approving of the way her light cotton floral print dress showed off her slim figure and swirled around her ankles. He turned to find MacLeod's eyes regarding him suspiciously.

"What the hell happened here last night?" MacLeod asked, mirroring Tara's earlier question.

"I told you what happened. Two guys decided that Bryn would look better with them than she did with me. I took care of it," Methos answered, turning away.

"That's not what I mean, and you know it. What happened with you and Bryn? She's jumpy and nervous for reasons I think have nothing to do with Stefan DeWinter. And you! You're ... you're ... well, I'm not quite sure what you are. I've never seen you like this."

Methos pursed his lips. Neither, as far as I can remember, have I. "Look MacLeod, I don't expect you to discuss every aspect of your personal life with me, nor do I expect or intend to discuss mine. Let it go."

"Okay. I just asked. I've known Bryn a long time. I just want her to be happy."

Methos shook his head, his jaw clenched. "And happiness and me aren't often found in the same sentence, is that it?"

"No, that's not it at all, " MacLeod replied. "It's just that, well you have to admit more often than not it's a case of when the going gets tough, Methos gets going."

Methos averted his eyes. "Yeah, well, not this time."

"Look, all I'm saying is that ..."

"All you're saying is that you want Bryn to be happy, but you don't think she could be with me. Fortunately that decision lies with her, not with you. I know you like to defend every passing female that comes your way, MacLeod. You seem to think it's your lot in life, like you're some sort of guardian angel, but not this time. I would have thought you'd be happy to share the burden. Isn't the halo getting a bit heavy?" Methos returned his gaze to MacLeod, chin up, eyes slightly defiant.

"I just need to know that you'll keep her safe today." MacLeod looked directly at the immortal, remembering the old man's prediction that DeWinter would get to Bryn somehow. Despite what he suspected was happening between Bryn and his friend, memories of that conversation the night before were still firmly entrenched in the Scot's memory.

"You doubt me?" Methos stood straight, as if challenged. You have no idea what I would do for her MacLeod, none.

MacLeod shook his head. "No."

"I will keep her safe ... my head for her life if need be," Methos replied softly. He looked down at his feet uncomfortably, suddenly aware of what he had just confessed.

MacLeod searched his friend's face and voice for the usual signs of sarcasm and found none. He's serious. He really means it.

"Okay, let's go." Bryn stuck her head around the corner.

Methos set down his coffee mug and brushed past MacLeod, not meeting his eyes.

"And over here I suggest that we turn the piano the other way. There will be more room because of moving the loveseat out and getting in a smaller coffee table, and it will allow better light to come through the window." Bryn turned to the gray-haired older woman standing beside her. "Does that seem all right to you?"

"Yes, my dear, it sounds wonderful. I trust you completely," the lady responded, beaming back at her.

Bryn looked over Mrs. Riddell's shoulder at Methos and smiled. Hands stuffed deep into the pockets of his overcoat, he had followed the two women around the house. He had intended to wait in the Rover for Bryn, but on seeing him, Mrs. Riddell insisted that he come into the house, 'tut- tuting' at the two of them and saying it would be no bother at all.

"And I did so love your boyfriend's suggestion about the Welsh dresser under the picture over there." Mrs. Riddell pointed to the far side of the room.

Bryn felt the colour rise in her cheeks. "Ahhh, he's not my boyfriend. He's just ... a friend," she finished, looking at Methos in apology. He smiled at her and shrugged.

"Oh, I know all about you young people. I have grandchildren you know. Much easier than it was in my day. In my day you took your chances. Now you get to 'try them out' before you have to marry them." Mrs. Riddell laughed loudly as Bryn's face turned several shades darker.

After saying goodbye to the old lady, Bryn and Methos walked slowly back to the vehicle.

"Sorry about that." Bryn grimaced at Methos. "She's a lovely lady, but she has a tendency to get carried away sometimes. I hope it didn't embarrass you."

"What, her referring to me as your boyfriend? Not at all. I've been called far worse!" he replied, smiling. "No, I didn't mind it at all." He stopped at the vehicle and looked at her. "Although I do think I'm a bit old for the term."

"Friend then." Bryn stopped and turned toward him. I knew it was too good to be true. Now that he's thought about it, he's realized how crazy it is ... someone like him with someone like me.

"Well, actually ... I was hoping for a bit more than friend," offered Methos hesitantly.

Their eyes met.

"Well," Bryn said softly, "what do I call you then?"

Oh, I don't know, lover? Soulmate? Husband? The last thought made Methos start. Where the hell did that come from? "I guess we'll just have to think about it won't we." He opened the door for her and went around to the driver's side.

"Where to now?" he asked. "Any more work to do today?" He hoped she would say no.

"Well, I should really do some work on one of my other projects." Bryn frowned.

"Oh, come on, take the rest of the day off. We'll do something fun." Methos grinned at her encouragingly.

"Okay," she said, putting on her seat belt. "What the hell. You only live once, right?"

