Title: Why a Methos shouldn't take students

Author: Lore

Rating: PG

Fandom: Highlander

Summary: So I'm immortal, now what

Notes: obvious Mary Sue warning, blatant Methos worshipping and oh yes ...please forgive me, I just like writing these things for my birthday <eg> I'm turning the ripe old age of 24 tomorow <eg>

betaed by Heather, thank her for taking out my errors, and blame me for the ones I left in.

Why A Methos Shouldn't Take Students
by Lore

*** Tuesday Evening 21:25 PM ***

'How in God's name did I end up here?' Lore turned, checking to see if anyone was coming, praying she wasn't too deep in a pile of shit. Forgetting for a moment that if he were there she would have sensed him first. He still wasn't there.

She took a deep gulp and jumped up, terrified as she heard something creaking. Her stomach played up, and she held her side while panting for breath. These shoes hurt. No matter what Amanda said, high heels were not a necessary fashion accessory. If she ever got out of this,
Lore promised, she'd never ever wear them again if she could help it.

He still wasn't there. Maybe he'd stay away; maybe this was just his idea of a joke and he was sitting in the apartment, watching television, having his beer right in reach. She shook up as she
sensed his presence. It had enough of an effect to get her running again.

How had she ended up here? She didn't know, all she did know was that her legs hurt, that it was cold, freezing really. She hated the short skirt that left her legs this exposed. Amanda could talk all she want, but this wasn't Lore and she knew it. 'I just wanted to be friends. Is that so bad? Is it so terrible not to want to sit in a corner with a book, to want to be part of the group?' She remembered watching them have fun and being 'allowed' to come along. She was Methos' student after all. They could hardly not offer.

'Then how did I end up here?'


Part 1

*** Monday morning, 9:11 AM ***

Methos grumbled as he woke up, his head jammed in between his two pillows. How he'd ended up that way he couldn't remember; why he hadn't suffocated? No idea. He nearly hit the alarm clock before he realized it wasn't his alarm clock that was playing loud morning music through its speakers. Why did the gods ever invent mornings?

He pulled his boxers straight and moved up to the next room, hoping to catch her still in bed. If there was one thing that could make a morning look at least slightly decent, it was sharing the fun. He nearly hit himself when he saw her sitting in the living room, still in her PJ's but behind the computer already. Chatting, *laughing* even. How could anyone be this cheerful in the morning? He groaned; she turned around and wished him a good morning. Did she want to jinx the day entirely? Whoever invented that phrase should be skinned alive. He rubbed through his eyes, forcing himself to keep them open. There's no such animal; didn't she understand that?

"Don't you ever go a day without that computer?"

"Not if I can help it." She turned back to the screen and started typing something to the person on the other side of the line. It seemed to take forever to say her good-byes before she closed the
frames. Whatever happened to just *talking*? Or what about sending letters, on paper. What was wrong with tangible communication? This...

"Get dressed." He grumbled, running one hand through his hair. "We start training in twenty minutes." Now she was the one to grumble. He could hear her say something about still wanting to finish reading a piece. Methos just threatened to pull the cord if she didn't get up right away. He watched her leave the room and sat down before the screen. His own mail was waiting. Hey, age does have some privileges.

****

Damn that man, that arrogant, bossy, infuriating, know it all, drop-dead-gorgeous-hunk of a man.

Lore grabbed a brush and tried to bring order the tangled mess that was supposed to be her hair. She nearly despaired knowing that even immortality didn't rid her of the tendency to part her hair in the middle, giving her a schoolgirl look. She pulled the hair behind her ears and away from her face. Her blue eyes looked back showing the youth and lack of experience he teased her about. She wasn't that young. Really.

She grabbed a towel and stepped into the shower, throwing the towel over the wall. She couldn't help but soak a moment, regretting Adam's lack of patience that stopped her from taking a long hot bath, preferably till her skin looked red from the heat. But no, Adam would be waiting. Adam and the sword. That thought always brought a lump to her throat.

