Therapy Session
by Rita Ballantyne

Motto: "We are one Light. There is no difference between us."
-Tiakae in the Soul Healer-

Act 1

The black volcanic sand at the beach of Perissa matched Methos' mood. He came out to gather his thoughts together by the sea, because it helped him hide away from the busy Agora of the Ancient Thira of the early Byzantine period, which was separated from him now by a steep rocky headland. It was of no use this day. Among other things, he forgot how unpleasant this place was by afternoon-the black sand soaks up the heat from the sun and quickly becomes unpleasant to lie on and too hot to walk on in bare feet. Methos liked being bare foot, it reminded him of a pleasant distant feeling of security, as if holding on to a woman's skirt to help him not fall when he was learning to take his first steps as a baby.

He came here to be apart from Alexa for a while. Not that there was any time available for them to waste, but he wanted to come up with some reasonable logic for what he was about to do. There were so many women lost this way, why is Alexa the one who puts him in a situation where he can not except death anymore? Methos grimaced cynically. The incorporation of Death on Earth has enough of Death! Not that this was the first time. He stopped being a part of that foursome for the same reason. He summarized that the case of Alexa was so different because the glass just became full and overrun at the sides. No more death! Methos was pretty sure, he didn't want to do what he wanted to do, but he wanted to help Alexa and definitely to help himself. He showed his best to this girl, no dark sides. She loved him for how he was now. Nobody else could see him the same way as Alexa does. On the other hand, if he tries to take her to Transylvania, she will see the dark sides! His body was tired of thinking, his mind was muddled, and his heart was heavy and sad. His feelings and drives were just as mixed up as they were on leaving the stylish medieval mansion he owned. It was a left-over from the period of the Venetian Dukes of Naxos, who named the island after their St. Irene- consequently, Santorini.

For Methos, the house was an amulet from the past. Alexa couldn't stop being amazed at how a wealthy man could love her like that and enjoyed every minute life could offer her there. It was a clear view to the east coast, she didn't even need to leave the house. It was a wonderful place to completely relax, and where one was in direct contact with nature.

The woman's condition deteriorated quickly in the last month and it was time for Methos to launch into action if he was going to do anything. Whatever the reason, he knew what he wanted and an impulse in him didn't want him to give up on her. It was suddenly decided as the heat in the sand forced him to start climbing the slopes of Sedalla again towards the mansion. On either side of the road, the cemeteries of the ancient city, where Alexa wanted to be buried. But Methos had other plans.

*

Alexa was lying in a sun bed, but shaded from the light on the terrace of the mansion. She had been awake a long time now and wondered where Adam had gone. She didn't feel tired, how could she, she was in bed so often that it was a wonder, to her that she could sleep. There was only one mirror in the whole house, and Adam shaved himself in front of it. She saw her face in it and wished that she could chase away the imminent tiredness from her face. She felt as if her ribs would come bursting out her skin. She knew it was hard for Adam, even harder than for her sometimes, she imagined. She trusted Adam's feelings, but never actually understood the why behind the unthinkable alternative. She didn't spend too much time thinking about these things. She took everything as a gift of life. It was a long journey, and she was angry at first, but now accepted her fate, as much as anyone could. Images were changing in her head, as if from a camera. Because of her limits -- she stood amazed at every little thing, from a leaf to the small curve of Adam's mouth while he is staring at something distant and untouchable.

She liked to think about the moment Adam came to see her, at her house on that evening she didn't show up at Joe's. There was something unreal about the man, arising maybe from the fact that he was hiding that he was rich. Alexa never blamed him for it, because it was a different kind of plague people try to hide, than she did with her illness. When he stepped forward, he changed her life, or, what's left of it. She replayed that moment in her memory over and over, it helped her more than medication. Thinking about that one moment stopped the pain. She hoped, if she could replay it enough -- she could stay in that moment forever and she would never have to think of dying.

Adam came closer slowly and she waved him from the terrace. She drunk in the moment, she could tell how many times a bird chirped or how many times her heart beat while Adam was coming up the stairs to her. She always took in the whole picture, all she could because she didn't know how long the sun would shine and she would feel happy. That was all that mattered. How happy she was. Happiness. Ridiculous word. Looking back to heaven.

"Coffee?" Adam's voice shook her out of her dreamland.

"That would be nice. I'll help you with it." She came into the extensive lounge-kitchen area. Not that he needed the help. Adam's traditional cafe Elliniko was just great. But if Adam was around, she wanted to be with him.

"Can I help?" she asked nevertheless.

"There is nothing to do, It's almost ready," while preparing the cups, Methos was wondering how to start the conversation. Waiting for the water to heat up, he turned a chair around and sat on it with the backrest facing his stomach, in a defensive position. It would be a hard job to convince Alexa to leave Greece. The woman couldn't keep her eyes off her perfect mate, who was kind hearted, good looking, and the one she found too late.

"How are you, Lexa?" came the sudden question Adam never dared to ask.

"In what way do you mean that?" came the confused response.

"Are you in pain?"

"Not very much. It doesn't matter."

"Should I get your paink . . ."

"No!" she responded fiercely. "No," she repeated and tried to seem calm so the man would believe her.

"Lexy." The nickname Adam called her. My sexy lexy, had shrunk to Lexy now, as her waist shrank each day. "I need to talk to you". Alexa wasn't surprised. The doubt in her was always there, since the first day, that even the perfect man would leave her when he was not able to cope with her sufferings anymore. She waited for this moment, completely arming herself against the hurt it would cause.

"I know you wanted to go to Egypt, but.." here it comes, she thought, he's going to make excuses for spending less time with me. "I'd like to show you some other places before that."

Alexa smiled in disbelief and not sure where the conversation was going now. "We both know I couldn't make it to Egypt, because it's too hot for me. We agreed that we would not talk as if our illusions could become true and we will concentrate on the present. I thank you for all the happiness you offered. We've been here for month now, and if you want to leave. You could just leave me in this house? The white shining surroundings, it's so godly, close to the light!"

Methos had to realize he had started off on the wrong track and scared the woman. He stood up, went close to her. Turned her around, cuddled her. <This must be the good bye> she thought. It wasn't as easy as she imagined. "I'm not leaving you." Adam's voice was so certain, and sure, that she understood Adam meant it, at least for the moment. She couldn't help it, she leaned her head on Adam's chest and cried, for the first time in a long time. She screamed, she wailed, she moaned, she howled, sometimes even in a high pitch noise. Adam just stood there, waiting for her to calm down. They stood there for a long while, the water for the coffee long boiled and cooled down again. Adam stroked her hair, her back. She had finally cried herself out.

The stroking of her back became slow and sensual, Adam's hand entered under her blouse. What followed was just as natural and flowing as their whole time together. Adam knew how she felt and this feeling became more intense through their lovemaking. It involved the experience of sensing the other's subjective state: shared desire, aligned intentions and mutual states of simultaneously shifting arousal, with the lovers responding to each other in a synchrony that gives that tacit sense of deep rapport. Lovemaking, at its best is an act of mutual empathy and Adam used his immense practice to share the positive he had inside with Alexa, to ease her pain.

Back to her mostly unbreakable dynamism, she came out of the hug and went to the kitchen sink to clean herself.