Tara blew the dust off the top of a box before picking it up and handing it down to MacLeod. "I can't believe this stuff could get so dusty after such a short time. I was just up here a few months ago, after we moved back." She climbed down the ladder.

The two of them had discussed Bryn's immortality all morning with Tara insisting that it couldn't be true. They had decided to explore the attic to see if they could piece together the puzzle of Bryn's past, but so far had come up with nothing.

"This is it!" Tara exclaimed, opening the box. Inside was a shoebox filled with photographs. "See. Here. This one. This was taken when Mom was pregnant with Bryn. I remember this." She handed a black and white photograph to MacLeod. It showed a smiling woman with short curly hair like Bryn's. She was obviously very pregnant.

"I know what you saw. But it can't be. Immortals don't have parents." Even as he said it, MacLeod felt some doubt in his mind. He had originally thought that perhaps Bryn had been switched with the real O'Neill child sometime during her life. But the child whose face stared back at him from every school picture was definitely Bryn.

"Look, here's Mom's hospital records, and Bryn's birth certificate." Tara held them up triumphantly. "You have to be wrong Duncan."

MacLeod looked in the box. "What's this?" he asked, removing a small wooden chest with a lock on it.

"I don't know. I've never seen it before."

"Hand me that screwdriver over there would you."

Tara handed it to him and watched as he proceeded to pry the lock open. Brittle with age, the chest gave way easily. Inside where more papers.

"It's another birth certificate." Tara's heart began to beat faster. "For another baby girl. Born the same day as Bryn ... at the same hospital." She looked at MacLeod. "Those are my parents' names." She pointed to the area marked "birth parents".

"This is a death certificate." MacLeod removed another piece of paper from the chest. "A baby girl. Same date." His suspicions had been right. He looked at Tara. "Tara ..."

"You think they were switched, don't you?" she accused.

"Tara, look at the birth weight." MacLeod pointed to the second birth certificate. It showed the baby had weighed less than 2lbs at birth. "Babies like that don't survive, not too often anyway. How big was Bryn? Was she a tiny little baby?" He had seen the pictures as they searched; Bryn had been no smaller than any other newborn. "I think the baby your mother had died. I don't know how, and I don't know why, but somehow your parents took Bryn, brought her home and raised her."

"But why would they do that?"

MacLeod shrugged. "Lots of reasons. Maybe it was a legal adoption, maybe it wasn't. I suspect that whatever the reason, it's buried with your parents."

Tara sat down slowly. "Then she's not really my sister, at least not blood wise. And she's immortal! My God! It's true!"

"Tara, I'm sorry. I know this is a shock for you ..." MacLeod touched her arm.

"A shock for me! What the hell do you think it's going to do to her? She adored our father. She's going to be devastated."

"Don't tell her. Not yet. She has too much else to deal with. DeWinter ..."

Although it remained unspoken, the glance between the two confirmed that they each were aware that something was going on between Bryn and Methos.

Tara looked at MacLeod. "She has to know sometime Duncan," she said sharply. "At some point she will have to be told that there won't be any babies for her, that she won't get old and die like normal people. That she could live forever."

MacLeod pulled her against him in a fierce hug. "I know. And when the time is right I'll tell her. I'll tell her everything. But I don't think that time is right now, okay? Trust me on this one."

Tara nodded.

Methos found himself doing something he usually detested. Shopping. And what was worse, he was actually enjoying himself. That's it. After 5,000 years I've snapped. Lock me up and throw away the key -- just make sure she's on the same side of the door I am. He looked across the music store at Bryn as she perused a stack of cd's. She was frowning, deep in thought over something. He made his way over to her.

"Find what you're looking for?" he whispered in her ear. He breathed in her perfume and quelled the urge to kiss her.

She turned around smiling. "Yep. You?"

"Yep." He held up three cd's.

She checked the titles. "What ... having an 80's flashback are we?" she asked, eyebrows raised.

"Well ... no, I like this stuff," he confessed. "What did you get?"

"Leahy ... I've been looking for this for weeks." She held up her find triumphantly.

Methos looked at her blankly, the name meant nothing to him.

"Celtic," Bryn explained. "I think you'd like them. They just might appeal to your 'old soul'. Funny, I just don't see you as a Stones kinda guy. You strike me more as the Gregorian chant-type."

Been there, done that, wore the hair shirt, thought Methos as they made their way to the counter and paid for their purchases.

They lunched at an outdoor cafe, enjoying the first real spring weather. The forecast had been wrong, the rain held off and the sun continued to shine.

Bryn sat basking in the sunshine. I should be hiding. I should be making plans to leave town. I should be terrified to even leave my house. But I'm not. I feel safe and protected. She looked over at Methos and smiled.

After lunch, they continued to window shop. Bryn dragged Methos into every antique store she could find. Her confession of loving old things had made him laugh out loud. Point in my favour, he mused.