She closed her eyes for a moment as she got out and started drying herself, binding a second towel around her hair. Her stomach played up in fear as she got ready for her regular beating. Oh, Adam called it training, and to him it probably was, but she could barely hold on to her sword as she tried to fight him off and the idea of following him in one of his katas was even worse. It wasn't that he wasn't trying, but she just didn't have the rhythm needed for that kind of thing.

It was a good thing her hands didn't show the evidence of all the times she'd cut herself on her own blade. Then again, any excuse to get out of this sword fighting thing would have been good. But with Adam, even losing a finger probably wouldn't be enough of an excuse not to practice.

He was all, "Your life depends on it and all that, urging on her to take it more serious." It wasn't as if she didn't understand that, but did he really have to go on and on about it?

Her T-shirt hung loosely over her body. She held in her stomach almost more by habit than out of necessity and noticed the way the tight black pants clung to her legs. The stretch marks on her legs were the last reminder of the weight she'd had before, but hidden beneath her clothing, she looked just like any other young girl, no, woman her age. God, just because he saw her as a child, didn't mean she had to follow him in it.

Adam's voice echoed through the building, yelling at her to hurry up. Other people had to use the bathroom as well. Other people being *him*. She passed him on the way back to her room, seeing him sitting behind the computer.

As good as the man looked in anything, he made boxers look like Gods own creation. That back, those muscles… oh. She wiped away some of the drool appearing on the edge of her mouth. The idea of flirting with Adam might look mighty fine in theory, but in reality she got no further than shyly smiling at him, or sharing a few short quips with him. Her hopes of ever having him see her as anything other than a stupid kid grew smaller every day. She just blushed when he smiled at her and laughed with him, acting as if nothing was going on. It was hard to get over the idea that she was no longer the ugly little duckling. So hard she had to fight not to duck into the bakery for
some pastries every time he sent her running. Being fat had been easier that way, she never had to worry about anyone noticing a kilo more or less.

She grabbed a sandwich and put some cheese on it. What she wouldn't give for a nice normal big bread. Not one of those long, carton like sticks that the French liked to call bread, but a nice round white bread. And the cheese... Before she found a place that sold normal cheese instead of that stinking stuff the French seemed to like for some reason. Paris might be great for a visit, but as a place to live, it sucked, stank and everything in between. Now why hadn't she remembered that much from the last time she'd been here. Thank goodness they hadn't stayed on that boat for more than a few hours.Adam's friend, Duncan, was nice, but God, she'd barely been able to speak without throwing up after even a short while on that thing. Yet another thing to scratch from future job options.

So this was it, living with the most gorgeous hunk of meat she'd ever met without anything ever coming from it. In a country that had no idea about real cheese or breakfast. And if that wasn't bad enough. She grabbed her head, trying to deal with the pain as the Buzz hit her.

Right on cue. The bell rang and she grabbed the toast out of the toaster, squeaking a bit as she burned herself on the hot toast. Adam was opening the door, still not wearing anything more than his boxers and a tight gray T-shirt.

How that woman could look so… *unaffected* by that sight was almost a miracle of chastity. Miss Amanda Darieux: thief, klepto and everything Lore wasn't. Not that she wasn't nice; she was never impolite or anything, but to Lore she was still the paramount of evil. A self-assured woman who could wrap any man around the her little finger.

As if her day wasn't bad enough already.


Part 2

*** Monday evening, 21:43 PM ***

Lore sat behind her cola, waiting for Adam. He was talking with Joe again. She leaned back against the wall and stared at the writings around her. There were posters of famous jazz groups and even some old movie posters from days gone by. It wasn't easy to translate the French, but it gave her something to do. She took a coaster from the stack in front of her and let her hand go free.

Joe seemed angry about something. He was raging against Adam, who'd begun the conversation slouched on his stool. It seemed to her as if he was just letting it all roll over him. Lore wondered why; then again, speaking up against someone who was preaching only got them worse.

