This takes place during the episodes, Comes the Horseman and Revelations: 6.8
Mike
It’s funny, no matter how much you read or how much you think you know, it isn’t until you actually experience something, that true knowledge really emerges. That’s how Immortality is. When I was field operative, I got to watch the comings and goings of Immortals, their battles, their struggles and I really believed I had a handle on what it would be like to be Immortal. Any Watcher wonders and dreams. To spend your life following people, taking that blasted Oath of silence--all the other hoops that Watchers have to go through just to watch and observe--they have to be just a little curious about what it would be like to live forever. I know I was. I used to stand there, in the rain or snow or sun, and daydream on what it would be like to live 200 years from now with the soul of Mike Evans.
I had a good time and it was a great way to spend those endless hours watching. But it was a fantasy. Nothing like the reality of life. Being Immortal is so much like being normal that it’s uncanny. Immortals get up every morning, eat, drink, take shits, just like mortals. They have wants, desires, fears of failure and success, sexual desires. They have to work out, build those muscles, eat healthy. I know all these things, because all I have to do is look at myself nude and marvel at how much my body has changed in the past six months. Before my First Death, I was 40 pounds overweight, my muscles were tight and sore, yet not strong. I hadn’t exercised or been active for three years. I was a physical mess.
I lost the weight overnight. That’s what Immortality does. It heals or rights things that are wrong with your physical self. But, I was still weak, and those muscles still needed strengthening. So, like all the rest of the humans, I had to work out and train and become stronger...
I woke up.
It’s funny how I didn’t apply that knowledge into everything. For nearly four years, Adam and I have been the best of friends. Before we even met in person, he was telling me things that he told no one else. He was turning to me for some hard met advice. Once I became Immortal and figured out that he was the elusive Methos that ‘Adam Pierson’ was researching, I knew that he was a man of many secrets. His eyes told me that. His voice told me that. And he, once in a fit of frustration and anger, told me straight out, that he, Adam Pierson or Methos, was not always the unassuming intellectual grad student that he personified. What were his words? ‘There are Immortals out there that are that cruel and worse. A beautiful woman like you--prey to be had, raped, used, and thrown away. I know Mike, I was one.’
Now, I wish I would’ve pushed him for more info.
Because now I’m stuck in some convent with a bunch of nuns and no answers. I’m not even Christian, yet I feel obligated to go to Mass at least once a day.
He just left me.
He didn’t really tell me why or how come. Just some mumbo-jumbo about his past coming to claim him.
But I’ll tell you one thing, he wasn’t Adam, the cynical grad student, he was Methos, the oldest of all of us--the man who had seen and experienced more hell than any of us combined.
And for the first time, since we met, he completely closed me off. Not even his usually side-stepping was applicable here. Just cold and hard emptiness.
Irony of all this, is now I finally understand why Duncan was so surprised to find out Methos had opened up to me. Now I see, it was a rarity. Although anominty of the Internet did play a part in our ability to trust one another, I guess I counted too much on that foundation we had built.
I had already given him all that I could give. I’m even ready to kill now, when the time comes. And in the beginning, I did that for him.
So, now I’m here, 15 miles outside Seacouver, answer-less, with only the few belongings I had brought with me from Methos’ condo and my apartment in St. Louis and Amanda’s phone number if I don’t hear from him.
Even though this just happened tonight, it’s almost as if when I play it back in my mind, I’m watching a film, starring someone who looks like me, acts like me--but isn’t me. Where was my backbone? My anger? My righteousness?
It left me the moment I saw his face.
I was sitting on the couch, reading a book. Adam and Duncan went to a taping of a game show and I was waiting to hear what had happened. It was a rarity that I didn’t have my whole day planned before I went to bed the night before. An Immortal-in-training doesn’t usually have a life. They work. All the time. For the past four months, that’s all I’ve done. I know I’ve gotten better and we were planning on leaving Seacouver soon to see Europe. I was hoping it would be as lovers and not as teacher and student.