"We forgot the coffee," it always made it easier to cope if they talked about neutral and unimportant things.

Methos spent a few seconds re-evaluating the appropriateness of bringing the issue up again, but the time factor won. He came at it from another, less dramatic angle this time. "Northern Romania has stretches of the most unspoiled landscape in Europe -- Carpathian mountain splendor, horse-drawn carts on winding rural roads, painted monasteries, medieval vil."

Clinging laughter stopped him. "Adam. You sound like a travel agent!"

Methos shut his eyes -- embarrassed.

Alexa, in her all awaiting clearness got to the point: "It is obvious, something has been going on in your head for a few weeks. And now, you want to go and take me to Romania? Why?"

Methos had a lot of practice at lying too. "I have some business arrangements, which can't wait. But you could come with me. No, I want you, I beg you to come with me."

Alexa assessed what she heard for a while. "It doesn't make sense, Adam, what you're saying. I don't know why you wanted to be with me, but I know, I feel, that you can't lie to me. At least not well. You haven't mentioned business to me at all before. And you know that I will have a hard time traveling, but you beg me to come. For what reason?"

"Because the alternative in unthinkable."

Alexa looked up in disbelief. No, not again! After all Adam had offered to her, she did not want to die alone. She would have faced it in the past, because, she thought, there was no alternative. This young, man showed her there was so much more to life and she had to go. In a way, he made it harder to leave this world. She was a fighter though, she promised to herself long ago, when she was first diagnosed with a terminal illness. She was determined to fight for the last sip of life she could get. Adam was part of that life. If he wanted to go somewhere, Alexa would follow. She trusted this secretive man with all she had.

"If you want to go, I'll go," was the easiest way of settling the debate, no time for disagreements either.

Adam lifted the phone to order the plane tickets on the next flight to Budapest, the closest airport to the border into Transylvania, Oradea, before Alexa would change her mind.

Act 2

Adam rented an apartment for them on the phone, while they were still on the plane. "Hotels are no good," explained Adam, "I told you about the medieval sense -well, hotels are no better."

Adam was quite grateful, that Alexa wanted to rest when they arrived, he didn't need to keep her company and could go off to see what state the fortress was in. It had been about a couple hundred years since he had been around here.

Alexa couldn't comprehend what the great rush is about, Adam acted as if he was the one with only a few weeks or a month to live. She was long past of making any effort to question him further.

Methos had great difficulties finding the fort. Not that he didn't remember where it was. He found the main street and the fort must be to the left from the end of the main street, he thought. It was about 20 minutes walking distance along the river. But he couldn't see it. Where he knew it should be, there were several red tower blocks of flats. Could it have been destroyed? They were in Romania, everything was possible after all, from demolishing European heritage -- worthy buildings to re-electing ex-communist leaders. But if so, where could Ioana and the other vampires have put their coffins? Maybe in the crypt from under the cathedral, or the basilica as he read it is was known as these days. They were a great bunch of modern guys, they knew that it is resistance to change which causes the difficulty. They would've survived. Methos concluded it was still worth asking where the citadel is, or was. If it doesn't exist anymore, he could still find a clue about the whereabouts of the coffins. He stopped a man in the park, where the old market used to be.

"Scuzati-ma, unde este cetatea, mai exista?" He was still fluent in Romanian.

"Dupa blocurile de acolo," pointed the man, indicating the fortress behind the blocks of flats.

"Multam," thanked Methos in the local dialect, but in fact giving his thanks to history and the Romanian people that the fortress was still there. After catching the first glimpse of it, it wasn't hard to remember to go round to the right and find the entrance of the catacombs. It looked deserted, which was a good sign. The people here still don't know where their vampires lived. The flashlight found the turning white stone easier than his lantern did a couple of centuries ago.

The wall started to turn slowly and ...

Act 3

Anno Dominus 1784, July the 2nd.

The fire seemed to have started around St. Orsolya Nun's School. Dr. Adam Pataki, the town's well-known teacher of the Alapy Convictus, owner of the huge Beius Farm was tutoring his class nearby when they noticed people shouting about the fire. The doctor ran out and applied first aid to the burn victims. Where no one else would go, no matter whether it was a house only standing on one pillar, and the rest was burnt, or the melting horse shoe shop, he rushed in saving lives and miraculously was unstoppable by smoke or thousands of Fahrenheit. When everyone was safe outside, he organized a water passing chain coming from the river, to save any property that could be saved. Only by standing at the river, passing baskets of water did he notice that the fortress at the other side was in fire too. He dropped the basket. Ioana! His friends and their coffins! If they burn, and they have nowhere to hide by daytime, they will all burn to death by sunlight.

As he ran closer, his worries dampened. The fortress was a military base after all and the soldiers have done a great job of controlling the flames. He wanted to see Ioana safe anyway and jumped down the hole leading to the hall of coffins. Turned the white device, the wall started to turn slowly. The faint, vampire buzz was more disturbing than a normal immortal buzz. He could never tell how many buzzes were there in the same time, but his experience helped him notice the presence at least. It always made him feel a bit dizzy. The next thing he knew, there was a sword next to his neck. It was Karl Ditters von Dittersdorf, the leader of the local vampire community, known to the town as the famous midnight musician. But all the other men where there. Even his friend, Bozuklu Mustafa had a sword directed in the good doctors' direction. Adam couldn't see what this was all about. They had a history together, him and the vampires. Especially with Buzuklu. He had arrived together with the Turk in 1694 to attempt to take the fortress again, for one last time. Which failed, but they both stayed, Buzuklu because he was bitten by a vampire and became one, Methos because he was stung by love and wanted to be with Ioana, the most beautiful vampire of all times, as they called her.

"Would you like to have a seat, my friend?" tried Buzuklu to ease the tension.

"I don't usually sit down with friends who threaten my life."

His response caused unhappiness in the camp of the vampires, some cursed: "neither do we". Karl eventually explained the situation: "Look, Adam, you know that we always tolerated you, although you aren't our kin. We hid you when your kind came, we trusted you knowing everything about us, even with inviting your immortal friends over and letting our secret out in the open. We gave you all the privileges and our most attractive virgin."

"Cut the crap, Karl, we know you are good at oratory. You kept me here because you loved the taste of my blood I chose to offer you plenty of. You tolerated me to have an endless fountain of fluids of which you don't have to hide the body. Now, what do you want? If you take my head the endless fountain will stop existing. And where did you hide Ioana?"

"As I said, we gave too much. We shouldn't have. One of your kind came here today looking for you and started the fire in the fortress when he figured out we were immortal as well, but in a different way. Our existence was in danger because of you. Not one person, all of us! We had a meeting afterwards and the council decided that you must die. Thanks to your friend Bozuklu here and to the wail of your mistress we will let you go if you promise you will never come back. Your choice. Do you understand the verdict?"

Methos understood. It was the law of nature, of death and survival. It was what the game was all about too. He only had one wish: "You have my word. I'll never come back. Could I say good bye to Ioana now?" It had to be the final good bye. Ioana could never leave the proximity of her coffin, which was no more than half a night worth in riding distance, at the most."

"You do not enter our hall again. Leave now or we'll take your head."


Act 4

A.D. 1998, Oradea, Transylvania.