She wondered how a scholar like Adam knew someone like Joe. It was one thing to be a drinker like Adam, but to actually get a bartender as one of your best friends? Adam didn't go out that often. He'd told her Joe shared his interest in history. The older man led the regional chapter of a group of amateur historians. A group of which Adam had been a member, though he'd left a while ago. It had sounded interesting. A group of people whose hobby it was to research history for no other reason than their personal interests. She'd considered asking him if they took new members.

Yet, when she asked for more information, they'd both gone silent. Joe had given Adam a glance that spoke volumes and neither of them had said another word. She'd just swallowed her request.

"It's time to leave."

She looked up and noticed Adam was standing in front of her. Damn it, she hadn't even noticed he'd left the bar. "What was that about?"

"Stuff."

The tone in his voice stopped her from asking anything else.

*****

Damn bastards.

Methos crumpled the paper in his fist. What could the Watchers possibly expect of him now. They already knew what he was, they knew who he was. Even most of his former co-workers knew he was immortal. One of 'them'...

But why they asked him to come in now, he had no idea. He couldn't believe Joe. Did that man really expect him to just follow up orders, march into headquarters? Hell, maybe he should even
roll down his collar, sit down and give them his sword while he was at it.

How could Joe be stupid enough to believe it would be safe?

Besides, even MacLeod would understand his hesitation. It wasn't just his head that was at stake this time. He had a student to think of. She was still messing with something. He let his eyes fall on the coaster and nearly choked on his tongue. Where'd she see that? A rough rendition of the Watcher symbol. He glared at her, she didn't even seem to notice him.

"It's time to leave."

She tried to ask some questions. He quickly put a stop to that. How much had she figured out? Maybe she knew? No. Both he and Joe had kept still about the Watchers and Mac and Ryan were under threat of beheading not to say a word.

Just cause MacLeod felt the need to share all with his brat didn't mean he had to make the same mistake.

What would the Watchers want? What could they do?

He kept his eyes on the traffic, ignoring the girl sitting next to him. She was fiddling with the window, opening, closing it just a tad bit, then opening it again...

When she finally stopped, it was at about the same height it had been the first time. He groaned and kept looking in front. Then she started tapping on the door.

No melody, not even a real rhythm, just an annoying tapping against the plastic and glass

He wasn't thinking of her, she just kept distracting him. "Can't you just sit still. One second maybe?"

"No."

He let go of another groan before he could stop himself.

Part 3

*** Tuesday, 13:45 PM ***

The hall seemed to be stretching out endlessly. Methos took a deep breath and proceeded, the sound of his footsteps, harsh as they sounded on the tile floor, echoed up to the walls. He could hear the slow breathing of the Watcher at his back. Joe stood next to him and Methos could see the smile in the old Watchers eyes. Methos could guess the young man's reaction to him. Probably completely in awe. He was to tensed up to care.

His feet dragged a bit. He heard something and moved his head, to listen. His eyes caught the order of the paintings. They weren't the same ones he'd seen the last time he'd been here during Joe's trial; annual rotation at work, he guessed. He stared up at the one in front of him. Rebecca's eyes looked back at him from out of the frame. Her long red hair was bound in the manner of the times, sixteenth century if he wasn't mistaken.

She was smiling, probably completely unaware that the mortal painting her didn't just work for the doge of Venice, but for the Watchers as well. Or maybe she did know, and that smile on her face was nothing more than her laughing at their foolishness, thinking they could possibly understand her and her kind, just by watching.

She was dead now. Killed by one of her own students.

How likely was it for him to get out of here alive?

Joe seemed to think it was completely safe. He believed it was better to walk in than to be dragged in. His memories must *really* be fading.

"Sir?" The watchers voice sounded hesitant, as if terrified to disturb him in his musings, but to duty-bound not to. "The council is waiting."

Methos looked up and straightened his collar again, moving his hand past the knife on his left and the gun on his right. "Can't have that, now can we?" He could feel the slight break in his tone, but he was sure it was to short a moment to be noticed by the watcher.

He could see them sitting behind the huge mahogany table. The giant oak door slammed shut as soon as he was in. Trapped, like a rabbit. All three were staring at him, a safe distance away, both physically and mentally.