As a lifted the lukewarm cafe mocha to my lips, I felt his buzz. I know most young Immortals cannot differentiate the quickenings of others, but I seemed to have the knack. I believe it’s the old Mike part of me, who always seemed to be able to read people. In a way, I feel like that’s what I do with quickenings. I read them.
I felt his and shuddered despite myself. It was Adam’s, but it was colder and angrier than I’d ever felt before. It attacked my head, forcing my eyes shut as I heard the front door opening. I squinted and saw him standing across from me--his eyes forcing me to look at him.
"Where’s your sword?" His voice, like everything else, was harsh.
I reached over to my side and pulled it up. "Here. Why?"
"Why didn’t you have it drawn? Or do you just want anyone to take your bloody head."
I felt my face flush as I stumbled upwards. "I knew it was you! I told you I can tell the difference!"
"And that makes it alright? What happens if I want to take your head? Are you going to let me?" He gritted his teeth and turned on his heel. "Damn women. They’ll be the death of me yet," he muttered as he walked into the kitchen. I heard the refrigerator door open and close and beer cap flip ceremoniously behind the appliance. "Pack your shit, Mike. You’re leaving!" he called out from the other room.
I didn’t move. Leaving? He was going to leave me. I felt my heart sink as my eyes filled with tears.
He walked back towards me, sipping his beer, and stood in front of me. I could see the fear and pain in his eyes and feel it roll off him in waves. Instinctively, I reached for him--to touch his face--offer to shoulder some of his pain. Instead of the indulgent smile I usually got when I did that, his face clouded as he jerked out my reach. In its stead, he grabbed my hand and dragged me into my room. "Pack! No discussions, my dear. No votes and no empathy. You are out of here! Now!" He slammed the door shut behind me.
Staring at the closed door, I sobbed loudly. Rejection wasn’t something I ever took well, which is why, I in turn, kept the most important parts of myself, closed off. Wiping my face, I went to the closet and pulled out my suitcase and began to pack my things.
Ten minutes later, I opened the door and walked out with my laptop backpack slung over my shoulder and my suitcase in hand. I dropped my baggage on the floor and went over to the coat rack and picked up my coat, checking the pocket to make sure it was empty of any impediments. Satisfied, I turned back to the couch, where I had left the sword and my stomach did another flip.
It was gone.
Before I could wonder or even panic, I heard a light swoosh and instinctively I jerked out of the way, falling to my side and rolling away until I hit the coffee table. My heart took off, thumping fast and loud, my andrenalin had surged and my stomach was in my throat. On my knees, I looked up to see Methos--and it was Methos--no Adam today--not since he left with Mac earlier--standing over me, his teeth clenched and his face contorted.
I wondered if this was it.
"Don’t ever leave your sword unattended, woman!" he said, his voice quiet, angry and intense all at the same time. "Especially around me!"
The tears began to flow once again as I numbly nodded, waiting for him to lower the only weapon that could easily end my life now.
A moment later he did.
I stood up, my body still shaking as I held out my hand for my weapon. Without letting our hands touch, he handed it to me and turned to the door as if to open it.
But he stopped.
I took a deep breath and worked the courage to speak. "Methos, what’s wrong?"
I saw him flinch at my use of his real name. I rarely use it, only when I actually see Methos. For me, he will always be Adam first. Methos second. I suspect that he hates that I know him so well, especially when he was so cruelly trying to push me away.
"My past, Mike. It’s come to claim me and I--." his voice broke as his head hit the door, "and I don’t know if I’ll be able to get me back."
He opened the door without saying anything else and waited for me to join him. I left my home without looking back, afraid that I would jinx myself and him, if I did.
"Where are you taking me?" I asked as I walked slightly behind him.
"A convent. About 15 miles outside of town. You’ll be safe there."
I followed him out to the Bronco.
Methos
Until I came back to the condo from MacLeod’s and felt an Immortal presence, I had forgotten all about Mike. Not about her per say, she was still there in my mind--but her presence in my home.