He turned slowly, and a disturbing vampire buzz began. Methos took out his sword in case he was going to meet Karl or anyone of the others in there. He did not want to do harm, and he considered it self-defense. A long row of candles lit the way into the main hall, as it always did. Coffins were there also, although not as many as he had remembered. Ioana's coffin was a small, an oak tree one, her initials on it, I.B. Ioana Benkovits, daugther of the ex religious leader of the town, who threw his daugther out when he found out what she was. There were a lot of new looking coffins, and some old ones, but the one with I.B. on it was nowhere. He called out her name to find her.

"Da. Aci sunt," a woman rose and fright showed in her eyes. It wasn't every day that a stranger showed up here. "Who are you? What do you want from me?" she asked in Romanian.

"I'm -- I'm an old friend of Ioana's."

"You're no friend of mine, I have never seen you before."

"Oh! You're name is Ioana too. I'm looking for the other Ioana. Ioana Benkovits."

The woman, appearing as she was in her mid twenties, but unmistakably dead to practiced eyes like the old guys', she stood up, her face showing interest and confusion in the same time. She leaped to another coffin and wanted to open it to ask for help.

"Please, no! I'm not sure I'd be welcomed."

"You bet you aren't!" laughed the woman. She seemed too interested in the newcomer not to discover him for herself. He was food or enemy, the same thing. As long as he doesn't have any silver bullets, she was safe. Unless he was attacking, otherwise, well, she knew karate. And, it was obvious, that the man didn't just get here accidentally, no one ever did, at least since 1944, when she arrived.

Methos used the momentary silence to check on the coffins. Neither showed signs of moving. "Look, Lady, I need to find some old friends. Ioana or Bozuklu, do you know either of them?"

"You are a friend of Bozuklu?"

"Yes. You know him?"

"I do. Everyone here does. He is a funny guy and you praise humor if you live long and need things to fill the time."

"Tell me about it. Can you take me to him?"

"Hmm . . . How do I know that you are really a friend?"

"That's depends on whether you've heard of me or not. Bozuklu must've included me in his stories though. I believed, he had even stolen some of my stories which happened before his time."

"Who are you then?"

"My name is Adam Pataki."

"Adam? You're Adam?" the response caused the young Ioana to instantly laugh.

"Ok," she said, "if you are Adam, tell me why am I laughing. What could be so funny about you that it makes me laugh."

"You're probably think about my bare hand fighting adventure in one of our battles against the Russian, just after I became a friend of Bozuklu?"

"I . . . I wasn't. But I've heard that story too. For your identification, it will do."

Methos wasn't in a story telling mood, but he had no choice: "I should make it sound the way Bozuklu tells it? Let me see if I remember his exact choice of words. I was known in the Turk camp as one who was noted for his unusually long punch reach, when fighting without a weapon, and, in those times, when it came to man to man in a battle, we often did that. Since it looked like the fight was going to end in my advantage, I wanted to knock him out in one shot to move on to fighting someone else. But my opponent quickly tried to avoid the punch by moving closer to me. As he did this, his head hit my elbow.

This acted as a lever, adding even more power to my swing. My arm completely circled the other man's head and wound up coming back straight at me. My fist crunched in my own jaw..

"He succeeded in standing for a few seconds," he was interrupted by a dark skinned man, hard to achieve if you are a vampire. His skin was naturally darker though. "groggily trying to remain vertical. But then he collapsed and was counted out.

He knocked himself out," finished the man with a hardly noticeable Turkish accent. "Ioana, this is my dear friend, Adam. The first Christian man on the planet, the one the Bible starts with and carries on later in a different disguise, but the non-believer of any religion. My lovely companion of." he could not say anymore, because he was hugging the old guy.

Ioana sounded upbeat to: "I'm sooo happy to meet you. I've heard a lot about you, from Buzuklu, and from Ioana."

"Where is she? And where are the others?"

Ioana looked down the floor, Buzuklu played with his moustache: "I'm sorry Adam. She was the greatest loving vampire I've ever known. She deserved a normal life, or, better, a life as an immortal type like you."

Methos wasn't surprised. To come back centuries later and find anyone, who remembered him alive, that was a miracle in its own. "How did it happen? Did Karl have anything to do with it?"

"No, you don't have to look out for him anymore. Karl got what he deserved and died by his own code. We, the committee of vampires sent him to death row. If anyone threatens the life of our community as a whole . . . you know the rules, and as for Ioana."

He was stopped by the younger Ioana: "Adam, you have to know, she saved my life, in a way, but she saved my family completely so they could live a quiet life as common people in America. She died doing it. According to my sister, she made an appearance in broad daylight in front of the German officers so they got distracted by her strange death and my Jewish family could run away."

"It's getting dark. Adam, be my guest for a beer. Actually, as many as you want. There is a Romanian beer Ursus I want show you. You will never leave us again if you taste that! It's almost as good as blood," joked Buzuklu.

"I'd like to Buzuklu and we will, I promise you, but I came to ask you a favor. My lover is dying of illness. I..I decided to make her a vampire." Silence. "I wanted to ask you to d.."

"You've decided?" Ioana sounded solemn.

"That is a big responsibility to take," added Buzuklu. "Does she know about this decision of yours?"

"She doesn't know anything. Not about us or about you."

"We do need to talk privately, just you, me and Ioana. The others will come out soon so let's go out to a beer garden.

*

The place was pleasant as advertised by Buzuklu. Popular, but not overcrowded, music, but it wasn't deafening, outside, but sheltered by the awakening autumn wind. It reminded Adam of the hot summer nights they had went on riding with Ioana to the caves. One night there, one night back. And the day they spent in the protecting darkness of the cave making love over and over again. Of course, even vampires would travel more easily now, sending coffins as luggage on airplanes. Just as enjoyable as when they met. It was just shortly before she had become a vampire.

Act 5

1694

Ioana Benkovits socialized with the people assembled in the fortress's park. Strolling through the trees and to the edge of the crowd she took a deep breath and put her hand to the laces of her corset. Damn these things. She looked down at the lengths of fabric that made up her dress, so cumbersome. She longed for her leather boots and trousers, her riding gear, something a little more lightweight. But this was what her father required. So reams of fabric it was. Unknown to her, a figure watched her as she went, from the shadow of the trees. A slight figure, dressed in black, watching her with interest. He moved back into the crowds. Ioana took up station on the edge of the promenade through the garden, resting her glass of wine on the stone urn that was alongside her. Every now and then people would pass, and she would smile and greet them politely, as someone of her position would. Her mind was elsewhere. This was no time or place to start being emotional.

"Ioana?" A voice spoke at her ear, and she almost jumped, before quickly regaining her composure.

"Yes?" A soldier stood opposite her. "Soldier?"

"Yes Madame." Buzuklu took her arm and led her a little way from the crowds. He was undercover with Adam, no one noticed his Turkish accent. The emperor usually sent spies ahead before invading.

"The captain has escaped from his captors. We don't know how, and we don't know where he is. But he must be heading back here. Even if your captain is not coming back here he has surely contacted his wife to tell her he is free, and of his whereabouts." Buzuklu took her hand, kissed it, and turned to go, but as he did so Ioana saw a figure in the crowds, looking at her. Their eyes met and held before he broke contact and turned away. Who was he?