Even Allie, an elderly and slightly gray woman who sat on the right, was looking at him as if he were some unknown specimen that she'd never seen before. That after all the all-nighters they'd done together at the library. She was all business now. Hector Gonzalez who sat next to her was biting his lip, as if unsure whether to say something or not. And dear old Franz who seemed to be the most honest of the three just had a look of disgust in his eyes.

"Mister Pierson." Allie aimed at the hard wooden chair in front of the table. "Will you please sit down?"

Methos stared at it a moment. Completely aware of its lonely stance in the middle of the room. It creaked loudly as he sat down, its sound enhanced by the quiet in the room. He swallowed and looked back at Joe, who sat down in the back of the room with the rest of the witnesses. The older Watcher's eyes looked at him encouragingly and Methos forced himself to look back to the front.

"Or should we just call you Methos?" Allie's words held a tone of disattachment. "We are correct to assume that is your true name, are we not?" The remark sounded snappish, harsh.

Methos held his face impassive, as if the strike meant nothing while it really meant everything. "If you like." He didn't deny the claims on his name, not did he confirm them. His standard response to an unforeseen situation. Do nothing.

One of the Watchers came at him. Methos cringed a bit and stared at the members of the council. "We will need proof of your Immortality for the records." Methos fought his inclination to laugh at that. It was because they knew that he was here for crying out loud. What more proof did they need. The Watcher was holding a knife. Methos looked at him, at the nondescript face staring at him. There was no emotion, either good or bad, in his eyes. Methos held out his hand and accepted the knife. He stared at his palm for a second before cutting hrough the skin. He yelped slightly as he hit the bone. Nothing was said as they waited a few seconds before giving him a towel. Merely moments after the cut had been made, he showed his hand; the skin seemed untouched.

The Watcher took a step back and Methos was alone again. "You were a Watcher, one of us for over 13 years." Franz's German accented voice was harsh, accusing. "Fooling us for all that time. Making us believe you were with us while you were just spying, laughing with our stupidity." Methos didn't bother to try and reply. "Maybe even using us to hunt." Methos eyes twitched around, wondering when they'd bring on the sword. "If this had been a century ago, we could have dealt with this the way we should be dealing with it. According to the old regulations. "

"But this isn't a century ago, Franz." Allies voice gave him a breather. "And we can't just kill an immortal, interfering in the Game that way." She turned to Methos. "You are aware that that would normally be the regulation, to take the immortal out in order to protect the organization." Methos faced her eyes, wondering what she was heading for. "As you know, having been on the Methos Chronicles for over ten years," her voice sounded slightly mocking as she said that part. "we have been looking for Methos, for you, for over a 1000 years."

Methos could see the look in the others eyes. 'Get on with it already.'

"Now we have found you. And you are putting us in a very difficult situation."

"In short, Methos," Hector sounded slightly off-tone as he said the name, "we would like to make you an offer."



Part 4

*** Tuesday evening, 30:35 PM ***

Lore sat huddled on the couch. Her one leg was crossed over the other in an unsuccessful attempt at discretion. She held on to the side of the chair. Even knowing the boat wasn't on sea, that it was simply tied, moored to the quay along the Seine in Paris, she still had to fight to stay still on the boat. Not even the water in the glass in front of her moved so the boat couldn't really be shaking. Maybe it was just her who was rocking along with some feeling inside of her that had to deal with being on a boat.

She barely listened to the fight between Richie and Duncan. She knew he was usually called Mac, but it was weird calling him that way, she barely even knew him enough to say his first name. They were arguing in a huddled tone anyway. Just loud enough to hear, but not loud enough to understand exactly what they were so worked up about.

All she knew was that Richie had gotten into a challenge and Duncan, no Mac, was angry about it.

When she heard Richie talking about it, all she'd been able to think of was that he'd killed someone. The worst thing possible from her point of view. Nevertheless, that hadn't been the point. It was that Richie had taken a bigger risk than Duncan had wanted him to. Didn't the Scot see they were talking about murder here? How could they take it so casually?