It had felt natural to take her hand in his, and he had done so without giving it a second thought. He closed his eyes and savoured the delicious tingle that ran through him when he touched her.

It was the same with the kiss. Hand in hand they wandered along the streets, window shopping or drifting into shops here and there. When Bryn headed toward yet another antique shop, Methos stood his ground, extending his arm and then gently pulling her back. She came up against him, their bodies meeting softly. His arm automatically slid around the small of her back, holding her there.

Bryn's eyes slowly moved from staring at her fingers, splayed against his chest, to the base of his throat, to his chin, and then upward to his eyes. Her breath was choppy and her heart raced.

Methos watched her, amused at her obvious nervousness and surprised at the similar feelings inside him.

Their eyes met, and he slipped one hand behind her neck, tilting her head slightly. His head dropped, his lips capturing hers, muffling the soft sigh she gave. He teased her with his teeth and his tongue, nibbling on her sensitive lower lip and flicking into her mouth again and again.

When the kiss ended, he looked down to find Bryn still stood with her eyes closed, an expression of pure bliss on her face.

Her eyes opened slowly and she caught his gaze, smiling tentatively in response.

Methos returned her smile and placed another soft kiss on her lips before releasing her. Hand in hand, they resumed their stroll.

It was with reluctance that they headed to the Rover, neither wanting the afternoon to end. Methos spotted the envelope first. It had been placed under the wiper. He increased his pace, making sure he got to it before Bryn did. He released her hand and turned away from her slightly to open it. His suspicions proved correct. Inside the envelope was a photograph of the two of them as they had sat at lunch. The picture had the heads ripped off. The words, "Let the Game begin" were scrawled in one corner.

Methos looked around, trying to sense anyone, knowing that whoever had placed the envelope there was probably long gone.

"What is it?" Bryn studied his face, knowing that something was wrong.

"Nothing," he lied, forcing himself to smile at her. This would only frighten her and ruin their afternoon, and he wasn't about to let that happen. "Just a note from a friend."

She eyed him suspiciously, but said nothing. The drive home was quiet, the carefree mood of the afternoon disappearing with the sunshine.

Back at the house, Methos quietly told MacLeod and Tara of the photograph. At his insistence, they agreed to hold off telling Bryn. Terrorizing her was part of DeWinter's game, and Methos intended to insulate her from that as much as he could. Again he marveled at himself, at this feeling of protectiveness he felt for her and at the ease with which it had surfaced.

They were no closer to solving the problem of Stefan DeWinter. While Tara kept Bryn occupied in the kitchen with supper preparation, MacLeod and Methos sat in the living room. They quietly discussed their options, both well aware that there were only two, running or fighting.

"Running isn't an alternative, not this time. If DeWinter has carried a grudge this long, he's not going to give up that easily," commented Methos.

MacLeod, who had silently rehearsed his argument for challenging DeWinter, sat dumbfounded. He had expected heated resistance from the old man about taking DeWinter's head, assuming that Methos, despite their earlier conversation in the kitchen, would shirk the responsibility. "Are you saying you *want* to fight him?"

Methos shrugged, his eyes never moving from their transfixed spot on the coffee table in front of him. "Want to? No. Have to? Yes." His long fingers tapped a tuneless beat as they lay on his leg. "I have enough trouble looking over my own shoulder, I don't need to have to look over hers too. If we're ever going to have any sort of peace, any sort of life, DeWinter has to die. Not like it's a great loss to the world or anything." He snorted at the thought.

"You say that like you intend to be with Bryn a while?" MacLeod questioned, eyebrows raised. Commitment to anyone other than himself was not something he normally associated with the old man.

Methos raised his gaze from the table to MacLeod. The look told the Scot that he was once again straying into dangerous territory. Oh well, in for a penny ... "Methos, are you sure about this? You don't have to do this. I'm the one Tara called. You can just walk away you know." Even as he said it MacLeod knew what the answer would be.

"No, I can't." Methos shifted his gaze to the fireplace. "I don't want to. I *do* want to fight this bastard, I *do* want to take his head. I once vowed never to become ... involved with an immortal, too much commitment, but now ..." Enough said. Methos suppressed the remainder of the comment and clamped his mouth shut.

"What happened to 'live, grow stronger, fight another day'?" questioned MacLeod.

Methos smiled tightly. "Sometimes 'another day' is now."

MacLeod studied him. Every time he began to think he knew Methos, something happened to show him that he hadn't even begun to understand this entity he considered a friend. "Are you sure?" he repeated.

Methos wasn't certain whether MacLeod had asked about his relationship with Bryn or about his taking DeWinter's head. It didn't matter; the answer was the same. "Absolutely." He sighed. "Anyway, it's my head, what I decide to do with it is my business, not yours." Methos paused, trying to gather his thoughts. "Just promise me one thing, MacLeod. Promise me that if things should go against me ... if DeWinter should..." He left the statement unfinished, not wanting to comprehend what his failure would mean for Bryn, or for himself.