"Soldier?" she called as Buzuklu turned to walk away. "Yes Madame?"

"Who is that man? By the palace, wearing black."

"That is Dr. Adams, the advisor to the army." And with that he walked away. He knew Ioana would be curious enough to go and find out about the captains whereabouts and so would they.

Dark. The park appeared altered in the dark, so many dim sections and such a different atmosphere. Ioana walked up to the palace using the line of trees as concealment. She could hear sounds of laughter from inside. Good. That meant no one would be in the room, and she could look for a certain letter. Ioana was now dressed in lightweight trousers and shirt, able to slip unnoticed through the shadows. She came up to the side of the building, and to the French windows that led into the bedchamber of the captains wife. She grasped the handle and turned it. It wasn't locked, and slowly she opened the door. At that moment footsteps came down the hall outside the room, and a key sounded in the lock. Moving quickly, Ioana was back outside, door closed behind her, as two women entered into the room. Ioana backed away under the trees, to a point where she was hidden but could still watch. A woman inside the room went to a drawer at her writing desk, unlocked it with a tiny key and produced something. A letter! The two ladies left the room, and Ioana shifted in her hiding place... Now she would have to wait until they brought the letter back... or leave and return tomorrow. But before she had time to think, a hand came round from behind and covered her mouth, and she felt the point of a dagger at her back. Slowly she turned round to find herself looking at the man from the party that afternoon.

"Dr. Adam" she said.

"The mysterious woman from the party... what are you doing here?"

"Mysterious? I am Ioana Benkovits and what right have you to be asking why I am here?"

"Stand up!" She got to her feet and they stood together, still hidden from view by the trees.

"You should not take everything at face value" Ioana replied. "Besides, what reason has the advisor to the army got for hiding outside this room? I'm sure there are people in the fortress who would be interested to hear of that..."

"Perhaps I am here looking for people such as yourself."

"Such as myself? How dare you." she was cut short by the point of Dr. Adams's knife piercing the light shirt she was wearing. Suddenly there was a noise from the path behind them. Glancing out Ioana could see a figure walking towards them. A patrolling guard.

"Quickly!" said Dr. Adams, as they each glanced around for an escape route. Ioana could not see any way out, the guard would hear her, would question her mode of dress, and Dr. Adams would surely give her away.... when suddenly he was kissing her. Unable to resist she let him, and they kissed until the guard had moved on. Dr. Adam pulled away, and Ioana was left in a confusion of emotions.

"What... do you think you are doing?" Ioana asked in disgust.

"Disguise"

"What?"

"The guard. We will have seemed simply to be two illicit lovers, hiding from the prying eyes of the palace. And that is what he thought." Ioana considered this.

"In that case...I must thank you. I think."

As Ioana was mingling around the chambers of the fortress, another face leapt out from the crowds across the room, that of Dr. Adams's. He was looking over at her, and she stopped and returned the gaze. His look was one of interest, hers was one of intrigued suspicion. He hadn't elaborated on that statement he had made that night, under the trees. So she couldn't be sure whose side he was on. Before he could make a move to walk over she broke eye contact and walked over to where Doamna Camelia, the captain's wife was sitting.

"Excuse me? May I join you?"

"Why, of course... I don't believe we have been introduced?"

"No I am not sure we have," replied Ioana, taking a seat opposite. "I am Ioana Benkovits. I came to you to ask about a loved one of yours...Captain Szabo? Have you had any word? I understand he was taken prisoner..."

"Yes he was. But I received word from him a week ago that said he had managed to escape, and was making his way back". Camelia's face did not convey the happiness that one would expect from such news.

"But, you do not seem relieved?" asked Ioana.

"No, you see, in the letter." she paused a moment. "He should have been here by now! When he wrote he said he was only days away, but since then I have heard nothing..."

Ioana's mind was racing. What could that mean? He couldn't have been re-captured...

"I am sure he is all right," Ioana said to Camelia. "He is probably being careful not to be discovered."

Camelia laughed, rather hollowly.

"Jancsi is not known for taking the careful option..."

"Excuse me?" A voice said from beside the two women. The two ladies looked up to see Dr. Adam who bowed in front of them before putting his hand out to Ioana. 'You don't mind Doamna Camelia, if I borrow Ioana for a moment do you?' He smiled.

"Dr. Benjamin Adams!" she exclaimed. "Certainly! I wouldn't want to keep her from a more pressing matter." Camelia smiled as Ioana got up and took the doctor's arm. He led her away to another bay window, further away from the people, and sat down opposite her.

"Thank you" Ioana said. "You will have started off a lovely selection of rumors with that."

"And what is wrong with rumors?" replied Dr. Adams.

Ioana didn't comment, she simply sat and looked at Adam, waiting for him to give her a reason for pulling her away in such a manner. She found herself meeting the glances of several people interested from a distance. She looked down to see Ben's hand still on hers, and quickly withdrew her own. Benjamin smiled. "More rumors?"

"Look, what do you want?"

"I was hoping to find you. Before I came here for talks with your leaders I was Turkey talking to the emperor there."

"Ah, so you are playing both sides?" she asked. She didn't understand. Why would the man disguise himself, if he was doing so.

"Not exactly, just keeping my options open. I am here in court to gain a better idea of the feelings on the Transylvanian side." But something inside her told her Ben was not about to turn her in; after all he could have done that previous night...a woman of her position, out like that. The stranger was continuously speaking:

"I understand there are rebels in the border area who seem to be attacking either side as they see fit. Perhaps the captain has been captured by them?" Ben suggested. Ioana considered this information.

"Yes, that does seem likely. Especially if he did not know they might be there, he would have been unable to avoid them... but I don't see what that has to do with.."

"Have you heard of Katalin Eszterházi?" asked Benjamin.

"Yes -- yes she is the husband of one of the soldiers."

"She is also the god-daughter to the Hungarian King. He has demanded her return to the court. She disappeared a few days ago from her home. It was near the border so my suspicion is that she was also taken by these rebels.'

Ioana stood up, tired of these stories.

"Well, thank you for the information, Dr. Adams."

Benjamin caught her hand as she moved to leave. In a quiet tone of voice he asked,

"As well paid 500 gold florints?" Ioana stopped in her tracks and looked at Benjamin. He didn't seem to be making it up. She sat back down opposite him. "500 florints?" That was more than she could even expect from her father.

Benjamin smiled.

"You are interested now aren't you? That is how much the King has offered as reward to whoever brings back Katalin. The King has offered that reward to anyone."

"What is more?" Ioana pondered, if she is being held by the same rebels as the captain....That is too tempting to miss" She glanced around again at people, all engaged in their own little discussions. "I will have to think of a reason to leave, as will you...but I'm sure I can come up with something!"

It took Dr. Adams and Ioana several days, working though the countryside to the border area, to locate what seemed to be the rebels' base. It was a small, seemingly quiet village but the movement of armed men was too great to make it insignificant. In particular the movements were centered around the main village building, larger than the rest. Watching from a viewpoint above the village Ioana remarked, "That must be where they are keeping their prisoners. They never leave that building unattended."

"What is our next move?" asked Benjamin.