It’s rather difficult to explain really. All the time I had been talking to Kronos, her name had become a mental chant--‘remember Mike--remember Mike and Mac, gotta get out of here--mike and mac.’ Over and over again. I suppose, in a lot of ways, those two are my saviors in my mind. I’d long accepted who I’d been--Death--for over 1000 years. I can’t say that I still don’t have sweat-soaked nightmares about the bloodlust and the thrill of total power--so horrific in its pleasure that I’d wake up nearly orgasmic and sick at the same time.
Yes, I still had those. But for the past 3000 years I’ve tried to, no aimed for, a better life--a less darkened existence. Was Methos, Death of the Four Horsemen the same Methos that offered his head to MacLeod in order that Kalas was defeated?
No.
And yes.
Did I want to go back to that Methos?
A resounding no.
So, when I saw Mike sitting on the couch, her blond curly hair, loose and flowing about her, as she sat comfortably sipping her cup of cafe mocha, reading the latest Robert Jordan in that Wheel of Time series, as if nothing catastrophic had happened--
--nothing important.
I flipped.
And she cried. Oh, I know some of those tears were for herself, but they were for me too. And that’s why I had to get her out of there. She knows me--better than most anyone alive today. And yet she has not a clue as to who I was or had been. She didn’t know that I was one of the Horseman, but she did know that I wasn’t always the calm, unassuming researcher.
How did she know this? And how did I know she knew this?
It was in her voice, everytime she called me Methos. Methos. My first name. The name I remember being called first. Everytime I heard my name fall across her lips, it was a reminder that somehow she knew my soul better than anyone else.
Logically, I know I dropped some hints. But not many. No, this was who Mike was. She can read people. Their souls--their Quickenings like psychics read futures. Mike just knew.
And she still stayed.
And that, above all else, is what scared me the most. Acceptance.
I know she is in love with me. And the Adam part of me--he fell in love with her long before he even saw her face. Before I even fell in love with Alexa. In someways, my friendship and trust with Mike was what enabled me to open my heart up with such voracity when I was with Alexa. Mike’s acceptance and friendship. And now, the Methos part, has begun to fall in love with her as well. The last one that broke through that warrior’s shell was a young, beautiful Immortal, Cassandra, who I tortured and raped for years. Little did Cassandra realize that she was the reason I became disillusioned with the Horsemen. Her goodness was what pulled me out of that dark hole I had fallen into nearly a thousand years.
On the outside, they are nothing alike. Cassandra, who I’ve just seen for the first time in 3000 years, still has that Old World feel about her. A Goddess. I heard she was worshipped as one for a milieu in the Britons. I am not surprised. She is also a sorceress. Tall, proud, regal, long, wild dark hair with dark eyes and a cunning wit. And Mike, not as tall or slender as Cassandra. Instead Mike has much more of a womanly figure, with sensual curves and beautiful, full muscles. Where Cassandra’s hair is dark, Mike’s is blond--kissed by the sun. But Mike also has a wonderful sense of humor and extraordinary way of making the world, no matter how dark or horrible, look as if it was a badly written comedy sketch. And her Mid-Western sexual innuendo’s--I swear those people have the dirtiest minds of any people alive. Mike told me it was all that repressed sexual energy. I believe it.
But I can’t help but wonder, if I had treated Cassandra the way I treat Mike, how different would they be now?
Not by much. And that is too horrid to contemplate.
Unfortunately, that was not Cassandra’s fate. Now, she has enough bitterness in her heart that it’s threatening to consume her soul. And I saw her standing in MacLeod’s loft, I kept thinking of what a fool I had been to destroy that wonderful woman. Which made me all the more anxious to protect the one that was still untouched by Kronos’ evil. I had to keep her whole and good.
So, I panicked and prayed that it was her I was feeling and not Kronos when I pulled up in front of our home. Mike’s quickening is different than most young ones. It’s strong. As strong as Richie’s and he’s taken many heads and a lot of them were old Immortals. It’s another one of those unique qualities that make me want to protect her and keep her from knowing how evil the world, or even I, could be. All this kept running through my mind as I barked at Mike to hurry up and get packed. The mantra returned with a twist: pleasedon’tletKronosfindherandforcemetodestroyheraswell...