"If you fail, DeWinter is a dead man. I promise you. He won't hurt her, not again. You have my word," MacLeod promised quietly.

Methos nodded gently.

The rest of the evening was spent in idle chitchat, staying on 'safe' topics. When Bryn discovered that Methos didn't have a television, she began to tease him, returning to the subject several times.

"I still can't believe you live without watching t.v. How do you stay in touch with the world?" she asked, returning from letting Kronos out for his final romp around the garden.

"I didn't say I didn't watch it, just that I don't have one. As for staying in touch, I read the newspaper. You don't have to watch "Melrose House" to get along in society you know," he retorted defensively.

"Place," she grinned at him.

"What?"

"Place. Melrose Place."

He rolled his eyes.

MacLeod watched the two with amusement.

"It's a shame," continued Bryn, "I think you'd like the History Channel."

Methos snorted. Oh yeah. I could point out all their glaring errors ... like how the Egyptians really built the pyramids, or who the people were that they found in Newgrange.

Bryn rose from the couch and went to the French doors. "Kronos. Here boy," she whistled.

For as long as I live, I will never get used to that dog's name, thought Methos.

"Damn him. He's probably got a rabbit cornered or something." Bryn fetched her shoes. "I'll be right back." She made to step through the French doors.

"Wait. I'll go with you." Methos rose from the couch and followed her.

"You don't have to ..." Bryn began.

Methos reached out and cradled her cheek in his hand. "I want to." He fetched his shoes and his coat, slipping the latter on for the sword it concealed rather than for warmth it offered.

Tara and MacLeod resumed their chess game.

Outside, the wind was beginning to pick up, and the air was heavy with a promise of rain. Bryn marched down the garden, calling the dog as she went.

Methos stood on the path, hands deep in his pockets, eyes scanning the darkness. He sensed nothing disturbing and his vision didn't indicate otherwise. He shrugged his shoulders, shivered slightly and wondered just how long it would take to get the stupid dog inside.

Where the hell did he get to? Bryn wondered, peering into the darkness. Her eyes saw a black shadow at the back, half covered under some bushes. "Kronos, come on. Leave it alone whatever it is."

The dog ignored her.

Sighing she made her way over to him. "You stupid dog, you wouldn't even know what to do with one if you caught it so why bother." Bryn reached under the bushes to grab the dog's collar. Her hand fell on something sticky.

Methos watched her tug at the dog and shook his head. At least tenacity seemed like a trait common to those named Kronos.

The buzz hit him with an intensity that was startling. DeWinter!

He pulled the sword from beneath his coat and began to run toward Bryn at the end of the garden.

God, someone is making a hell of a racket, thought Bryn. They're going to wake up the whole neighbourhood. She tugged on the dog some more. It wasn't until she looked up and saw Methos' anguished face that she realized the noise came from her. She was screaming. The dog's body gave way, and Kronos' head fell to the ground at her feet. Her last conscious thought as she hit the grass was that at least the rabbits would be safe.

"Bryn, sweetheart, wake up." Methos stroked her face with his hand, willing her to open her eyes. Inwardly he cursed himself repeatedly. He should have stayed beside her. Hell, he shouldn't have even let her go outside. If he gets to her, I will never forgive myself. Never.

"Here." Tara handed him a cool cloth. "See if that helps her."

MacLeod caught his friend's expression. Normally Methos was a controlled blank slate, allowing feelings and emotions to slide across his face only when he permitted it. But this time his attention was caught elsewhere, and the intensity of his involvement was blatant.

Methos placed the cloth on Bryn's forehead and continued caressing her.

Bryn's eyes flickered and opened. She looked up in fear, then realizing where she was, smiled. "Hi, what happened? Why is everyone looking at me?" She sat up, her eyes widening abruptly as the memory of the last half-hour came flooding back to her. "Oh no, Kronos ... he's dead ... he's ... he's." A sob caught in her throat.

Methos pulled her onto his lap, cradling her like a child. "I know, I know. I am so sorry. I should have been there. I should have gone out with him. Sshhh. Please, Bryn, don't cry. Don't r a thaisce a chori." He kissed her hair and, for the second time in two days, she laid her head against him and sobbed.

Methos glared over Bryn's head at an imaginary spot somewhere on the opposite wall. "He's mine MacLeod. That bastard is mine!" The predatory flicker in his eyes spoke volumes.

MacLeod nodded silently.

"It was him, wasn't it? DeWinter? He was here? He did this?" Tara pleaded quietly with MacLeod.

"Yes."

She drew in a ragged breath. "He's coming for her, and there is nothing we can do to stop him."

"Yes there is, and I intend to be the one to do it." Methos rose with Bryn in his arms. "She needs some rest."

"There's sleeping tablets in the bathroom. Second shelf down," Tara said.

Methos nodded and strode out of the living room and up the stairs.