"I need to go down there, to scout it out, see if it is the right place and that the right people are in there! If we storm in there and the captain and Katalin are not there . . . our plan will fall apart and we'll probably be killed trying to get out."

"Agreed" said Benjamin. "I assume you're not going to go down there now?"

"No, I'll wait until they're eating. They do not seem to be the most organized band of rebels and that should play to our advantage."

Ioana placed and dagger and pistol under her belt and slid cautiously down the hill and into the village, with Benjamin keeping an eye out on the hill above. She moved cautiously through the outer buildings, being careful not to be seen. From his vantage point on top of the hill Benjamin spotted someone emerging from the main building. Not a rebel... he tried to get Ioana's attention but now she was too far away, and moving the direction of the stranger. Sliding round the wall of one of the houses Ioana was suddenly face to face with the stranger, and in a flash had her dagger drawn. She took a step back when she realized who it was.

"David!" she gasped.

"Ioana!" She and her old servant stood and looked at each other, both shocked by each other's presence.

"What are you doing here?" asked Ioana, putting away the knife she had whipped from its scabbard and glancing around to check for anyone else.

"I came here to help the captain, he was quite badly injured."

"So he is here! We were right. Are you free to leave?"

"No, I am a prisoner now too" David replied, and glanced around himself looking for any rebels who might have spotted them. "So... you are here for Jancsi?" David shook his head. Suddenly there was a noise behind them and out of the darkness stepped a dark figure, Dr. Adams. In one raised hand he held a pistol, and was pointing it at David.

"Don't move any closer," he said, coming to a stop just behind Ioana.

"Not alone?" asked David.

Ioana leaned back towards Benjamin and said: "You can put the gun down, this is David. He and I... know each other."

"It's lovely to stand here and talk" mentioned Benjamin. "But perhaps this is rather a dangerous place for a reunion?"

"Indeed" replied Ioana, and she glanced around before looking back at David. From the buildings behind came a noise; and a scraggily dressed man emerged from a doorway, a rifle slung over his shoulder. From his gait he was most likely drunk. But rather than walk away to the other building it was the man's misfortune to look up the road and spot the three talking. In a second Ioana had her pistol drawn and fired at the man. He fell to the ground as the noise of the shot reverberated around the houses. Benjamin looked from his gun to Ioana. He had barely managed to fix his sights on the man in the time it took her to draw and shoot. Ioana saw his look and smiled.

"We attack now?" asked Dr. Adams.

"No, they'll be expecting something now. We've raised the alarm. David. You should get back before you are missed. We'll wait on the hill until things have quieted down."

As they turned to go their separate ways David looked back:

"Ioana?" She turned.

"Yes?"

'" . Look after yourself." Ioana smiled a devious smile.

"You too."

And with that she and Benjamin disappeared back into the dark.

Out of breath Ioana and Benjamin collapsed on the other side of the hill and lay just over the brow of the hill overlooking the town once more.

"So what was your friend doing there?" Ben asked.

"He's prisoner himself. He came to help the captain. Apparently he's injured. But now we know for sure that he is there."

"You seemed to know each other well?" Ioana smiled. "We did once."

'"But not now?"

"No. We haven't seen each other for a couple of years now." Ioana sighed. "We knew each other back home."

Ioana turned back to look at Benjamin, who was watching her. In the dark she couldn't quite pick out his expression. He put out his hand and ran it through her hair. Ioana made a slight movement away.

"Dr. Adams!"

"Benjamin" he said. "My name is Ben."

And with that he pulled her close and kissed her. Ioana had no time to react. At first she took the kiss in, but then realized that she must stay alert in case of any danger. She pushed Ben away from her a little too hard. He fell backwards and into a small dell, sounding out a loud thump. The rebels were searching the hill to find the person who shot one of their comrades and heard the crash. They shouted out, dogs began to bark. Ioana tried to flee, but no sooner had she turned around than she had crashed into one of the men in the dark. He grabbed hold of her and they took her back down to the village. Ben lay motionless and unnoticed in the bushes.

*

Ben was starting to rouse from his brief death. A loose bullet must've caught him. He was still dizzy. He looked around him, but Ioana had gone! He began scanning the village, looking for rebels moving in their direction. Suddenly he saw a patrol coming out of the jungle and toward the gates of the village. They sounded a loud horn and awoke the rebels. They proceeded to light torches to welcome the party. As light fell onto the group, Ben noticed that they had a prisoner! The rebels were beginning to celebrate as the realization of their prize became apparent. The prisoners were separated and led away to their respective holds. Women were kept separate to the men. The arrival of the patrol had doubled the men in the village and Ben knew that it would make it near on impossible for Ioana to get out. There were now over 50 men guarding the village of no more than 2 acres. He must return to the palace at once and tell the King! He slipped toward the camp, stole one of the rebels horses and made for the palace as fast as the horse would carry him.

*

A calm daybreak was broken by the sound of a jumping horse and agitation. It was Dr. Adams returning to inform the King of the situation. He was asleep in the throne room, where he stayed all night and was awakened by Ben.

"Your majesty! Your majesty I have news!!" He cried, exhausted by his long ride.

"What? What news?!" Lipot, the king, cried, after awaking from a lounge. He wearily opened his eyes and lifted his head when he saw Ben.

"Bad news I am afraid. Katalin is captured by the rebel group along with two others that I did not know." He said in a melancholic tone.

Lipot arose from his throne and headed toward the balcony. He could not lose Katalin, not now, after the loss of his beautiful wife. Tears began to well in his eyes.

"How many men do they have?" Lipot asked, with growing concern.

"50, maybe more", Ben replied, "Do you not have a royal guard that you could take with you your majesty?"

"My royal guard consists of merely 40 men," the king replied, still gazing out the window so that no one saw his wet eyes, "There is no need for a large guard when your country loves you." There was a silence in the room.

Lipot was beginning to formulate a plan in his weakening mind, but he still required the help of another.

"Ben, thank you very much for your help. Perhaps you would like to rest for a while before accompanying us on our journey?"

"Thank you your majesty, I would be honored to join you on your mission" he responded. With that they all left the room for their prospective tasks. Ben left with a pretty young maiden to 'rest'.

"We ride out at noon!" And they did just that. They rode out in full military robe and armory, to the cheers and applause of Lipot's loving subjects, led by Ben who knew how to get there.

*

Of course, even vampires would travel more easily now, sending coffins as luggage on airplanes. Adam let the other two order for him too. The mustard covered sausages were still the same, he noticed happily. Buzuklu and Ioana ordered it too, but they had it only half cooked, bloody.

"Look, I can not leave Lexa alone for such a long time in a foreign country. I know it's sort of sudden and we haven't seen each other for a while, but would you do it?"

"How do you imagine this Adam? I just jump on her and bite her? Without her knowing what it is all about and what is going happen to her?"

"C'me on Buzuklu, I've heard that before. Could you just do it, without asking questions? How many times did I save your life, how many adventures did we go through together?"

"They were good times, Adam. It's just that, you changed me. When we met I was a murdering barbar, eager to conquer all of Europe in the name of my emperor. You made me think about life, you taught me about humanity. I am a vampire, yes, but I have a conscience too. Besides, was I any different before becoming a vampire? Why are they any different? It wasn't unusual in the past ages for a victor of war to drink blood of his enemy. What changed me was hearing your life story. It doesn't matter what you are, but it does matter who you are. You must've forgot that. You want know the whole story of Ioana? She will tell you."