One Week Later
Mike
I got two calls today telling me that all was clear. One from Joe, who must’ve known I was going nuts (it didn’t help that I had been calling him repeatedly for the last couple of days, knowing that something had happened and yet hearing nothing...) and he told me that both Mac and Methos were still alive. And okay.
Then he called. His voice was strained and tired. His pain, before was locked tightly inside, now seemed tangible and breathing. I found myself crying, so relieved that he was still alive that I could’ve thrown him down and made love to him right there and yet, I felt held back. He told me he was leaving in the morning to pick me up. We were going to Paris. Then he hung up--leaving me once again with more questions than answers, but at least he was still alive...
Then I had a visitor.
When Sister Mary Margaret told me that there was a woman there to see me, I was shocked. At first I wondered if it was Amanda. That the lines had gotten crossed somehow and she was there to pick me up.
As I walked down from the dormitory to the library, I felt the Immortal buzz. It was strong and old. Older than Duncan’s or Richie’s, but not as old as Adam’s. It was an angry and confused Quickening. One of someone who didn’t receive their justice.
This was something I could understand.
The man he gave me my first death had never been caught. So, I had no justice either.
I took a deep breath and entered the room to see a tall, dark-haired woman staring out the window. Her hair, unruly like mine, seemed to have a mind of its own as the blower from the heater hit it. She stood so still, a part of me wondered if she was really alive. My fanciful part, no doubt. Laughing at my own silliness, I cleared my throat.
"Hello, I’m Mike Evans," I said as I carefully approached the strange woman. I stopped a ‘sword-swinging’ distance from her in case she didn’t pay attention to the rules.
"I know who you are," she whispered as her finger released the curtain. She turned to face me and instantly I was struck by her beauty. This woman was everything I had ever wished I could be, I thought to myself. Her smile was cool as if she read my mind. "What I would like to know is if you have any idea who your mentor really is?" She asked as she leaned against the window sill and studied me openly. "Or are you some love-sick fool that’s willing to give her life up for that evil bastard without a thought?"
My face fell. "You were with them? Mac and Adam?"
"I see you’re perceptive as well. I didn’t get into his mind very much this past week, but what I did learn was of his protectiveness of you. And how he believed his redemption laid with you. So tell me, Michelle, are you going to redeem Methos?"
I dropped my eyes as my mind raced. Redeem him? How can I do that? I’m just a woman. A friend.
"I don’t understand."
"You do know that the man that took you under his wing was none other than one of the Four Horsemen, didn’t you? Did you know he called himself Death? He was murderer, a rapist, a power-hungry evil man!" her voice rose as she began listing Methos’ faults. As she said each of his transgressions, I felt another piece of the Methos-Adam puzzle fall into place. Why he treated me the way he did last week. His need to protect me. His fear. His past.
I took a deep breath and looked up and met her dark, hate-filled eyes. "Although I don’t doubt that you’re telling the truth, that still doesn’t define who he is today," I said softly as I tried to squash the panic threatening to bubble outwards. Taking another breath, I began chanting to myself that I knew all these things already. Somehow I did. Just to have them confirmed shouldn’t change my feelings towards him. And they didn’t. I just had wanted to hear it from him first.
"Oh, not you too!" The woman raised her fist and pounded on the window sill. "I’m so sick to death of you and MacLeod trying to save him! What he did was wrong!"
"I know. I don’t know you, but my first death was from a serial killer-rapist. Guess who was there when I woke up? Who cleaned me up? Fed me my first Immortal meal? Held my hand when I called my father to ask him how? Or taught me how to fight? Or to survive? Yes, the same man. All I can think of is that somehow, he has learned and changed. Or what would’ve stopped him from treating me the same way he treated you?"