"He loves her you know." MacLeod spoke to Tara.

"Yes, I was afraid of that."

"And he'll do everything he can to protect her."

"But what if it's not enough? What if he's not enough?"

"If he can't finish it, I will," MacLeod stated softly. They sat silent, each consumed with their own thoughts until Methos came back down the stairs.

"She's out. I have to go. I have someone to see. I'll be back tomorrow." He pulled on his coat, placing the Ivanhoe inside. "MacLeod."

"Yeah?"

"Keep her safe."

MacLeod nodded.

"He was there, Joe. I felt him. MacLeod felt him." Methos took a swig of beer.

"Look, I'm not saying it wasn't him. All I'm saying is that no one has seen him. No Watchers. No one." Joe poured himself a drink. The bar was closed. They were the last two left, and it was getting late.

"What else did you find out about him?" Methos questioned. He had heard of Stefan DeWinter, but what he knew was sketchy at best.

"Not much. He's been pretty elusive over the years. First reports of him were in about 1755 in England, but he seems to have originally been from France. He's taken about 40 heads over the years, quite a few considering he's not 300 yet. He likes to prey on young females, immortal or not, he doesn't care. He has had a few run-ins with you older guys though. You need to watch him. Even without shooting first, he's good."

"How good?"

"Real good."

Methos cursed and finished the beer. "Thanks, Joe." He rose, putting on his coat.

"Hey, it's not like I had a lot of choice here, remember." Joe scowled at him.

"Yeah, sorry about that."

"Glad to know you didn't mean it." Joe put the empty beer bottle away.

"I didn't say I didn't mean it," Methos said over his shoulder as he went through the door.

Methos was back at the house by 8:00 the next day. He told Tara and MacLeod the news that he had had from Dawson. Bryn was still asleep.

"So, what's the plan?" Tara asked, looking at the two of them.

Methos shrugged. "There isn't one. We wait until DeWinter shows himself. Him and I have it out and ..." He let the sentence trail off, his eyes on MacLeod.

"There has to be another way," Tara exclaimed. The idea had seemed so simple in the beginning, now she wasn't sure anymore.

"I thought you wanted someone to take his head. Isn't that what you called up Duncan for?" Methos questioned her.

"Yes, but that was before ..."

"Before what?" Deep in conversation, they had missed the instinctive feeling that one of their kind was around as Bryn came down the stairs.

It had taken all her will to leave her bedroom. Her first instinct, as unrealistic as it might have been, was to bury herself under her quilt and never come out again. But then voices in the kitchen, one voice in particular, had woven their way up the staircase, rousing her from her depression. Bryn wanted ... no, she needed, to see him. With him was the only place she truly felt safe. So she had forced herself to get up and wander down.

Methos was instantly beside her. "How are you? How did you sleep?" He pressed Bryn into a chair at the table, taking the one next to it.

"Fine. I feel a bit woozy, that's all." She looked like hell. Her skin was the colour of alabaster and dark circles rimmed her eyes. She can't take much more of this, thought Methos.

"Where is ... where did you put ..." Bryn was unable to finish the sentence.

"Duncan buried him in the garden, under the apple tree," Tara said gently. They had decided to get rid of the dog's decapitated body before Bryn woke.

Bryn nodded, her eyes welling up with tears.

"Stay home today. You need the rest." Tara took her sister's hand. "I called the office and told them that you had the flu and would be gone a while."

"I'll stay with you. I need to catch up on some stuff anyway." Methos poured himself more coffee. Last night DeWinter had been in the garden. His next move might be to get into the house. Methos intended to be there if he did.

MacLeod nodded. "I'll take Tara to work. I suggest that we all start staying here at night from now on. I have a feeling DeWinter will be back ... soon."

No one spoke.

MacLeod dropped Tara off at work and instructed her not to leave until he returned. Then he returned to the dojo to grab more clothes and check his messages. Several were from Amanda, the first one telling him she would to be in town within the next few days and hoped she could see him.

Needs a place to stay more like it, thought MacLeod with a grin.

There were another four subsequent messages from her. In each one her tone became more and more annoyed until she ended up accusing him of avoiding her, slamming the phone down after verbally destroying his character.

MacLeod chuckled. Same old Amanda.

Later, he went over to Joe's.

"Hey Mac. I hear things aren't going too well over there." Joe was alone. He handed MacLeod a beer.

"No, they're not." MacLeod frowned.

"Bryn and Tara okay?"

"For now."

"Methos coming unglued won't help matters."

"What do you mean?"

Joe told him about the nocturnal visits he had received from the old man. "He threatened me! Can you believe it! I tell ya, I've seen a lot of dangerous people, both immortal and not, but I have never seen anyone look like that. He scared the hell out of me, Mac! What's gotten into him anyway?" Joe exploded.

"I think he's in love."

"IN LOVE?" Joe spluttered, staring at MacLeod in disbelief.

MacLeod nodded. "Deep." He wasn't sure he actually believed it himself.