Ioana finished licking the bloody sauce off her plate. "Nuhmmm. Is it true what Buzuklu says that your blood taste better than any mortals?"

"I wouldn't know. I don't actually feel the different tastes in the flavor of different bloods. But, I'll let you taste it. Will you help me?"

Ioana ignored the question. "How can it be that you don't become a vampire after we bite you?"

"I don't know that myself either. There are lots of things about us, we don't know the origin of, like where we come from, just like you. Is there anything I could do for you so that you would help me? Anything at all? You probably heard about my other skills as well if you knew Ioana."

"Kkhhhmm. I..have..heard. But it isn't about rewards. It is about what we have sworn. I became a vampire through no intention of my own and I will not make anyone else suffer the same way I did. Ioana, your Ioana saved me from dying, I was shot by German officers and I would've died. She tasted my blood, put her teeth in me so I would stay alive, as a vampire. I asked her to never do that again, not even with my family. It was her choice to save them another way. If we attack a human, which doesn't happen all that often, we kill it."

"We've changed a lot since the last time. New ages, new tactics," added the Turk. We have connections at the blood transfusion unit. And, there are all the amounts of blood thrown out which contained AIDS. We have a huge supply of it still. It doesn't affect us, so why not? It is an easy way to shut our cravings off."

"Do you want to tell me that I won't find any vampire that will do this for me?"

"No, but not one I know. I am the leader of this community now, as the oldest and I am the law itself. We don't kill and don't make anyone a vampire. We wouldn't commit suicide, but we are aware of the fact that the world would be better of if we died off. But until then, would you like some palinca instead? It is just as powerful of a rocket fuel here, as it always was."

Adam gulped the full amount of the glass of liquid down in one shot. The burning sensation on his throat was an indication that the high concentration alcohol will soon take affect and he will forget that it was all over for Alexa.

Act 6

March 1999, Seacouver

Duncan's respiration rate multiplied, his muscle tension strengthened. He started to sweat and tensed up. His heart was pumping at three times the normal speed, his pupils dilated so he could see better. His focus and attention were exceedingly increased.

Joe recognized the reaction, he was sure it meant there was someone upstairs, so he reached in the direction of his gun, just as Mac reached for his sword.

Even before the lift's fence was lifted, the smell became evident for a barman like Joe and an experienced drinker like the Scotsman-it was the foulness of different kinds of beverages mixed with the stink of its thrown up form. The two man looked at each other while MacLeod was lifting up the barrier-it was an unusual occurrence to be found in the Scot's apartment, but at least it meant there was hardly a possible chance of any danger for an inebriated contender to win the ultimate prize?

The view explained everything a couple of seconds later-the upper story scattered with emptied bottles, with Methos lying knocked out sideways on the once lightly colored sofa, left arm lifelessly conforming with the law of gravity, almost reaching the floor. He didn't even seem to have noticed another immortal's arrival. The couch was soaking in the previous contents of the old guy's stomach, aka lots of yellowish, brownish fluid. Alcohol poisoning seemed appropriate to presume, until they noticed the blank morphine capsules, the kind Alexa used, on the small table next to the couch. He wanted to be knocked out big time, if one may suppose.

Joe knew that all this, his friend in this state, but more importantly him being here could only mean one thing: Alexa was gone. Duncan realized the that too, just in time to stop his outrageous outburst regarding the shape of his living area. His strong feelings of annoyance turned into concern, which in turn has developed into a different kind of anger over the negligence of his old friend of not defending his head. The right decision here was to stay by him and guard. He needed a couple of friends when he woke. They'll be around until then.

Joe sat down in the sofa to contemplate on the situation, Duncan went for the bucket to start cleaning up.

*

A blinding bar of white light drilled inside his brain. It must be the sunlight. If so, where was Ioana, did she survive? Oh, no, Ioana was dead decades ago, and now, so was Alexa. How can he not drink her out of his system! He raised weighty eyelids. Gradually, the apartment emerged from a colorless cloud. He peered on every side of himself, his neck was inflexible. So inflexible it might not stay on if someone wants to take it. Too bad.

How did he get here? Did he ever make it to the Highlander? Who brought him here? What was wrong with him? He forced himself to recall...zilch came to him. He glanced at his hands and arms, no indication of injury. Apart from tenseness and muscles spasms, he felt fine. He only had his jeans on, his Palaeolithic archaeology T-shirt, the one he got from Joe as a joke, lay on the floor pretty damn dirty of a slimy mess. But for what reason? He searched the apartment once more.

On the seat close to the couch was his rucksack, and in it was clothing. Moving towards it he perceived for the first time precisely how inflexible his muscles truly were. He got to the rucksack and looked in. Garments, considerably worthy ones too. Shaky, he got dressed. He had chosen a pair of jet black trousers and a dusky T-shirt. It just felt right, it matched his mood. Both simple. He forced on the boots, Benetton. What the heck? He couldn't recollect possessing a pair of them. Actually, he couldn't recall anything. Possibly these were his, he didn't know. He attempted to remember, zero...melancholy.

Blank. What the heck had occurred. Alarm clenched him as adrenaline instructed him to move his leg. The rigidity ended as he grabbed the coat that hung on a peg and made for the entrance. A sudden flash told him to look for a sword inside the coat. It was there, longer than he would expect it to be, but it was there. No movement.

He saw the stairway and jumped for the doorway.

"Hey, ho! Methos!" stepped the old barman in, he was in the way he wanted to head out. It was nothing much, comforting he could say to the old immortal, a wise saying something that would solve everything. But he could take care of the old man.

"Mac is downstairs, he's working out. Where are you going with the rucksack on?"

Joe. The bar. Alexa. Everything got clear in a millisecond. It was his ultimate cry for help to come to Duncan MacLeod. Lust of life, all it was gone. He lost interest or pleasure in daily activities consistently. He felt sad or empty, but irritable. He lost weight. He couldn't sleep. He felt worthless because of being beaten by death, his old self. And guilty every day for being alive. He knew of course, that depression was the normal, natural reaction when we lose something we value. A friend or loved one dies and we grieve. A loved one leaves us and we hurt, we miss them and want them back. But he lost more than that, the purpose of him, out of all those many people on Earth in five thousand years, why him? He must've had some purpose and he never managed to find it. It came to decision time. Eternal death is no decision that should be made alone or in an emotional state, for clearness he needed to see Duncan MacLeod. How many perspectives changed around in his head all those years? He required consistency, a thought to hang on to. Or was he? Was he even bored of trying to find a purpose?

Ignoring Joe, he headed for the stairs. Joe stood in the doorway, making it hard to pass through. He stepped into the lift instead. Joe was upset, making that grunt in disapproval.

The Scot halted his kata with the immortal signature coming down the elevator. Methos headed straight towards the door. He wanted to ask for help, but he was embarrassed, too proud. Hell! He wasn't going to make that mistake all over again, was he? It was either that the younger immortal will figure that out by himself, or he was just going leave.