A week ago. Had he gotten the blood off of his hands yet? Off his sword? Was he seen? He seemed so normal as he'd come in. Like a regular kid, the way he always did. Until he'd made his announcement. In truth he'd just asked Duncan if he'd known the guy, which MacLeod strangely enough had, but the words, 'Well he got me hard, my side was bleeding, so I took a risk and took his head before I lost to much blood,' sounded like something out of a book, out of a movie.

She'd had to think of it for a second before it hit her. This wasn't some game he was talking about. Then again, it was a Game, just not one for fun. But it was for real, too real. The boy sitting there with his short red hair and his motor jacket, looking no more than 19, was a killer. A cold hard killer. And he talked about his murder as if he'd just won a sports match.

Her coat was placed over the side, its folds stretched alongside the blade of her sword. The first time Adam showed it to her, all she'd been able to think of, was that it was beautiful. They expected her to kill people with it, though. To murder another living being, to end someone's life.

It was one thing to say you were going to kill someone over something they did to you, but to actually do it?

Did Adam expect her to kill people?

These guys did, maybe it was strange, but she'd never had the feeling that Adam would ever kill anyone.

Where was Adam anyway? He'd left with Joe a couple of hours ago and he still hadn't returned. Lore tried to move her legs, but hated the way someone would be able to see under her skirt if she did. She quickly locked her legs side to side and put her hands on her lap. This damn skirt was way too short. This was the absolutely last time ever, that she let Amanda take her shopping. That woman did not know the meaning of the word no.

Her shoulders slouched a bit more as she leaned over, trying not to look down at her chest and what was showing of it. What would Adam say of this outfit? Would he like it? The discomfort might actually be worth it if he did.

Her watch was running behind like usual, she compared it to the big clock on the other side of the room again and changed it so it ran ten minutes ahead. Now, where was Adam?

Duncan and Richie were still fighting. Richie shouted something that sounded like, "You're not my father!"

Duncan responded with, "Thank God for that."

Lore rubbed her temples, feeling as if she were going to throw up and got up to the deck. The wind made her hair fly up and she tried desperately to keep it in order. The young immortal shivered in the cold morning air and got up to the side of the boat. She wrapped her arms around her, a meager protection against the cold. Maybe she should just get away from this damn boat and the water. She just hated boats, rivers, the sea most of all. No matter how much she loved swimming, when you put her on a boat, all she could think of was to look for a decent place to throw up.

She slouched over the railing and stared at the quay. It seemed to be getting dark already, hell it was only… seven o' clock in the evening? She hit her head, she should have realized it. Still, if it
was this late, where was Adam?

She stepped over to the quay and moved up to the left. Walking a bit. Maybe she should climb up and go to the city.

Why?

Just to have something to do, other than listening to two guys arguing about the best way to kill someone. 'I'm crazy, crazy for staying here, for thinking any of this means anything. I should just go home, back to mom.' Lore bit her lip, hiding the redness of her eyes as an effect of the cold, sneering wind. She was slow as she moved up, away from the boat.

Would her mom be angry if she came back? Would they believe it was her?

Maybe all this was a lie and she could simply go back to her normal life. To just go home and forget about all of this, forget this stupidity and that she'd ever heard of something called the Game.

But how?

Her passport, the fake one, was at Adams place. She still couldn't drive a car, she still had no money, basically she was broke. So here she was, stuck in France and she wanted to go home more than anything.

Part 5

*** Tuesday evening, 20:45 PM ***

Methos kept his hands in his pockets.

Damn cold.

Maybe it was time he left Paris. He didn't think Lore would disagree, the kid could be easy that way. Her dependence on him did have its advantages. Occasionally at least.

He kicked a Dr Pepper can away almost without thinking about it as he stared at his wrist and the new tattoo on it. A golden bird in a silver wheel. His ticket inside Watcher headquarters for as long as their cooperation held. He snorted at the thought of actually allowing Watchers to interview him. The idea of it. He wasn't sure whether he should call it progress or not.