Joe looked at him. "Bryn?"

MacLeod nodded again.

Joe sighed. "Then I guess I can see his dilemma. When someone you love is threatened ..." He shook his head. "I still haven't heard anything about DeWinter. No one's seen him. If he's in town, he's hiding himself well."

"He's in town. Whether anyone has seen him, he's here. Terrorizing Bryn is part of his game and he'd be damn sure to be close enough to see what effect he was having." MacLeod finished his drink. "I have to get back to Tara. I'll keep in touch."

"Yeah, well, I know where to find you."

"You okay?" Methos looked up from his book and over at Bryn as she stared out the window. She had been restless all day, pacing from one side of the room to the other. He had suggested a walk, but she had said no, preferring to stay inside the safety of her home. The black turtleneck sweater she wore only emphasized her paleness. She looked tiny and alone.

"No. I'm not okay. I don't know if I will ever be 'okay' again." She hugged herself. I gave up 'okay' three years ago and simply settled for alive. She fought the urge to scream hysterically, knowing from experience that it didn't help.

Putting down the book, Methos moved to her, wrapping his arms around her and resting his chin on her head. She sighed and relaxed against him, the stance feeling natural to both of them. "You'll be fine. We'll fight this. Together. I promise." He kissed her hair. You need to believe that I will take care of you.

"Yeah, you say that now. But how long can I go on like this? How long can we?" Bryn turned and looked at him.

"For as long as it takes." He leaned forward and kissed her, intending for it to be only brief. Bryn responded more than he anticipated, wrapping her arms around his neck, sinking her hands into his hair. Her mouth opened at his touch, and Methos tasted the sweet coolness of it, her tongue rubbing deliciously against his. His arms encircled her, stroking the narrow length of her back, the slender curve of her waist and beyond. He growled low in his throat as his mouth slanted over hers again and again.

Slowly, they moved as one to the couch. Methos covered her body with his. Bryn kissed him deeply as her fingers trailed over his shoulders and down his back. His hand moved under her sweater, feeling her warmth, her softness. Suddenly his fingers touched a long thin ridge that ran down her ribcage. A scar. The reminder of what she had suffered, and at whose hand, caused Methos to pull away from her abruptly, and with every ounce of strength he possessed, stand. She deserved better.

"No. I can't do this," he told her, his voice hoarse with emotion. He moved to the window, keeping his back to Bryn, fighting for control of his body. Damn he wanted her, but now was not the right time. "I'm sorry," he said calmly after a few minutes.

"It's okay," Bryn replied. "It was stupid of me." Really stupid. I should have known this would happen. I shouldn't have let myself hope, dream...

"What?" Methos turned to her, frowning in confusion.

"It was insane of me. To think that someone like you would be interested in someone like ... like me." Bryn sat on the couch, not looking at him.

"What are you talking about?"

"Damaged goods. Isn't that what I am? Isn't that why you stopped? You felt the scar. It's not the only one I have you know. I have more." There was anger in her voice. It's not his fault, she thought. Oh, but why, why couldn't he have overlooked the scars? Why can't he just love me for me?

Methos suddenly realized what she was thinking. He moved beside her. "Bryn, I didn't stop because of the scars. I stopped because of you." He took her face in his hands. "You deserve better than to be made love to on a couch like some sixteen year old in her parents' house." He smiled at the irony; it had been her parents' house. "Bryn, you have no idea what pulling away from you just now cost me. But when I make love to you, I want it to be perfect. I want candles, and romantic music, and wine, ... and a bed." He kissed her softly and pulled her close.

They remained that way until Tara and MacLeod came home.

Supper was an ordeal Methos could have done without. Waiting for Stefan to show himself was taking its toll on all of them. Tensions between the four were rising. MacLeod and Tara watched him. He, in turn watched Bryn. Bryn, for her part, watched nothing, simply picking at her food and staring into the distance. Her retreat into herself concerned Methos. Gone was the bubbly, outgoing person of yesterday. Today she wouldn't go out of the house. Tomorrow she might not come out of her room. DeWinter was playing a mental game with her ... and winning. Methos couldn't let that happen. Getting her out was the first step. At his insistence, the four headed to Joe's.

The bar was crowded, but Joe directed them to a table at the far side of the stage that he left open for friends who dropped by unannounced.

"You scared him you know," MacLeod told Methos.

"I meant to. He could have stopped this. Or at least his kind could have. He could have saved her from all that pain and agony. He could have saved her from this," Methos said through clenched teeth.

"But then she would never have met you, would she?" MacLeod reminded him.

They listened to the first set by a new blues band that Joe had discovered on a recent trip to California.

"I think we should get her home." Tara looked at Bryn. Her head was laid on Methos' shoulder, and her eyes were drooping.

"Yeah, let's go." MacLeod rose and signaled to Joe that they were leaving.