Bursting into a dash, he twisted out via the doorway and to the light. He didn't contemplate, he ran. Blood rushed through each blood vessel, he ran, swallowing air as anaerobic breathing took over. He kept running. He didn't hear the Highlander shouting and running after him. He couldn't slow down. Not if he desired it. He required running. To be concealed. . . from something. He just ran.

Human beings hopped out of his way as he charged down strange routes and ran at top speed over alien passages. No one looked twice at him as he ducked his way through the bumper automobile path, escaping from humankind as if they were in flames. However, at this time, the single something that was in flames was him. Each element of him. He didn't know what era it was, or how prolonged he'd been racing, only that it was enough for his body to approach complete shutdown. He moderated his steps.

Breathing in as he slowed he felt lactic acid assault his flesh. His limbs pounded with a throbbing agony and he couldn't seem to gain sufficient oxygen. He closed his eyes and fell to his knees. The darkness shut out all, exclusive the suffering burning through every piece of his body. Breeze. He wanted it. Holding his eyes closed, he held his abdomen, rolling altogether. He almost got queasy. It was a while until he could open his eyes and look the surroundings.

Gradually he turned over, onto his rear. Opening his eyes cautiously, he glanced upwards. The sunlight was faint, the atmosphere was overcast. Wet. He moved a limb, the discomfort of the spasm was decreasing, lessening to one hint where it sprang from. There were shouts, cries of "Halt him" and "Hey you!". The old immortal sat up and ultimately understood that he was chased by an approaching immortal signature. He turned his head, he was in park land. A couple of passers by eyeballed the peculiar fellow sitting on the meadow plants perspiring. Running fanatical? Who cared?

He looked on every side once more. Lion Gate Bridge on the horizon. It was Stanley Park, the third largest metropolitan reservation in North America. He'd been here previously.

He stood on unsteady legs and looked again. The cause of the buzz caught up with him, out of breath, bending down to get himself together. MacLeod cursed.

"Is this supposed to be the new, trendy fitness program or what?"

Methos had other things to care about, than answer. They were towering, the buildings bigger, higher. The traffic accelerated. His mind searched for answers and he realized he must've misplaced himself in time again. The end of the twentieth century, right. His eyes clearly given out the confusion to the other immortal. The taller immortal closed up on Methos slowly, touching his shoulders first. There was no rejection, so he cuddled him. At first, there was no response to the act, but in a couple of minutes, Methos put his head onto the chest of his companion and started crying, just as Alexa used to cry on his shoulders. A few curious looks made Duncan move.

"We are in Stanley. You know, Nitobe Memorial Gardens are just a few minutes away. Have you ever been to it?"

Methos shook his head and let himself be led. He was in the protection of his confidant now, the only immortal he would ever disclose himself to. He already started to think more clearly, more logically, although he avoided thinking about the reason for his mood. His comrade continued:

"I'm surprised you haven't. The overall purpose of establishing the gardens was to revive the soul and to supply a feeling of order and rapport with the universe and with one's fellow man.."

"Opened in the 60s, I know," Methos said irritably. "MacLeod, I have a bit of a problem with time and space just now, it would just confuse me even more."

"Don't mind time and space just now. You will concentrate on opposing elements such as light and dark, high and low, rough and even and on the complete balance," guided him his comrade.

Methos begin walking obediently, lethargic at first, still grasping for air. They merged into the mortal traffic on the path. He couldn't pull the explanations from himself. So he settled to draw them out of somebody else. He determined that courtesy would be the first thing he would try. No one can take much of him when he's irritable. Especially not Mac. If Adam was in there somewhere, it was time for him to resurface.

" I was thinking if you could help me?" It finally came out.

"Sorry?" it wasn't the right thing to say to such an inquiry, but the question surprised Duncan extremely. No manipulations, no hiding away. Methos is asking for his help.

He quietly led Methos into the Tea Garden. The aesthetically fine arrangement of stones there would be most applicable in winter-time, it has given a sensation of tranquility, the four hundred year old used the location for meditation.

Duncan leaned to the shelter and searched the expressions appearing on Methos's face. Looking for a way of starting the conversation, it was also a chance for the easy way out, that is, if Methos would start talking.

Methos buried his hands into the pockets of his coat and paced around for a spell. His head was still spinning. He stepped over to a near pond and used it. He could experience his tummy agitated against all the queries and against the lack of solutions. He could sense the strain in back of his eyes as his mind felt like it was sensibly shattering. He begin pacing, but his legs felt fragile now, more than they had following his run. He stopped in front of the Scotsman:

"The Greeks defined happiness as managing one's best and usage of one's potential. Strangely, that would imply better to being a horseman than just a simple guy. I have no control over death anymore. When you kill, you have power. I don't know who I am anymore and why am I here. Even hope runs out in five thousand years. What new, better can it come?"

"Methos, if one does, you know the answers the best. You just can't remember them. And we talked about this before. Right now, due to emotions, you have a narrow view of the realm around us to such an extent that authenticity gets deformed. You know all this too. Remember, at such times, the frustration in our lives is regularly intensifies and the positive around us is discounted as being inappropriate, or indeed not existing. Alternatives to ease our doubts are deserted as holding no worth, until it appears as if there are no imaginable answers," his patience turned into anger when he remembered how not careful the oldest man of the planet could have been when drugging himself to numbness. "What you do is almost suicide. What if some outrageous immortal came over and took your head?"

Methos hee-hawed cynically. "What if? After five millenniums I'd like to know what is at the other side. Maybe there is an afterlife and than what is the big fuss about?"

Duncan raised his eyebrows. "Afterlife? And what about enjoying life before it comes to that?"

Methos stared at him quietly. His eyes revealed that he is considering something. Yes, he knew now, he didn't need the talking all that much. Yep, as Duncan said, he knew everything about anyone, at any point can say about the whole subject. What he needed was comfort. He made a step forwards in the direction of the previously consoling shoulder. He couldn't make it the whole way though. It would've meant a complete giving over of his soul, something he never ever did, in the worst circumstances either. Duncan hesitated a few seconds, unsure of the movement, but the old man's facial expression and posture was a dead give away. As he put his arms around his drinking buddy, he knew it would be a long and hard way to go, but at least they were on the right track.

Act 7

A few days later, Joe's Jeep stopped outside the dojo

"Hurry up Joe, I'm afraid we left Methos alone too long," Duncan rushed round the car and helped his watcher out the car.

"He looks all right to me now," Dawson shook his head. "How do you think he survived for so long?"

"You don't believe in immortal depression?" They walked along the sidewalk.

"Immortal depression? Heh!" expressed his disapproval the watcher. "I guess you could hate the fighting part, but the rest sounds good to me!" Joe was in fact concerned about Methos, but he was also bewildered by how can Methos be that low. There was nothing a few beers could not sort out, usually. He noticed his client tensing up and reaching for his sword again. He looked at him questionably.

"It doesn't feel like Methos." There was no time for Joe to ask how he could tell one buzz from another, but the sound of swords clashing convinced him too immediately. Duncan rushed into the fitness room.

Two slashing swords at flash speed. At the presence of another immortal both fighters freezed, sword in the air in a defensive position. The fight seemed uneven, Methos was obviously hurt, there was blood everywhere. The sword was shaking in Methos's hand, his legs jelly. He was leaning on a traverse.