The woman’s face paled as she closed her eyes. Tiny tears leaked from the corners of her eyes. "Damn him," she muttered as she stepped around me and went to the door. She turned around, her eyes bright with tears as they met mine. "You maybe right. But tell me, Michelle, how do I reconcile those two men?"
I swallowed hard as I shook my head. "I don’t know. But I know the one person who could tell you how he did, is the one person you’re not going to want to talk to."
She left without another word.
I found out the next day, I had had the pleasure of meeting the Immortal witch, Cassandra. Whose first death was at the hands of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse and for years afterwards, she had been Methos' slave.
My, how he has changed.
Methos
She was waiting for me when I pulled into the convent’s driveway. She was sitting on the steps, her bags and coat next to her, clad in a bulky multi-colored sweater, a long full patchwork skirt with the black leather boots I had bought for her a month before when I found she only owned Nike’s. Her hair was down and it flowed about whimsically in long, impetuous curls.
She was beautiful. And Gods, I was happy to see her.
Her face, although unchanged, seemed older. Maybe it was the eyes. More wisdom to be had in the past two weeks...
Or she found out.
I told myself I was being paranoid as I walked up to her. But I was preaching to a deaf audience.
Because this time I wasn’t.
She did know.
I stopped. Although I wanted to pick up and twirl her around--this woman-child who insinuated herself into my world, heart and soul, but I couldn’t. I felt too ashamed.
Cautiously, I reached out my hand and touched her cheek. I felt her hot tears as they wet my fingers.
She pressed her face into my hand.
My heart sang as I leapt up the stairs, just a step below hers so our eyes were even. I brought my other hand up and cupped her face, willing myself to remain open to her while praying that she did the same for me.
She smiled while a sob escaped, causing her to laugh at herself. After she wiped her face with the sleeve of her sweater, she ran a finger across my dry lips and smiled again.
"Welcome home, Methos," she whispered.
I felt something inside of me break at that moment. My dread and fear that she, like MacLeod would walk away from me and leave me alone in this cruel world. Or maybe it was because I came so close to losing my head to Cassandra. Or it was the erotic double quickening that Mac and I took. Or maybe it was everything.
I fell into her arms and cried for the second time in as many days.
She gently pulled me down, so we were both sitting on the cool concrete, her cradling my head against her chest, rocking back and forth, whispering the words of love and security that were known through out the world. After awhile, I slowly lifted my head and pulled her closer, wrapping my arms tightly around her, mumbling gods-no-what, kissing her cheeks, nose, eyes and finally her lips. Although it was a desperate need to feel her love; her affirmation that I was indeed loved, as my mouth pressed itself against hers, my lips forcing hers to open as my tongue desperately sought entrance. She battled back, fighting against her own demons as she pulled me inside.
But eventually began to relax and slowly pull away. It was then she chuckled.
"What?" I asked, grinning as I swooped down for another kiss.
"Another faux pas, Old Man. You’re slipping. Before you realize it, I might even believe you have a heart."
"Damn you, Mike. You always bring out the worst in me," I shot back inching back a bit. "Come on, let’s get out of here and get a hotel room. I think it’s about time we make mad passionate love, don’t you?"
I felt her body tremble in response.
"Adam?"
"Umm?"
"I don’t know if you’ve figured this out yet or not, but you do know that I love you, right?"
I pulled back to look into those beautiful dark gray eyes of hers. They met mine without flinching, sparkling in delight.
I grinned as I slipped out of her arms and picked up her suitcase and backpack, leaving her coat for her to carry. Before I turned towards the car, I decided one more kiss wouldn’t be a bad idea. She loved me. And one thing I figured out in these past couple of weeks was that Methos and Adam were in complete agreement about her: I loved her as well.
"Well, I guess it’ll work then, Mike, because it just so happens that I find myself in complete agreement with myself, I love you too."
"Really?" She asked following me to my Bronco. I stopped and turned, watching this Immortal-child’s face light up and had to laugh.
"Really, Mike."
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©1998 Lisa Y. Drexel