The air outside was cold as they made their way to the Range Rover. The old man tossed the keys to MacLeod. Once inside the vehicle, Bryn sleepily snuggled up to Methos. She felt safe with this man, and safe was a feeling that was becoming increasingly scarce. Why couldn't I have met you three years ago in London, instead of Stefan? How different my life would have been.

The streets were quiet and traffic was light, so MacLeod had no problem pulling over to allow a fire truck, lights and sirens blazing, to pass him. A thick plume of smoke rose in front of them as they pulled back onto the road.

It slowly dawned on Methos that they were getting closer and closer to the smoke. He leaned forward. "I think you had better speed it up," he said quietly in MacLeod's ear.

"Oh no, the house," Tara cried as they pulled into the street. Emergency vehicles littered the road in various states of abandonment. Men in fire gear ran everywhere, and hoses lay on the ground like giant tentacles. The street was completely lit up by the house at the top of the crescent. Flames engulfed it as firefighters did their best to gain some control and prevent the fire spreading to the surrounding trees.

Bryn was out of the vehicle before it even came to a stop. Methos was right behind her. "Damn it Bryn. Come back!"

She continued running wildly toward her home. Methos reached forward and grabbed her by the waist. "Don't be stupid. It's too late."

Bryn frantically tried to break free and Methos pulled them both down to the grass. "Stop! You can't do anything."

Bryn scrambled out of his grasp, struggled to her feet, and started again for the house, screaming as she ran.

Methos leapt to his feet after her. "Bryn. You can't. It's too late," he called to her. Grabbing her by the arm, he yanked her back toward him, wrapping his arms around her. "No, love. It's too late."

"NO! I have to get in there. I have to ... save ... things ... my ... pictures ... things. ... I have to." She struggled against him, pushing him away, hitting him harder and harder when he wouldn't release her. "Let me go! Let me go!"

"No, Bryn, no. It's too late, love. It's gone. You can't go back in there. I'm sorry," Methos soothed, holding her tight against his chest.

Bryn continued to struggle for several minutes, kicking, hitting and verbally abusing the immortal. Methos held her to him fiercely, murmuring gentle words, doing his best to subdue her attack. Finally, exhausted, she stopped and leaned against him, shaking.

"I'm sorry, my love, I'm so sorry," he told her, kissing her softly.

"I've lost everything," she whispered.

"I know, I know." Not everything. You still have me.

Bryn wrapped her arms around his waist and buried her face against him. He held her tightly, looking over her head, watching helplessly as the house went up in flames.

"It looks like it was deliberately set, but we'll know more tomorrow when it cools down and we can take a look," the fire marshal explained to Tara. "You haven't seen anyone hanging around here lately have you? Someone who didn't belong? Kids or something?"

What do I say? thought Tara. No we haven't seen him, but my friends over there have felt him because they are all immortal? She shook her head in answer to his question.

"Where will you be staying?" he asked her.

"I don't know."

"You can call her at this number and leave a message." MacLeod gave him the number of the dojo. The fire marshal moved away.

"I'll have to get a hotel room." Tara sighed and ran her fingers through her hair.

"You're staying with me," Methos said quietly, coming up behind her. DeWinter was showing them that he could come and go as he pleased, taunting them. Methos had had enough.

"But ...," Tara began.

Methos spoke to her sharply, keeping his voice low. "You could have been in that house. *She* could have been in that house." He pointed at Bryn, still sitting on the grass a few feet away. "Have you ever seen someone badly burned? It's not pretty, and it isn't the way you want to spend immortality. Damage done before your first death stays with you ... scars, burns. If it hadn't killed her, she could have been condemned to live the rest of her life like that, and so could you. Or worse. You're not immortal. For you dead is dead!" He turned back to the vehicle. "You're staying at my place. There are two bedrooms. We'll make do." He walked over to Bryn, taking her hand and pulling her to her feet. MacLeod and Tara followed them.

Bryn had to admit that, despite the circumstances, she was somewhat curious to see Adam's apartment. Because its occupant was well traveled and well read, she had envisioned it as tastefully decorated with antiques and quality artwork. She was disappointed.

Methos had the top floor of a 3-story brownstone. The apartment, somewhat like its tenant, was old. The hardwood floors needed refinishing and the kitchen cabinets, which someone had clumsily painted a dull white several years ago, were chipped in places.

Methos had moved in with all the intentions of pulling some of his furniture and artwork out of storage, but he'd never quite gotten around to doing so. He had simply bought what he needed, the basics, telling himself that this way, it would be easier to leave when the time came.

The furniture was good quality, but hardly antique. A large black leather couch sat against one wall, a simple glass coffee table in front of it. An overstuffed armchair sat by the window; the wear of its covering indicating that it was the chair of choice. A Persian rug covered the floor, giving the room its single splash of real colour. The walls were bare, save for a framed print advertising London's Victoria and Albert Museum.