Joe didn't know who the other man was, but the Highlander addressed him immediately:

"Randolph Crownare! It's me who you want not Adam!"

Joe buried himself in the history of the Highlands at times, enough to know that the stranger would be the crown officer who beheaded fifty native miss doers from the home area of the MacLeods, not all should have been considered real miss doers. Joe was surprised however, that Randolph did that before Duncan MacLeod's time. The Scot has thrown down his coat, stretched his legs out for a fight.

"MacLeod, the savior!" grinned the other man. "This is between me and your apprentice if I'm not mistaking?"

"My apprentice, yes," joined in the game the tallest immortal in the room. "Why would you like to fight him when you came into the house to meet me?"

"Why would I like to fight him?" stepped back the ex crown officer giggling, "hahahaha. You don't get it do you? Because he is an immortal. As simple as that. Nice of you to help Adam regenerate wasting my time, but now out, both of you!"

"Joe, leave," commanded his assignment too.

Joe shook his head. Not interfering wasn't an option this time, but he trusted Mac enough to fake an exit just as far as the hall. He could still peep in and change his mind, if necessary.

"I swear, if you take his head, I take yours right after. I won't wait around for Quickenings or anything," he heard the Scots' voice.

"You? Taking benefit of an unfair advantage? I don't think so," answered the man, considering the remote possibility. He didn't have the chance to think too long, Methos became strong enough to lift his sword and attack.

"Methos! No!" exclaimed his friend, "leave it to me!"

Methos didn't answer, just kept on attacking. Duncan stepped back, but ready to interact.

Wounds opened after one another on the old immortals chest and stomach. The other sword crushed his lazy sword aside and quickly snapped at the freed up points. This only made him angrier, more eager to attack. It seemed an unreasonable, emotional way to react, so unlike him. He weakened, his hands became slower. He didn't defend himself anymore, he couldn't. The appropriate moment arrived, then Randolph's sword sparkled terrifyingly, sliding down the edge of his adversary's weapon and perpetrated through Methos's exposed abdomen, coming out the other end. Randolph looked up at Duncan before the final cut, to see his intentions. Methos lifted his sword with all his energy in the same time, and turned it in a way that the edge of it meets the neck. His ultimate living instinct won over depressive, suicidal thoughts. The trachea of the other immortal popped out his neck the way a seed out of a cherry does if you squeeze it. The flame of life disappeared from his eyes before the head touched the floor.

Methos lost consciousness due to the blood loss before he could experience the Quickening. He could sense his breath happening in rapid heaves. His sight fluctuated and as he hit the floor for the second time, all he could remember, two figures hurrying towards him. He was elevated and then. . .

Act 8

Memories. Horsemen fighting in dust. Swords shining, flags flying. Groan of dying people. Iron and blood, smoke and flames.

He woke up and could detect voices. In a near room. He strived to arouse, but his stomach was too sore. It upset him, but it was like the thoughts of were he came from? Probably not.

He tried to listen but could merely pick out a few stray sentences here and there.

"Apart from fatigue and alcohol poisoning again, I'd say three more days of doing nothing more than lacing his boots and he should be running at a hundred percent again. He's extraordinarily resilient."

"Not by us. He has to do that himself.."

He couldn't pick out any more, he didn't care furthermore, he closed his eyes and felt like he was accelerating descending a cave, a dim one, that lying in that bed of MacLeod he was being dragged along so quickly and he didn't understand where he was pushed on. It was at that moment, that he surmised that going back to sleep would presumably be a hurtful concept. He dreamed...

He could perceive something, dull, spinning, and dashing. A voice. Arriving out of the fog. Distant. Hundreds of milestones distant, thousands of years away, but hence near. So badly near..

In back of him a voice shouted his name. He spun round and stared into his own dead eyes. His own head hung ahead of him. Very cold and heard a voice once more. Nearer, Kronos. He was following him. Cautiously, he turned round to see him.

"Welcome home," Kronos said and cuddled him.

*

Duncan instinctively put his palm on Methos's forehead. It was sweating and seemed too hot. His friend twisted himself in bed and groaned. The touch wakened him.

"Kronos." he murmured as he opened his eyes.

The Scot lifted his eyebrows. "No. It's me, MacLeod."

"I need Kronos." moaned the old man.

MacLeod seemed hurt. He responded in a non-involving voice. "Well, it's me or no one. You choose."

Methos sat up, but doubled instantly in pain into Duncan's arms. As he held Methos up, the oldest immortal whispered into his ears:

"I need you to be Kronos for me."

"I don't know how you mean that. I wouldn't want to and even if I would, you know that I'm not even able to trace his memories."

Methos needed time to gather his strength together again to talk. He leaned back again, shutting his eyes. MacLeod inspected him worryingly and confused.

"What is wrong, Methos? The physical pain you are in, can have nothing to do with any emotions, can it?"

Methos swallowed hard. He reached after MacLeod's hand. "Kronos, help me."

MacLeod wished that Joe was still here. He couldn't think of anything better than shaking Methos into reality.

"Adam Pierson!" the tactic worked before, so he tried it again. "Adam! I'm Duncan MacLeod from the clan MacLeod!"

Methos opened his eyes, puzzled by his own confusion.

"Mac. You have Kronos in you, he used to do this for me."

"Do what Adam?"

"Cutting my guts open to take out a blade or bullet out of my stomach."

Duncan dropped Methos back to the bed. He even backed off a step.

"Heh?"

"The skin has healed, but the blade is inside."

"Where?"

"Here," grunted Methos just from the effort of moving his hand and pointing at the upper part of his abdomen."

"You can't be serious!" wondered Duncan.

"C'me on man, it torments so much to talk! Do it!"

"How exactly?"

"Kronos. . . will tell you." Methos drifted off.

Barbaric, right enough, taught the Scotsman, what Methos asks! Might be the best option though. And the reason, theoretically possible, but never happened to him. Luckily. Brrrrr! There are two options, he does it as Methos asks, might take a while until he finds the blade. He felt abhorrence on the thought of making such a barbarous gesture. The other option was to call Ann and ask her to do it, clean and tidy. The situations Methos gets him in, incredible! The second option sounded better, but then Methos would suffer longer. He didn't even consider thinking about Kronos, he disrelished everything about him. He almost phoned up Joe, but eventually he decided that he would do it by himself. Dislike or not, for Methos's sake.

*

Rain prattled against the glass in a vain effort to get into the house, and four floors beneath people dashed about with newspapers above themselves seeking protection against the dropping shower.

Methos had formerly made up his mind. He did expose himself too much to Mac, it was almost futile to run away again, Duncan already knew all that was important about him at this time. Not all his past, but it better stay that way. If he makes stupid things like he did in the past week, Duncan will find out everything. Methos can not afford to be weak anymore, in any circumstances. No sentiments. Not again. If he lets any emotion in, it all ends up bad again. He turned and grabbed his black coat that belonged to him and went for the door. He turned towards Duncan.

"I'm not contemplative anymore, I'm leaving."

And with that he turned and went out into the corridor. Duncan knew he couldn't stop him. He knew he was ok to go, so he let him go. He will come back one day. When one of them was in trouble. As he came back always. His good friend.


THE END, which always means to be continued (I hope), by me, or others