He sniffed, trying to ignore the smell surrounding the Seine but having it touch him even more because of his attempts. Someone was coming, the sense of presence was strangely muffled, either someone very young or very old, he wasn't sure which of the two. Maybe MacLeod or the brat. Neither of them would be stupid enough to let the kid out on her own, would they?

He slowed down a bit, carefully gazing around. Was there anything out of the ordinary around him? His coat stuck around his legs. Part of it was pulled up by the wind.

"Adam Pierson?" He moved around deliberately, careful for an ambush from any direction. The woman was gorgeous. Long blond hair down to her calves and legs that seemed to go on forever. She was standing up against the side. One leg rested against the wall. Her skirt showing more than he'd wanted to see, especially from someone he didn't even know.

"Yes?"

She pulled out a sword. Where she'd pulled it out of, he had no idea, but all of a sudden it was in her hands nonetheless. "There can be only one." The million dollar sentence it seemed at times.

He groaned at the stupidity of it all and grabbed his own blade. "Why?" He didn't really care, but it might distract her for a moment. It didn't work.

*******

At first she didn't know what was happening. The scene was weird, unlike anything she'd ever seen. The two images were barely visible in the fog. A man and a woman. Like figures out of some shadow play. She looked beautiful, perfect figure in an outfit that showed more than it concealed. He... he looked dark and dangerous. His face was still hidden in the deep mist.

She was fascinated. Their fight was brutal, but oddly enough it had bits like a dance in it. He pushed her back against the wall, not leaving her a second to regroup.

It was then that she saw his face as it was illuminated in the streetlights for a single moment. His face, Adams face.

She took a step closer, unsure what to think. She tilted her head a slight bit and looked again. Adam. Her face was frozen, seconds away from a scream. His sword slashed the woman's abdomen, causing a wide gap in her shirt, and smearing it with blood. The woman stumbled
away, hitting the ground. He lifted his hand, his sword ready to strike. Lore stared as the woman flung up her hand, something in her grip hitting Adams face. She stumbled again, while holding her wound. Blood and gore dripped out of it. Adam seemed slightly dazed, trying to rub something out of his eyes. Oh God, that poor woman.

*****

Methos slashed out blindly. His eyes stung, damn sand. Where had that bitch gone to? He could sense an immortal nearby, but had no way to be sure where.

He rubbed his eyes, they were getting better. He was seeing a haze now instead of a complete darkness. Where was his opponent? There she was. He rushed at her, letting out completely, forgetting all caution as he put his all in the attack.

Suddenly someone screamed. Lore. The girl backed off, stumbling as she tried to get away from him. Methos lowered his sword, wanting to lend her his hand.

"Please. Nee! Alstublieft niet." She was still crawling back, begging him to leave her alone.

"I'm not planning to hurt you."

She didn't listen, saw an opening and ran for it.

Part 6

*** Tuesday evening, 21:32 PM ***

Lore was shaking. She stumbled over a loose tile on the road. Her knee hurt for just a moment before it healed up. It didn't even get the chance to look red. Her entire body was shaking now, sobbing. Had this been Adams plan all along? To have some fun before killing her in the end? That poor woman had probably been a student of his as well, before he attacked her. Only she'd been smart enough to leave. How could she have been so stupid, so naively trusting.

She got up and tried to clean her hands on her skirt. The ruble loosened easily, falling down in a cloud of dust.'Sand, so that's what that woman had thrown at him?' Could he have seen it was her when he attacked? Maybe, maybe not.

Did it matter? Damn sure it did.

Her skin tingled, her head hurt as if something was burning it from the inside of her skull. Another immortal. Adam?

But it wasn't Adam.

She looked even more beautiful than when Lore had seen her first. Simply... the only word she could come up with was lovely. Even the smears of blood on her shirt didn't detract from it, instead they added a kind of feral aura about her. Her manicured nails moved along her chin as she stared in Lore's way. They glittered slightly as they reflected the moonlight that bounced
back from her sword.