The only extravagances were the large and elaborate stereo contained in the wall unit opposite the couch and a state of the art computer on a desk under the window. And the books. Three bookcases overflowed with them, and the rest lay in neat stacks on the floor. The whole place was clean, tidy and ... impersonal. Bryn searched for some reflection of the man she knew but, aside from the books, found nothing. It may have been his house, but she suspected it was not his home.

Bryn's head hurt terribly. She had slept badly the last two nights, and now a migraine threatened to take hold of her. Methos pulled out a T- shirt for her to wear and insisted that she take his bed.

The bedroom appeared even more impersonal than the living room. With a large bed, dresser and chair, it was purely functional and nothing more.

"Will you be all right in here?" Methos asked, looking at her. His shirt fell almost to her knees.

"I'll be fine, thank you. I could have slept in the other room you know."

"No, that's fine. If you need me ... I'll be on the couch." Methos reached out and cradled her cheek with his hand, absently rubbing his thumb across her cheekbone. Silently they came together in a slow gentle kiss. He held her close, running his fingers through her hair. After a few moments, he released her with a sigh, mentally wishing he could stay. "Sleep well." With that, he turned and left the bedroom, closing the door quietly.

He joined Tara and MacLeod in the living room

"I can't believe it's all gone. Everything. Pictures. Books. Memories. All ... gone." Tara's voice shook.

"You're alive. That has to count for something," Methos replied.

"Look, it might be easy for you, reinventing yourself whenever you feel like it, but real people, HUMAN PEOPLE find it difficult." Tara raised her voice in anger.

They sat in silence; no one daring to speak lest tempers flare again. Without warning a terrified wail filled the room. In a heartbeat, Methos was off the couch and into the bedroom. Bryn was sitting up, screaming, her face frozen in terror.

"Hush, Bryn. I'm here, love. What's wrong? What happened?" Methos gathered her into his arms, kissing her on the forehead.

Bryn clung to him, her eyes wide with panic. "I ... think I had ... a ... dream," she choked out the words. "He was here. He was in the room. I couldn't see him, but I knew he was here. I *felt* him."

Methos and MacLeod's eyes met. They both knew it should be impossible, but then again, stranger things had happened. Their gaze then moved to the window. The blinds remained open. The building opposite was also a brownstone but only two story, thus the view from the bedroom looked onto its roof. MacLeod looked out, searching for any movement across the street. Seeing and sensing nothing, he closed the blinds. Catching the old man's eye, he shook his head.

"Hush, love. He's not here. You're fine. Your safe," Methos told Bryn, stroking her hair.

Bryn wasn't so easily convinced. "Don't leave me, please," she whimpered, wrapping her arms around his waist. "Please don't go. He's out there. I know he is."

Methos leaned back against the headboard, pulling Bryn with him. "Go. I'll stay with her." Tara opened her mouth to protest, but on seeing the look in his eyes closed it again and nodded. For years, Bryn had turned to her for comfort and protection. It felt strange to see her turning to someone else.

"Come on. You take the spare room. I'll have the couch." MacLeod guided her back into the hallway. They exchanged good nights and went their separate ways.

The next morning, Tara made coffee while MacLeod called Joe for an update.

"Joe, it's Mac. Anything?"

"Yeah, I just got a call from one of my guys. DeWinter was spotted coming out of a hotel here in town. The Plaza."

MacLeod took a deep breath. "Anything else?"

"No, but we'll keep an eye on him. I'll let you know."

"Thanks." MacLeod hung up.

"Trouble?" Tara asked.

"DeWinter is definitely in town. A Watcher spotted him. I think it's time to wake up sleeping beauty and prince charming." MacLeod knocked discreetly on the bedroom door. Getting no reply, he pushed it open.

Methos and Bryn were still asleep, side by side, wrapped completely in each other's arms. At some point in the night they had both crawled under the covers, Methos fully dressed, Bryn clad only in the overly large T- shirt. MacLeod envied the peaceful look on their faces and deeply regretted having to wake them. He gently shook the immortal.

Methos, startled out of a deep sleep and a wonderful dream, moved quickly, causing Bryn to wake in turn. "What the ..." The immediate reaction of reaching under the bed for his sword was checked as he recognized MacLeod.

"Time to get up," MacLeod explained.

Methos looked at the Scot, eyebrows raised in an unvoiced question. MacLeod nodded and left the bedroom.

Bryn blinked sleepily and snuggled further into the bed, basking in the warmth and safety she felt there. She smiled at Methos. "Thanks."

"What ever for?" he replied. It occurred to him that getting out of bed today might end up being more difficult than it normally was.

"Keeping me company last night. I'm sorry I was so much trouble. It was stupid of me, of course he wasn't there, I just ..."

Methos interrupted. "Never apologize for your feelings, not to me." He kissed her lightly on the nose. "As for keeping you company, it was absolutely my pleasure. Anytime." I'd keep you company every night if I had my way. It wasn't at all what he had intended their first night together to be, but somehow, it was enough ... for now.