Utterly beautiful, if not for the smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. Or better said, the lenses in those eyes. No way, that violet was her real eye color. Lore could see the roots shine through under the blond as well. She looked fake the more Lore looked at her. She was almost glad the white she'd tried on her own hair had grown out already to show her natural mousy brown hair. The fakeness of it had never really made her happy.

"Hi." she stared at the woman, unsure whether to move up to her or run.

"I am Anna Marie Divine." Lore could hear a twinge of a French accent in the woman's voice.

"Lore Krajsman." Lore held on, wondering why she hadn't taken her sword along as she'd gone out. To be honest, the coat would have helped against the cold as well, but as usual she'd thought of it to late and had been to stubborn to go back and pick it up.

Not that the sword would have done much good now, but at least she wouldn't be feeling so stupid now if she'd had it with her. "So Adam Pierson has a student." The woman's voice sounded arrogant, conspiratorial. "I so hope you don't mind, but I think I've found a purpose for you."

Lore saw the sword coming at her, ducked and rolled out of the way. One of the few things from her training that she'd actually managed to do. Didn't she have anything that could be even remotely used as a weapon? She tried to get up, lashing out at the woman who grabbed her hand in a hold.

They faced off. Lore shivered in fear. 'I'm sorry Adam. Please forgive me for ever doubting you. This is going to hurt.'

Suddenly a loud bang hit through the air, a gunshot. The woman held surprise in her eyes as she tumbled down over Lore, pushing her to the ground. Lore forced the body away and stared up in Adams eyes. "Oh God."

"Are you all right?"

"Oh god god god Oh God..."

Lore was shaking, staring down at her clothing. 'This thing is ruined' she thought. "She was going to kill me, you ..." 'God how am I ever going to get the blood out of that thing. If I survive the
next few moments at least. But damn those stains. And that woman.'

"She's dead."

'Never mind I'd never have worn the thing again, but I could have and now it's ruined.'

"I'm sorry Lore. I didn't see it was you."

Lore kept fussing with her shirt, trying to rub the blood of, unable to look at Adam. The woman's body was still lying there in a crumpled heap. "Are we going to get away from here?"

Small shocks coursed through her body, she held on to Adam to get up, but let go almost instantly. "Soon." He pulled his sword.

Lore turned away from the sight and moved up a few meters, refusing to stare at the body or at Adam and whatever he was going to do to it. The air grew stale, expectant. She felt her mouth go dry and could feel something prickle the back of her neck. She quickly turned around and just stared at it.

The body was surrounded by a light blue halo. Lightening bolts seemed to be hitting everything around it. She backed of a bit more and ducked trying to at least stay out of the way while staring at Adam. Her eyes were wide open at the sight of the magic.



Epilogue

Methos had little or nothing to say on their way back home. His face stood hard. Lore didn't dare say a word. As much of a blabbermouth as she could be at times, there were moments you had to pull conversation out of her. He stared at her and winced at the way her eyes stood, fear, guilt, ... he just couldn't look at it.

"I'm sorry." she finally mumbled, biting away a tear before they could form. "I shouldn't have run."

He didn't answer. His eyes kept to the front, concentrating on his driving. He put on some music.

To be honest Methos couldn't blame her for anything. In truth he'd applauded her actions. Well other than the one about leaving the barge, but that was MacLeods fault. He should have known better.

The running had been the smart thing to do. Courage and bravery might sound all fine on paper or on the movies, but in reality... He'd rather have her run and survive, than to see her lose her head
because she was to brave and stupid to know when she didn't have a prayer to win.

Even when dealing with the chance of him coming after her. Especially then. What a day.

First the Watchers asked him to rejoin in the function of immortal advisor and now this... Next thing you know, Cassandra would show up, just to finish it up. Now why did he ever decide to take a student again? Oh yeah. MacLeod. Now what would be a suitable punishment for that overblown boy scout. A malicious gleam filled his eyes and next to him Lore shivered in fear.

END